When I first told my wife what I wanted her to send me, she laughed. Not because it was funny, but because she wasn’t sure I was serious. Most care packages out here contain the usual comforts—snacks, socks, family photos. But I had a different idea.

I asked for dirt. Real U.S. soil. Along with a small bag of fertilizer and a packet of grass seed.

Out here, surrounded by endless sand and heat, everything feels dry and distant. The desert gets into everything—your clothes, your boots, even your thoughts. There’s no green, no softness. I missed the feeling of grass under my feet more than I ever expected.

It took a few weeks for the package to arrive. My wife had to navigate all kinds of shipping rules, but eventually, it showed up. The guys gave me a hard time at first. “You starting a farm out here?” one of them joked.

But once the first blades of green started pushing through the soil, something shifted. It was just a small square of grass, maybe a foot across, but it meant everything. We had something alive in our space—something soft and familiar. Soon, others began to stop by. Some took off their boots and stood barefoot on it. Others closed their eyes and just breathed. One soldier said it reminded him of his grandma’s backyard. Another called it his good luck charm.

It became our quiet tradition. Before missions, some of us would pause for a moment on that patch of green. No one talked much about why, but we all understood.