Harvest Moon 64 was released in February of 1999, and I started playing it shortly after launch. Since then there have been an endless stream of updates and knock-offs of the farming sim. You can now play a game very similar to Harvest Moon except you have blue hair and can kill skeletons for crystals. Or there's the one where you're an unemployed bug fetishist who makes friends with mutated pigs and rabbits.

While the rest of the world moved on to these more refined gaming experiences, I stuck with what I knew best. I stayed at "Beavis Farm".

Growing up fast in Harvest Moon

Ann, whom I should have married.

I was only a boy when I took over and named the abandoned farm. What could I know about farming? Or more to the point: what could I know about Work? Life? Love? Still, the memories of those halcyon days spent learning the rhythms of nature warm my weary heart even now. There was a time when waking up at 6 AM to plant seeds, ride horses, and stroll in the woods with an eye open for herbs to forage was all I needed to be happy.

But time has a way of perverting even the simplest of pleasures.

I hesitate to lay the blame with my wife, but the fact is our coupling marked a change. I could barely take care of myself, let alone a child, and then suddenly the entire town looked upon me as if I were a man. As if the ceremony initiated me not just into marriage but also the secret world of adults. As if you are only really part of society once the infinite possibilities of youth have been tamped down into the fated and final truth: that life is a slow trudge toward death.

My wife.

I met Karen in her father's bar where she worked. It was a simple romance. She was kind, and funny. She liked my dog. Her family is rife with alcoholism, and I thought I could help her escape that cycle. But I'm ashamed to say regret has replaced any kind feelings I once held. I now see that I should have married Ann. She's a farmer like I am, and has a sunnier disposition than Karen. I don't mind that she's not so attractive.

The resentment began with my realization that Karen bore me a child who does not age. It can't be her fault. Maybe it's mine. But I can't help but feel anger when I pick up the tiny heir of Beavis Farm and see that after countless seasons he hasn't changed. No one in this damn town has.

It makes me want to go into the yard and chop blocks of wood.

Is there no escape?

The only thing that brings me joy.

As the years slip by I find I care less and less. The farm looks like a garbage dump, with weeds growing in the fields where I once harvested tomatoes, corn, and moondrop flowers. I've named all of my chickens and cows "Turd." I spend more time at the pier fishing in the rain by myself than I do at home with my drunk wife or our freakish son.

I don't even go into town anymore, except to buy wine. The villagers are simpletons, mindlessly repeating their same few quaint aphorisms over and over. I've noticed that the Mayor has remained in office for decades without an election. No one cares. Change doesn't happen here because no one wants change.

Why did I come to this strange village? When will I leave?



Maybe I can't. Or maybe I'm meant to accept that repetition itself is a virtue. Everyone plays their role so graciously while I thrash against the patterns of seasons. The festivals are the same every single year, and although I've withdrawn for now I know I'll be welcome the next time, and it will be the same as it always was.

There's something comforting about that.

Screenshots via jakenastysnake and HMP Contests.