Ethan felt a bit stronger the next day, so he swept off the porch and did the dishes. He marveled at Henry’s vitality as he watched the old man get up before dawn and proceed to work like a machine throughout the day. The way he probably had done for decades.

  He collected eggs and fed the chickens and other animals, all before Ethan even woke up. Ethan challenged himself to start rising early with the old-timer. I have to show him I’m worth keeping around, he thought.

  At lunchtime, Ethan called out to Henry that he’d made ham sandwiches and lemonade.

  Oh God, am I turning into a housewife? Farmwife? Before Ethan could categorize himself, Henry arrived at the porch, leaned his M16 on the railing, and sat on the steps. He pushed back his bamboo hat to let it dangle down his back as he wiped his head with a handkerchief and eyed the plate of ham sandwiches Ethan had prepared.

  They sat in silence while eating. The sounds of the animals and the wind rattling the weather vane were the only sounds to be heard.

  “I uh…” Ethan said, clearing his throat. “I can make a pretty good spaghetti and meatballs.” He shifted nervously. “It’s my mom’s recipe. I could make that for dinner?”

  He squirmed in the ensuing stillness before Henry eventually gave an affirmative grunt. Ethan’s eyes darted around, not sure exactly what else to say. Silence fell again before Henry eventually cleared his throat.

  “Ya know, in Vietnam, they gave us spaghetti in a can,” Henry said. “I liked that one a lot more than the mystery meat.”

  “V-Vietnam? Like you were there for the Vietnam War?” Ethan asked, a little confused by the non sequitur.

  “Yee-up,” Henry said simply before lapsing into silence again. Ethan pursed his lips, his eyes darting back and forth as he waited for Henry to elaborate. The old man did not elaborate.

  Jesus Christ, I cannot get a read on this guy, Ethan thought.

  “So… um, is your wife from there?” he asked tentatively. All he got in return was an affirmative grunt before Henry abruptly slapped his thighs and stood up to return to work.

  Ethan watched as the old man made his way down the steps, unsure of what to make of the exchange. He hoped he hadn’t offended him by asking about his wife.

  “My wife…” Henry said, pausing on the bottom step, half-turned toward Ethan. “She told me I wasn’t a people person.” He spread his hands and gave a nod as if that explained everything.

  Yeah, no shit, Ethan thought, but he found himself grinning because he was beginning to see that Henry, while awkward, was doing his best and spoke through actions, not words. And his actions were kind.

  “Zero judgment from me, man. My only friend is a plant,” he said, gesturing to Joel.

  Henry's eyebrow quirked, and he nodded slowly.

  “There’s… one other thing I haven’t told you…,” Ethan said tentatively. He’d avoided this topic because he didn’t want Henry to think he was weirder than he already did, but Henry had treated him with fairness and honesty, so he intended to do the same.

  “After the system message appeared, whenever I touch soil, I um, have the ability to sense how good it is.”

  Ethan fidgeted awkwardly, wringing his hands as Henry studied him speculatively.

  This sounds even crazier when I say it out loud. He raised a finger as an idea occurred to him to illustrate his ability. He reached over to Joel’s pot and scooped up a handful of dirt.

  As expected, he knew. This time, instead of a spectrum of colors, it flashed a dull tan he intuitively associated with medium-quality soil. To his surprise, there was additional information he didn’t expect that entered his mind.

  C-Tier Soil (Container Bound): moderate nutrients, sufficient water retention.

  Current Crop Analysis: Eucalyptus Deglupta. Healthy. Limited root expansion.

  Yield: Stunted growth unless transplanted.

  Medium yield, manual enrichment required.

  Will degrade to D-tier if left neglected.

  Ethan shook his head, not expecting the specific information about the plant, but wanting to prove his point to Henry.

  “When I touch this soil, I know its shitty quality,” he said, looking nervously for Henry’s reaction. “Well, I mean, not actually shitty, but I know that Joel is outgrowing this pot, and he’ll need a bigger one to continue growing. It’s like the information just inserts into my brain. Like in that movie The Matrix.”

  Henry seemed to consider this revelation before nodding slowly. He absently scratched at the gray stubble on his cheek as he pondered in his slow, methodical way, not caring for any awkwardness caused by his silence.

  “Y’know, that’d be much more useful than what I got,” he mused eventually, surprising Ethan.

  “What… you got?” Ethan asked hesitantly.

