When I asked my wife to send me dirt, everyone thought I was crazy. They wanted snacks or photos, but I craved American soil, fertilizer, and grass seed. In the desert, I missed the feel of grass beneath my feet—it wasn’t just nostalgia, it was a way to stay grounded.
After weeks of effort, the grass arrived, and I planted it. Soon, other soldiers were standing barefoot on it, finding comfort in its green blades. But when command found out, we had to hide it. We secretly moved the grass to a storage container, keeping it alive with lamps.
When Staff Sergeant Evans found out, he understood and gave us a choice: get rid of it quietly or face consequences. We sent it home with a note to my wife: “Let it remind us we’re never too far from home.”
After the inspection, the grass was gone, but we found new ways to cope. A few weeks later, I got a package with photos of the grass thriving in our backyard, reminding us that even the smallest things can carry the most meaning. That patch of grass stayed with us, proving that sometimes, all it takes to stay strong is a little piece of home.
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