Reflections from March 12, 2026

Snow in the Forecast

Today, the air feels different. It isn’t just the shifting March sky or the 9cm of snow they say is coming tomorrow as I head back to work. It is a lightness in my own spirit. Today, the mortgage is gone. After years of hard work and steady discipline, the debt is cleared. I am standing on ground that is, at last, entirely my own.

The Bittersweet Silence of Success

It is a strange thing, reaching a mountain peak and finding yourself there alone. I felt a surge of excitement, but it was quickly followed by a quiet ache. I wanted to tell someone—to hear a voice say, “You did it.”

My siblings and family are back home, across the distance. And my daughter is far away in more than just miles right now. That mental and emotional distance is a pain that doesn’t quite wash away with a final bank payment. But I am learning to breathe through it. I am learning to find my own warmth when the house feels a little too still.

Small Miracles Under the Mulch

Yesterday morning, I went out to check on the garden, and I nearly shouted for joy. There, pushing through the wet, heavy leaf mulch, were the tiniest heralds of hope: snowdrops and crocuses. They are so fragile, yet so incredibly resilient. They don’t care about the -1°C temperature or the snow forecast for tomorrow; they just know it is time to rise.

Even my garlic shoots are beginning to peek through. It was a beautiful reminder that life persists, even when it’s hidden. Spring isn’t just a season on the calendar; it’s a stubborn strength that lives in the roots.

A Kitchen Full of Tomorrow

To celebrate, I went to the market. For $24, I brought home four beautiful Chinese cabbages and a bunch of green onions. Combined with the garlic and ginger I harvested from my own garden last year, I spent half the day in the kitchen.

There is something meditative about making Kimchi—the rinsing, the salting, the slow process of preparation. I now have two full containers fermenting in the fridge. As I tucked them away, I thought of Kimchijjige. I am saving that thought for the future—for the day my daughter comes home. It is a wonderful idea to hold onto, a way of keeping the door open in my heart.

Ready for the Storm

I’m not sure if my snow removal contract covers this late into March or if I’ll be out there with a shovel tomorrow morning before work. But as I look at my garden and my quiet, paid-off home, I know one thing for certain: I can get through whatever comes. Whether it’s 9cm of snow or the long wait for a phone call, I will handle it just like I always have.

One step at a time, one sprout at a time.

this kimchi.

It felt like a small act of hope.

Young Mee, March 12, 2026
–1°C at 2:00 PM
Sunny… or gloomy… it is hard to say.