  “Yeah, I got something that shows me where a target is going to be.” He looked at Ethan squarely, causing Ethan to swallow reflexively. “I didn’t miss very often before, but now I never miss.”

  Okaayyy, rule number one, don’t piss off Grandpa Hawkeye, Ethan thought, masking his nervousness with a tight smile. His curiosity about Henry having a different power than he did overrode any apprehension he might have.

  “So you got an ability completely different from mine…” Ethan muttered contemplatively while rubbing his chin. He was slowly piecing together the rules of this strange new system that they’d woken up to. Henry cleared his throat, interrupting his musings.

  “Alright, Comeback Kid,” Henry said with a shrug. “I’ma gonna get back to it.” He slung his rifle over a shoulder and walked toward the field he was preparing to plant corn, before he stopped and looked back at Ethan, seeming to consider something of great import before finally speaking.

  “My wife’s planters are empty on the side of the house. You could plant your… Joel there if you’d like.”

  Ethan grinned. “Thanks, Henry, I think I’ll do just that.”

  The wheelbarrow full of gardening supplies bounced along noisily as Ethan clumsily pushed it across the lawn to the side of the farmhouse. He made a mental note to check and see if there was any WD-40 kicking around in the supply shed that Henry had shown him to get the garden supplies.

  Henry had offered to help, but Ethan was determined to do this on his own. He was tired of feeling like a burden and was eager to start pulling his weight.

  He froze as he came around the house and saw the garden beds. Weeds of all kinds covered the garden beds, some spreading tendrils onto the surrounding area. It was surprising, as the rest of the farm was so neat and cared for. It implied the neglect might have been intentional on Henry’s part.

  Could be related to what he mentioned about this being his wife’s garden, he thought as he set the wheelbarrow down and grumbled. He put his hands on his hips as he calculated just how much work he had ahead of him.

  “Sorry, Joel,” he said, looking at his small eucalyptus plant wedged in the wheelbarrow. “Looks like you’ll have to wait a bit longer to get new digs.”

  Ethan strolled around the planter boxes, formulating a plan of attack on Joel’s nemesis — weeds. The planter boxes were arranged in a three-by-three grid, each one four by eight feet. Completing his circuit, he placed his hands on his hips.

  “Alright, weeds,” he said dramatically. “Prepare to meet my secret weapon.” From the wheelbarrow, Ethan unsheathed the implement of the weed’s doom with an exaggerated flourish — a new garden hoe to replace the one the monster had destroyed.

  Well, new to me at least, he thought as he recalled how Henry had presented it to him.

  “I saw you had one that broke when I was gathering up your things by the highway,” Henry had said, carrying the garden hoe toward him, almost reverent in the way he handled it. “This was Quynh’s…” he said, extending the hoe toward Ethan as if he was bestowing an item of great worth.

  Ethan picked up on the import of the moment — what it meant to Henry. The way Henry’s weathered hands lingered on the worn wooden handle, the unspoken reverence in his voice. This wasn’t just a tool, it was a piece of someone he had loved, someone who had shaped this farm and, in turn, the man who now stood before him.

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  Ethan knew simple objects could hold entire lives within them, memories of laughter, quiet mornings, and the steady rhythm of hands tending the earth. He accepted the hoe reverently, his fingers brushing over the smooth, timeworn grip. Meeting Henry’s eyes, he gave a single nod — not just of understanding, but of respect. They needed no words.

  Now, as Ethan unsheathed the hoe in all its simple glory, he felt a sense of rightness to be using the gardening tool of Henry’s late wife, Quynh, to clear away the garden beds she had built and maintained. It was obvious they had seen years of neglect, contrasting sharply with the tidy order of the rest of the farm.

  It was as though Henry had intentionally left this space untouched since his wife’s passing, and Ethan felt a mixture of gratitude and responsibility for being entrusted to restore its former glory. Additionally, even though Henry had expressed no expectations, Ethan was treating this project as a sort of test. He yearned to show the old farmer his worth, and this would be the first step.

  “Can't mess up pulling weeds too badly… I hope,” he mumbled as he hefted the garden hoe.

  With the sun high overhead, Ethan began his attack with gusto, barely feeling the pains that had kept him bedridden for days. He chopped, yanked, and tore at the weeds — methodically working his way around the exterior, slowly pushing inward.

  I much prefer doing this to weeds than monsters, he thought as a stupid grin spread across his face. Despite the occasional bout of dizziness he felt from his head injury, he lost himself in the task. He relished the feeling that he was working toward something, a goal that would benefit himself and Henry.

