Spring stirs something in Bootstuck, and apparently that something is an ocean under construction. What began as a single hole, diligently filled with Caleb’s 17 buckets of water, has now become a civic engineering project—one bucket per week until the town achieves “ocean status.” Skeptics suggest it’s more of a pond, but optimism prevails.

In equally practical fashion, the locals have invented short pants by cutting long ones in half, rotating them daily so that nobody has to fully commit to shorts or trousers. “Pants is pants is pants,” after all.

A sudden burst of applause interrupts, revealing the town-wide enthusiasm for Sacky Mac, a game involving chasing down a man named Mac and trying to stuff him into a sack. Cheers are mandatory, orchids are breathed upon, and Elvis—always Elvis—sings, fights, dances, and, inevitably, falls in love.

From there, the conversation drifts into top hats (“aren’t they all top hats, since you wear them on top?”), mistaken identity (a man endlessly confused with someone named Ted), and Bootstuck’s laissez-faire approach to airport management—whoever’s around that day is in charge. No flights today, but by Saturday two “whirlybirds” are expected to arrive as part of their spring migration. These aren’t helicopters, mind you, but flap-flapping, squiggly-tailed creatures that apparently choose Bootstuck as a seasonal stopover.

The episode closes with the promise of contact—though whether with machines, birds, or simply more buckets of water, remains uncertain.

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This week in Bootstuck, a new civic initiative is announced: treasure chests filled with nickels and notes will be hidden around town, doubling as both a wishing well and a municipal mystery. Meanwhile, preparations are underway for a “cake show,” featuring Gerald popping out of one, Caleb baking another, and Dave inevitably producing something spaghetti-shaped.

The town also attempts a census by slapping numbered sticky notes on people’s heads—accuracy optional. And as winter ends, the community embraces “nude racing” through the sugar bush, a spring ritual that is apparently faster than skidoos, shinier than Dave’s new spools, and only slightly less confusing than the crossed transmission of a Torontonian hog who lays eggs.

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Bootstuck continues its grand tradition of opening businesses that should not exist. Fish Beach, the town’s only two-fish restaurant, is thriving thanks to its “hooking parties,” while Tongues and Toes — the shoe-store-coffee-house hybrid that once served cups of Joe’s literal ashes — is finally closing its doors. (Don’t worry, the locals are going back to drinking gravy.)

The conversation drifts to childhood snacks (wagon wheels, children — same thing), oddly colored elbows, and Bootstuck’s unusual take on pharmacy services. At Dave’s Dependency Depot, you can get everything from red licorice to Viagra, depending on Dave’s mood and availability. No one’s worried about addiction because, as the caller insists, “everybody’s doing it.”

A nap may be the only safe prescription.

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