Tails by the Foxfire

Stardew Valley Festival of Seasons

I attended Festival of Seasons in Halifax, Nova Scotia at the Rebecca Cohn theatre, and the turnout was incredible. Every seat in the house was packed, so needless to say, expectations were high for the show’s success. Though the merchandise was pretty slim pickings and a little on the pricey side (hey, I’m no stranger to show merch prices, so I had a feeling), I still got a nice little chicken keychain and a gorgeous poster printed on pretty good quality card stock that I’ll treasure for years to come. What was instantly electric, though, was the feeling of being among your peers in what feels like a sacred space. It reminded me of my old pre-pandemic convention-going days where, for a few special hours, you’re surrounded by strangers who feel like friends. It’s an atmosphere totally removed from the rush of the city where you might share a word with a passer by to say ‘nice Abigail cosplay’ or ‘I love your Junimo sweater’. A community is formed, and it’s safe, and wonderful, and yours, because you’re all gathered excitedly for the same thing. A no-judgement zone where you can show your true colours.

Going into the show itself, I thought I’d be intimidated. ‘Orchestra’ brings to mind top hats, monocles, elbow gloves, the whole nine. Pre-conceptions instantly dispelled the moment the conductor took to the stage. Francis Choinière is a master of the art, welcoming audiences from all walks of life and taking us on a gentle journey through a year in Pelican Town with familiarity and wit. From opening each set by providing a relatable narrative, to connecting with the audience with jokes and references to the game, Choinière made the Festival of Seasons come alive in a way that only someone with a passion for the craft and the subject matter could manage. He conducts with flourish and elegance, all while looking like he’s dancing to his favourite songs and having the time of his life. Because I’m pretty sure he is. A good show needs a good host and frontman, and Choinière delivered on every count, right down to giving each individual member a moment to receive applause for a job well done. It wasn’t just pieces of music played on the stage; it was a set of carefully arranged pieces crafted to evoke nostalgia and joy, demonstrating to us all how far we have come as people by celebrating every season spent in the valley.

At the end of the show, Choinière took time to thank us for coming out to support real art in the world of AI, and that brief word struck a chord (pun not intended) with me after the powerful display of dedication, passion, and pitch-perfect talent we had witnessed on that stage. If you’d humour me, I’d like to get just a little nostalgic and share my hopes while I listen to the Festival of Seasons soundtrack (available on vinyl and streaming services) and further appreciate the power of real art crafted by human minds and hands.

Applying Stardew Valley to Life in a Brave New AI World

The older I get, the more I relate to the opening cutscene in Stardew Valley where you leave your dreary grey office job and hitch a ride out to start a new life in the county. I’ve written before about how I appreciate Stardew Valley for teaching me patience and appreciation for slow-burn progress, and when I first started Tails by the Foxfire at the end of 2024, this was exactly the wisdom I needed. I’d been freshly laid off from work and had lost confidence in my fiction after a barrage of publication rejections, so if there was ever a time I wanted a fresh start in my life it was then. All that time wasted forcing my voice and my personality to fit the mold, and my reward was unemployment, anxiety, and a self I didn’t recognize. I didn’t feel I had anything to show for all my hard work, and I yearned for the simplicity of planting vegetables and flowers, watching them grow. I’m a country girl in the city, and there are times when it can feel pretty stifling and scary. I’d thought there would be more opportunities to build a future here, but I hadn’t counted on Gemini and ChatGPT and Grammarly waiting in the wings to steal my prospects. My layoff was handwaved as my contract simply coming to an end, but the writing had been on the wall for some time in the months leading up to ‘so long and thanks for all the fish’: cost-cutting was a king dressed up as ‘innovation’, and AI was here to stay. Writing jobs had no more use for writers.

