The last of unspoiled arcadia is digital. I spawned into a jungle biome and spent the first night in a dirt hole while zombies groaned outside. Next morning, I built a better, wooden shelter. I mastered tools and spent nights mining rather than crouching in fear.

Soon, I struck off and found a spot between the forest and plains, not far from the seaside. I built a large stone house, smelted iron, and made armor. I lured in cows and chickens, planted rows of wheat. I tamed a horse and rode out on patrols.

One night, I lost my horse in a storm. Running hard for home, low on food, and chased by creepers and skeletons, I came over a rise and saw, all at once, the blaze of my complex, and felt a deep and ancient satisfaction. I ran through my gates, climbed the leveled hills, and ducked into my redoubt. I ate cooked meat and slept a blank, dark sleep until sunlight blued the distant hills.

That evening, I climbed a bluff overlooking the sea and pictured a new and better complex—with a glass castle, fake beach, boat launch, and diving tower. A Minecraft Club Med.