The sunrise covered the fields like honey, all golden and warm, smoothing the edges of another long day. The roosters were calling, and Soo Young was already up, making her sister's hair and helping her mother boil the water for rice. Then she filled buckets from the well, her hands wet and cold.
Her mother called from the kitchen, "Soo Young! Don't forget to pack the radishes. All the women in the market love the ones from our patch."
"I've kept them, don't worry," Soo Young called back, squeezing the hem of her skirt. Her back started aching after drawing buckets from the well, but today she felt light. Maybe it was the weather, or Jun Ho's comforting words from the day before, but her heart was at peace.
Inside, her mother completed house chores quickly, doing the dishes, folding laundry, and packing small bunches for trade at the market. Her mother has aged, more than Soo Young could remember. Her shoulders drooped, her hair turned grayer, and her hands trembled. But still, she gets up before everyone else and is the last to go to bed.
"Omma," Soo Young said, entering the room with a glass of water. "Do you think Halmoni will be at the market today?"
Her mother gave her a disinterested look. "Obviously. She never misses a chance to criticize other people's vegetables."
Soo Young laughed. Her grandmother (her mother's mother-in-law) was known for her snappy tongue and eagle eyes. However, there was something strangely comforting about her dedication.
Then they both packed the items and loaded the cart in peaceful silence. Four bundles of radishes, a wicker basket of pickled garlic, a small batch of dried seaweed, and a big jar full of soybean paste that had fermented all winter.
Just before leaving, her mother cleaned her hands and said, not looking at her, "Wear the white scarf today. The sun is too bright.
There was care in her words.
The market stretched out in the open flat field between the two hills, near the pathway that leads to the harbour. It is not a very large area. Only a few rows of women hunched behind tatami mats and displaying their goods, such as cabbage, spinach, fish, kimchi, green onions, fish cakes, dried anchovies, and barley rice.
Soo Young held the goods and followed her mother, and went to their usual spot near the stump of a shabby tree. Other women greeted them with half-smiles and nods.
"Look who finally decided to come sell radishes," said a short woman with a crooked smile. She was Soo Young's aunt-by-marriage (her father's cousin's wife).
Soo Young's mother replied in a calm tone. At least our radishes don't look like they have been grazed on by goats."
There were giggles all around.
Soo Young neatly placed the radishes in rows, carefully cleaning the dirt off them. The atmosphere was buzzing with noise and conversations. "What's the price of the wish?", "Are the cabbages fresh?", "Whose kid was misbehaving?", "Is it going to rain early this year?"
Soo Young sat there quietly. Only listening to everybody.
The women there sounded like the earth, low and enduring. They were laughing with teeth snarled, fighting in whispers, and sharing conversations with a glance. Every woman was carrying her weight and struggles, imprinted into the corners of their eyes and on their calloused hands.
"Your Halmoni is here," her mother sighed, just before the familiar susurrus of worn slip-ons approached.
Halmoni, Soo Young's grandmother, wearing a brown scarf over her head and walking with a hand stick, which she doesn't require, but she believes it makes her look more dignified. She looked over the vegetables like a general inspecting soldiers.
"These are yours?" she asked Soo Young, with wrinkled brows.
"Yes, Halmoni."
"Too small. But at least cleaner than last year." Took a pause. "You'll sell them anyway. That boy from the eastern house buys whatever you touch."
Soo Young flushed. "He just likes fresh produce."
The grandmother made a sound between a scoff and a hum and moved forward to criticize someone else's rice. Soo Young did not mind. There was tenderness in what Halmoni said.
At the next mat, three women were arguing in soft voices about the weight of squids. Next to them, a woman was tying the garlic stems into a thick rope, her fingers were moving flawlessly and with such neatness, it looked beautiful. Children played around, snatched items, and laughed until they were scolded.
Later, when the sun moved up, Soo Young was tired and her back ached due to squatting, so she stepped to the side for a break. She stood under the shade of a thick tree by the water spout. She smelled like garlic brine and radish.
Someone called from behind.
"You missed a spot," said Jun Ho, holding a cloth. "You've got dirt on your cheek."
She took the cloth and wiped her face without looking at him. "You are late."
"I brought sweet potatoes. Your brother eats them like candy."
"Don't spoil him."
Jun Ho shrugged. "He's a good kid."
They stood there watching the crowd, in silence for some while. A child ran past holding a paper airplane, the voices of women bartering were getting louder, and laughter was floating in the air.
"It's loud today," Soo Young said.
"Feels alive, right?" Jun Ho said.
She nodded. "It's nice."
He didn't ask her anything or try to stay longer than needed. He simply handed her a bundle wrapped in paper.
"Eat until it's still warm," he said.
She stood there and watched him walk till the end of the market, stopping quickly to speak to an old man selling salt. She watched him help a woman lift her cart and how respectfully he greeted an elder on his way. His kindness always makes her feel a touch of sadness.
She smiled.
By evening, most of the radishes were sold, and her mother traded the dried seaweed for a small sack of barley and a dozen fresh eggs. Soo was counting coins and packing what was left while sitting with her legs crossed.
"You did well today," said her mother.
"Thank you, Omma."
They wrapped up, and her mother's face looked less stressed out and her shoulders less droopy compared to the morning.
As they left, Soo Young's paternal relatives waved them off and said goodbye, take care. Her father's sisters were sitting behind a wooden table of pickled garlic and kimchi, their faces were unreadable. After Soo Young's father passed, the families became distant, with no harsh feelings, but reluctance and a communication gap.
Soo Young bowed respectfully, they nodded back with their eyes fixed on her for just a moment. Not affection or warmth, but maybe acceptance, beginning to melt.
Back home that evening, Soo Young tucked her sister into bed. She was holding a piece of dried seaweed like it was some treasure, gabbling about a teddy bear she saw at the market.
The subtle scent of barley and wood smoke filled the house. Soo Young went out and lay on the wooden takhat, her scarf had fallen loosely over her shoulders, gazing at the sky. It was a warm night, with crickets singing in the background.
Although the market was loud, full of different voices, some soft, some harsh, but underneath all the noise, there was a rhythm: women working, feeding their families, carrying their scars like prized possessions, and fixing what could be fixed.
laying there, she thought about her day at the market. How her mother was cleaning her hands after they reached for the radish bundle, the subtle glaze by Halmoni, the soft nod from her relatives, and how Jun Ho handed her a cloth.
She was overwhelmed with all the feelings.
Suddenly, someone called out from across the fence.
"See you tomorrow," Jun Ho called in a low voice.
She didn't answer instantly. Letting the words settle into the quiet, like seeds in warm soil.
Then she smiled and said. "See you tomorrow."