For a while after that, a part of me lost faith in my art. I was resentful, angry, and couldn’t find my voice. My novels all showcased someone else’s style, imitations sculpted in an effort to ape what was popular rather than expressing my truth. Somewhere along the way, my heart had vanished from it, until finally the thought of putting pen to paper left a bad taste in my mouth. Still, I itched to say something, connect with people somehow, so I wrote. Not for the market, but for me. I threw myself out of my comfort zone and switched from fiction to op-eds for a little while, since every effort I’d made to create worlds and characters made my internal critic say, ‘So what?’. Instead, I told myself I was ‘skill building’ (“It’s not like anyone’s going to read it anyway”) and eventually built my very first blog. Still writing, still art, but of a different kind. My first figurative seeds in the tilled earth at the very start of Spring. I was happier than I’d been in recent memory, as I’d done something I thought well beyond my capability, and though it was rough around the edges, I’d shown myself it was possible. What’s more, I actually felt like the writing was pretty good for a first try! Though my fiction had been praised by contest judges and agents as technically skilled, the first piece I wrote for Tails by the Foxfire contained a feeling of authenticity I’d been too afraid to show in my fiction in case it felt ‘out of place’ or like ‘too much information’. With my true self unapologetically behind it, my art had evolved, and all thanks to the opinions I’d been so afraid to share in case they were ‘stupid’.

Fast forward to 2026, (thank you for sticking with me), and the Foxfire has flourished. My 9-5 has allowed me to fund the Foxfire and develop the skills needed to sharpen its content, build its pages in a user-friendly way, and optimize its search engine compatibility. My workplace is a fine place to be, but what really fulfills me is knowing Tails by the Foxfire is waiting for me at the end of the week, ready to grow as I do. It’s seeing the requests from indie developers land in my inbox and experiencing incredible games from devs the world over that makes me think, ‘We’ll get through this. We have to,’ when we live through another historical event. It’s a weekly reminder that for however alone we feel, there are millions of people who feel the same way.

Why Art Matters Now More Than Ever (Whatever Form it Takes)

Last night, more than 1,000 people turned out to watch an orchestra celebrating the 10th anniversary of a beloved indie video game. What began as one man’s passion grew to reach hearts around the world, bringing us together as a community of friends. Every person in that building had logged hours in-game, chatted excitedly to a friend about their favourite character, and had felt the things I felt, shared the memories I had of life in Pelican Town. These were my digital neighbours, and though I suffer from social anxiety and generally shy away from people, I didn’t feel scared amongst them. For two wonderful hours, we shared in something beautiful: we laughed together, maybe cried a little too, and marveled at this world ConcernedApe first invited us to share in ten years ago; the world he made with his whole heart, courage, and authenticity, and which accepted us for all of ours.

For all the terror and brutality and destruction we see on our screens, Stardew Valley is one of the first games that reminds me there are moments of community and kindness too; true human moments that no machine can replicate when art is nurtured and given room to grow: the applause for an artist, the sweat on their brow, the hours upon hours they trained to get that piece note-perfect, the emotion it expresses as it passes through your eyes or ears or lips or fingers to spark something sweet in your brain. Art lives in the way your heart flutters when you feel it, and the way you’ll remember it for years to come. No matter how small these moments may be, from booting up a save file on Stardew Valley and inviting your friends or family along to play, to sitting in an auditorium full of strangers you feel kinship with as you take a couple of hours to appreciate the classical arts, what matters is that they exist. So long as they do, it’s evidence that we have not given up hope. The more we build, the more we prove ourselves stronger than destruction. So long as we keep allowing ourselves to be ourselves, and keep reaching out to one another with our heart fully living in the mediums that mean the most to us, we’ll reach each other. We’ll keep filling auditoriums. We’ll keep coming together to celebrate the worlds and words we love most, and we’ll make this one a little more beautiful along the way.

Video Game Deep Dives & Special Events at Tails by the Foxfire

Read more video game deep dives with Tails by the Foxfire, and join me as I attend in-person events like the Festival of Seasons and give you a rundown of what you missed with a dash of hope and nostalgia thrown in. I also write video game, demo, and indie reviews to help you decide whether that game you’ve been eyeing is worth your time and money, and help you get started with handy quickstart guides to take the pain out of learning the ropes. Sound like fun? Sign up below to get alerted whenever I post new content, and I’ll see you next time for more Tails by the Foxfire!