tropics

palms on the beach: a trunk that leans as it climbs, a crown of fronds that reach out and droop at the tips, coconuts hung under the heart of it. they grow on vanilla beaches on their own, six or seven to a stretch of sand — a grove, not a plantation — and from saplings where you want them. a planted palm is the wild palm. the logs and planks join vanilla's wood families, so the fronds decay, the axe bites and the fire burns the honest way.

the coconut has two ways open. set one down and strike it with a sword or axe: it cracks, and with an empty hand you drink from it where it stands — a honey bottle's worth, nothing that outclasses vanilla's larder — and the husk gives its meat. or put a coconut and the tool on the crafting grid: coconut meat out, the tool handed back one point worn. a frond with nothing beneath it now and then grows a new coconut; nobody farms it, and nobody needs to.

the kit is vanilla wool and planks in the sand's palette: a deck chair, a parasol, a beach towel laid toward the water. the chair seats you through snug's own seat when snug is home — the furniture mod owns sitting in this house — and without it is a fine thing to look at, which is most of what a deck chair is for. v1 decorates the beach and leaves its sand and fog alone; a true tropical biome waits on the day the line carries a region library.