Dakota had cleared nearly one-third of the garden bed. In that space, he had planted thirty-four potato plants which took up half of the area. Dakota planned on potatoes being his primary source of food. He had also planted twenty-three carrots, seventeen beets, and six squash. He planted the other vegetables by cutting rotten vegetables he found into chunks. Dakota didn’t know if that was the proper method but it was working if the green sprouts poking through the dirt were anything to go by.

Before clearing new ground, Dakota spent an hour carefully weeding around his existing plants. While the vegetables were growing at a tremendous rate so were the weeds. He used his hands, wary of accidentally hoeing up a precious vegetable plant.

After weeding, Dakota started clearing but soon stopped to inspect an interesting plant. It had soft, heart-shaped leaves and, upon a closer look, was more of a vine than anything else. It groped along the ground, spreading its tendrils in an expanding circle. Lifting a leaf up, a green bean greeted Dakota’s sight. Wasn’t this a nice find. The more vegetable variety there was, the happier he was.

The plant only had a handful of edible beans growing on it. Most were rotten through contact with the ground. He needed to prop the plant up.

Grabbing his knife, Dakota went a short distance into the woods. After a few minutes, he found what he was looking for, a scrubby bush with slender stalks shooting from the base. The stalks had a reddish hue and lots of little twigs poking off of them.

The knife made short work of the twigs and, with some pulling, resulted in a thin straight branch about four feet long. Dakota collected an armful and dumped them beside his bean plant. He began laying the branches out, three inches apart and parallel to each other. After laying out fifteen, Dakota began weaving a branch through the fifteen he had just laid out. Over, under, over, under. Once he had weaved his first branch through, he plucked a few blades of thick grass and wound them around each joint. Dakota weaved a second branch into the fifteen and secured it with grass, followed by a third, and a fourth, until he had a grid of interweaving branches roughly four feet by four feet.

He had left one edge with six inches of uninterrupted stalk which he jammed into the ground beside his bean plant. It was wobbly but a few angle brace branches sturdied it.

Dakota pushed the plant against the fence grid and took a step back.

It was shabby but it did the job.

That night, Dakota hardly slept. And what sleep he got was filled with shadowy, red-eyed creatures trying to stab his legs.

Yawning, Dakota stretched his arms above his head, feeling his tired muscles bunch and then relax. He could already feel his stomach demanding sustenance. Did the thing never quit? He just fed it an entire fish yesterday!

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Wandering outside, Dakota prepared to head to the stream again. He hated doing it, but until the garden was producing, he was dependent on the fish.

As he bent over the side of the well, he felt something in his jean pocket squish. Dakota tentatively dipped his fingers in the pocket before yelping. It was gooey! And red?! Fearing he had cut the organ out of a goblin while sleeping (he was a bad sleepwalker), Dakota pulled his pocket inside out to discover…berries. Berries. Riiight, he had found a berry bush on his first trek through the forest. Dakota had forgotten about it, the stream being paramount in his mind at the time. He had eaten these, hadn’t he. And, more importantly, he hadn’t died.

Scooping the slightly rancid goop from his pocket, Dakota went in search of the berries, he had just found his new food source.

It only took Dakota a few minutes to find the bushes. They were squat but heavily laden with the purple berries. His stomach purred in excitement as the first berry exploded with flavour in his mouth. It was so sweet. Almost too sweet. Eyes watering from the sensation of not eating a half-cooked fish or raw vegetable, Dakota packed his mouth. He would eat every berry here. He didn’t care if that was irresponsible, this was the best day of his life.

Two minutes later, Dakota groaned, trying not to puke. It had only taken a few mouthfuls for the sweet rush to turn from elation to torment as his stomach, initially pleased with being fed, decided it didn’t like berry.

Clutching his stomach, Dakota hobbled back to the farm. A swig from the well helped wash the taste from his mouth and, after an explosive visit to the pooping log, Dakota was beginning to feel much better, if somewhat fragile.

“Rule one, never stuff yourself with the poop berries.”

Dakota's routine didn’t change much for the next five days. He would wake up, eat some berries, and then clear for the rest of the day. The plants continued growing incredibly fast, to the point where Dakota uprooted a potato plant and actually found little, golden potatoes. They were barely larger than a marble but Dakota couldn’t wipe the smile off his face for the rest of the day.

He didn’t hear anything from the goblins. Not a cry, hoot or broken branch which initially made him nervous but after a few silent nights, Dakota adjusted and managed to sleep for more than four hours.

Dakota tossed the last clump of weeds onto the burn pile. He was done. A perfect rectangle of tilled earth. Potatoes took up nearly a quarter of the bed while carrots, beets, squash, green beans, a few onions, and one watermelon took up another quarter, leaving half the garden bare. He hadn’t found enough vegetables to fill out the whole thing but as his other plants seeded, he would use up the rest of the space.

Earth squished between his toes as Dakota paced through the plants. The potatoes were majorly leafing out, their ploofy fronds changing from a light cheery green to a more earthy dark colour. The carrots and beats weren’t doing quite as well, although he noticed a number of healthy-looking sprouts.

He stopped beside the bean fence, plucking a few small weeds from underneath it. He loved this. He loved the feeling of ownership and direction clearing the garden bed gave him. It was so simple. So straightforward and pure.

He didn’t think he had suffered from depression back home but he had certainly felt aimless at times. Like he was spinning his wheels but getting nowhere. This was the opposite, progress was clear and measurable. The more time he spent working, the more progress he made. It was addictive.