  One thing he’d lacked since his mother’s death was a clear direction and goal. It had affected every part of his life, and most dramatically in his relationships with people.

  He faltered for a moment, remembering one of the last things Samantha had said to him.

  “I just can’t keep going like this,” she’d said with tears in her eyes. “You have to tell me what’s wrong, Ethan. Maybe then I can help you.”

  Ethan clenched his jaw, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a stone on his chest. Opening up. Exposing himself. The fear, pain, and overwhelming grief of his mother’s death hung over him like a guillotine that could drop at any moment. It would all happen again if he gave in to this girl. This beautiful, perfect girl, who would ruin him when she left, just like Mom had.

  Deep down, he longed to give himself to her fully. Let her in and trust himself to someone else again. Instead, the words that came out were sharp, bitter, and laced with the fear he refused to acknowledge.

  “Maybe it’s you,” he spat. “Maybe you are what’s wrong, Samantha.”

  The moment the words left his mouth, he’d regretted them. He saw the way her face crumpled, the hurt flashing in her eyes before she turned away. But he hadn’t stopped her. Better to rip the band-aid before this goes any further, he’d lied to himself.

  Ethan hacked harder at the weeds. What had been a grin just moments before turned into a snarl of effort as he tried to forget his hurtful response to the woman who had just wanted the best for him. For both of them. He was just as ashamed now as he had been then. So he tightened his grip and chopped viciously at the overgrown weeds as if he could chop out that part of his past.

  Shame, frustration, and anger fueled him as he slashed viciously at the weeds, losing himself in the task. He vented all the negative emotions that were pent up, transferring them into every swing and strike, but if anything, his anger seemed to make it more difficult.

  Weeds and dirt that had parted effortlessly before him now seemed to resist his intent, rebelling at the anger-fueled onslaught he sought to inflict. He lost track of time as he toiled, relishing every inch of ground he reclaimed from the overgrown weeds. The sun moved across the sky unnoticed by Ethan.

  He was mid-swing when he realized Henry had called his name several times. He blinked, coming out of his trance-like state and looking around himself. The weeds lay in random piles all around him. To his surprise, he had cleared most of the weeds, something he thought would have taken several days.

  He looked up at Henry, blinking. The sun was setting over the mountains to the west.

  I must have been at this for hours, he thought as the fatigue and pain of his injuries came back to him with full force.

  Hesitantly, he took a faltering step toward Henry, placing a hand on his injured head. He stumbled, his fatigue much worse than he’d realized. Henry was there instantly, somehow, coming to support him with a firm hand that was steadier than the mountains. Henry’s solid, unmoving presence gave Ethan strength. Once more, he was thankful to the old farmer.

  “When I said to do the job that’s in front of ya, I didn’t mean at the expense of your health, son,” Henry chastised mildly. Ethan looked down sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me. Once I started, I just lost track of time.”

  “It’s alright,” Henry said in his rumbling baritone. “It looked like you were working through something.” They started toward the front of the house together.

  “Ain’t much better for thinkin’ than a field that needs tendin’. I only stopped ya coz it’s suppertime.”

  Ethan groaned. “Ah, man, I was gonna make spaghetti!” he said with a smack to his head. He immediately regretted the move as it sent a spike of pain rippling through his injuries.

  “Quit your yammerin’,” Henry replied. “I had some trout in the freezer to fry up.”

  “Alright, but the rain check for spaghetti gets cashed tomorrow,” Ethan said lamely. “Speaking of freezers, how long do you reckon the electricity will stay on?”

  “Hmm? Oh, we’ve been off the grid for years,” Henry quipped placidly. “I should probably give the solar panels a good scrub, come to think of it.”

  Ethan just chuckled. Old man is always two steps ahead.

  First thing the next morning, Ethan set an alarm on his watch to make sure he remembered to make dinner. After breakfast, he quickly grabbed his garden hoe and made his way back to the side of the house, eager to continue his work from the previous day.

  He knelt next to Joel and watered him while he looked at the carnage of weeds and foliage from yesterday.

  “Not much to look at yet,” he said. “But by the end of today, this’ll be the hottest spot in town, buddy.”

  His muscles were stiff and his back protested as he stood, but thankfully, his head felt fine, and the cool morning air invigorated him. He made a show of pulling his leather gloves on and stretching, holding the hoe high overhead and twisting from side to side.

  Ethan launched into the task of herding the weeds into a pile to the side of the planters. Henry had told him the weeds would make for good compost, so he was making a large pile that he would transport over to the composting station by the chicken coop.

  As he used the hoe to rake, toss, and push the weeds, the previously obscured garden beds began to appear, and Ethan found himself brainstorming what else he could plant in the beds.

  Mom always said homegrown tomatoes were better than store-bought, he thought as he worked.

  “How would you like some tomatoes as neighbors, Joel?” he grunted to the plant as he strained to fling an especially dense cluster of weeds onto the pile. Ethan fell into a rhythm as he worked. Gather. Dig in. Heave. Fling. Repeat.

  Quicker than he’d expected, he was left with a massive pile of weeds and nine mostly empty garden planters. Methodically, he combed through the planters one by one, churning up the old soil with his hoe, removing any remaining weeds and roots.

  When he was done, he surveyed his work. Satisfaction coursed through him when he thought about the state of these planters just yesterday. He now had a blank canvas and was eager to see what he could do with Henry’s guidance.

  He pulled off one of his work gloves and bent to scoop up a handful of soil from the center planter where he intended to plant Joel. And he knew.

  D-Tier Soil: Severely lacking nutrients, almost barren, poor water retention.

  Suitable Crops: Weeds.

  Yield: Low, manual enrichment required.

  Will degrade to F-tier if neglected.

  He sighed deeply, letting the cruddy soil fall back into the planter.

  Not surprising, but definitely not good enough for Joel, or any of the other plants I had in mind. He was about to turn away, but he hesitated. Something instinctual prompted him to sink his hand into the soil, burrowing in it up to his wrist.

  He mentally pushed down and outward, tickling the part of his brain he associated with his Soil Sense ability. He couldn’t put into words what he felt, but he gradually gained an awareness of the earth he was connected to. Ethan felt that if he could just reach a little farther, he could feel the other garden planters around him… maybe even further.

  A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Ethan let out a high-pitched shriek. He whipped around and noticed Henry’s startled face looking down at him, bushy eyebrows raised. Ethan’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he quickly stood, brushing off his pants and clearing his throat.

  They stood there awkwardly before Henry finally broke the silence. “I uh… wanted to make sure you stopped for lunch,” he said.

  “Oh, is it noon already?” Ethan asked as he let the soil drop back into the planter.

  “You’ve made great progress,” Henry said, gesturing at the enormous pile of weeds as they walked back to the house.

  “Thanks, I’m just worried about the crappy soil,” Ethan replied ponderously. “I feel like anything I plant there will die instantly.”

  “Well, yeah…” Henry said, giving him a sidelong look. “Ya gotta add the compost, fertilizer, pre-water the soil.” He checked off each step on a gnarled finger as they walked. “Weeds probably sucked all the nitrogen out of the soil.”

  “Oh… I just thought I could plant stuff once the garden beds were cleared,” Ethan said sheepishly. Henry treated him to one of his signature side-eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh.

  “Alright, here’s what ya do…” Henry proceeded to launch into a more detailed description of soil than Ethan thought was possible. He explained in granular detail about nutrients in the soil, microorganisms living under the surface, and even the pH balance.

  This guy has turned farming into a science, Ethan thought. Wait, maybe it always was, and I just didn’t realize it.

  By the time they’d finished lunch, Ethan had heard Henry say more words in one sitting than in all their previous conversations combined. He drank it up. Henry had a way of explaining that fascinated Ethan, and he found himself asking questions and engaging in a way he’d never managed in school.

  Ethan quickly returned to the garden beds after lunch, eager to get started with his newfound knowledge. He promptly began hauling load after load of weeds over to the compost dump, returning with a wheelbarrow full of compost to dump into the garden beds with each trip. As he toiled, his excitement grew. A clear purpose. Something he’d not had in a long time.

  Ethan was especially excited for one tidbit he’d gathered in the conversation as well — Henry had wistfully talked about the mint and raspberries his late wife, Quynh, had grown in the planters, and Ethan fully intended to add that to his shopping list when he went to scavenge for fertilizer and seeds the next day.

  Although gone, Quynh’s presence was still viscerally felt and seen on the farm. Her organization, her garden hoe, even the bamboo hat that Henry took everywhere with him were all hers. Ethan wanted to honor that memory in any way he could.

  Tomatoes, raspberries, mint, Ethan mentally checked off to himself. Those are some neighbors fit to grace the presence of a distinguished gentleman such as Joel.