River woke on his fourth day in the village to the sound of Flora's truck rumbling up the mountain path. He looked at his watch - 4:30 AM. Even earlier than his Seoul restaurant schedule.
Flora knocked softly on the door, holding two steaming cups of coffee and wearing her work clothes. "Market day," she announced when he opened the door. "Want to see where all those vegetables end up?"
River had completely forgotten it was Saturday. In Seoul, Saturday meant the restaurant's busiest service, celebrity diners, and food bloggers documenting every detail of their experience. Here, apparently, Saturday meant farmers market.
"I'd love to," River said, meaning it.
Flora's truck was an old blue pickup that looked like it had been working hard for decades. The back was loaded with wooden crates filled with vegetables so fresh they still had morning dew on their leaves. Tomatoes in shades of red, orange, and deep purple. Bunches of greens that looked like they had been picked moments ago. Herbs that perfumed the entire truck bed.
"This is beautiful," River said, running his fingers over a bunch of basil that was more aromatic than anything he had ever bought from his Seoul suppliers.
"Wait until you see Mrs. Kim's reaction," Flora said, starting the truck. "She's been asking for purple tomatoes all summer."
The drive to the farmers market took thirty minutes down winding mountain roads that River remembered from childhood trips with his grandmother. But he had been so focused on escaping to Seoul back then that he had never paid attention to the landscape. Now he found himself noticing everything - the way morning mist clung to the valleys, how the light changed as they descended toward the small market town, the way Flora drove with one hand on the wheel and the other pointing out different farms and landmarks.
"That's where Mr. Lee grows the best pears in the county," she said, gesturing toward an orchard heavy with fruit. "And that little house with the blue roof? Mrs. Song makes traditional fermented sauces that are better than anything you can buy in stores."
River realized that Flora was describing a community - not just individual businesses, but people who knew each other, who depended on each other, who had relationships that went beyond simple transactions.
The farmers market was set up in the town square, a collection of wooden stalls and card tables under bright umbrellas. It was tiny compared to the massive food markets River knew in Seoul, but there was something intimate and alive about it that those commercial markets had lost.
Flora backed her truck up to a spot between a stall selling homemade preserves and another offering fresh bread that smelled like it had come from the oven an hour ago. River helped her unload the wooden crates, marveling at how different this felt from the sterile food delivery trucks that serviced his Seoul restaurant.
"Flora-ya!" An elderly woman hurried over from the bread stall, her face lighting up when she saw the purple tomatoes. "You remembered!"
"Of course, Mrs. Kim. These are the Cherokee Purples we talked about. Perfect for your special sandwiches."
River watched Flora interact with her customers throughout the morning. Each transaction was a conversation. She asked about people's families, remembered their preferences, offered cooking suggestions for unfamiliar vegetables. A young mother buying carrots for her baby got a free bunch of mild herbs and detailed instructions for making homemade baby food. An elderly man selecting potatoes was treated to Flora's grandmother's recipe for the perfect potato pancakes.
"You know all of them," River observed during a quiet moment.
"Most of them," Flora said, arranging a display of winter squash. "Mr. Park over there has been buying my lettuce for two years - he makes the best ssam at his little restaurant. Mrs. Chen comes every week for herbs to dry for winter. The young couple by the jam stand are newlyweds who just moved here from Busan - they're learning to cook together."
River thought about his Seoul customers. He knew some of their names from reservations, recognized the faces of regular diners, but he had never known their stories. Food had been about the restaurant's reputation, not about nourishing real people living real lives.
"River!"
He turned to see Mrs. Kim from his childhood village market approaching Flora's stall. She looked older than he remembered, but her smile was exactly the same.
"Look how tall you've grown!" she exclaimed, reaching up to pat his cheek like he was still eight years old. "Your grandmother would be so proud to see you helping Flora with her beautiful vegetables."
River felt heat rise in his cheeks. "I'm just learning, Mrs. Kim. Flora is the expert."
"Learning is good. Your grandmother always said the smartest people never stop learning." Mrs. Kim selected a bunch of radishes and handed Flora the money. "Are you going to cook these vegetables? I remember when you were small, always asking questions about which ingredients worked best together."
"I might," River said. "If Flora will let me use her kitchen."
Flora looked up from making change. "You want to cook?"
"Simple food. Nothing fancy. Just... real food."
Mrs. Kim clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! Flora works so hard growing these beautiful vegetables. Someone should cook them properly for her."
As the morning wore on, River found himself helping customers, carrying heavy crates, learning the names of vegetables he had forgotten existed. Everything was sold by the bunch or the basket, weighed on an old-fashioned scale, paid for with cash and conversation.
When a young woman approached asking for cooking advice for the strange-looking vegetables in her bag, River found himself speaking before he could stop himself.
"Those are Asian pears," he said. "They're crisp like apples but sweeter. You can eat them fresh, or slice them thin for salads, or cook them with pork - the enzymes help tenderize the meat."
The woman's eyes widened. "How do you know so much about cooking?"
Flora caught his eye and smiled. "He's learning," she said simply.
By noon, most of the vegetables were sold. Flora's regular customers had taken their weekly supplies home, and a few restaurant owners from nearby towns had bought larger quantities of specialty items.
"Good day?" River asked as they loaded the empty crates back into the truck.
"Very good. Saturday markets are always my favorite." Flora counted the money in her cash box, then tucked it into a worn leather pouch. "Want to grab lunch before we head back?"
They ate at a small restaurant run by Mr. Park, who had bought Flora's lettuce earlier that morning. The meal was simple - grilled pork wrapped in the lettuce Flora had grown, served with rice and banchan that tasted like they had been made by someone's grandmother.
"This is incredible," River said, taking another bite of the ssam. The lettuce was crisp and sweet, the pork perfectly seasoned, the combination somehow greater than the sum of its parts.
"Good ingredients don't need much help," Mr. Park said, overhearing him. "Flora's vegetables taste like they grew up happy."
River looked across the table at Flora, who was blushing slightly at the compliment. Her hands were still stained with soil from the morning's work, her hair was escaping from its ponytail, and she looked more genuinely beautiful than any of the polished women he had dated in Seoul.
"Flora," he said quietly, "would you teach me to grow vegetables like this?"
"I thought that's what I was already doing."
"No, I mean really teach me. Not just as a hobby or a break from my real life. I want to learn to grow food that makes people this happy."
Flora studied his face for a long moment. "Are you sure? It would mean starting over completely. Learning everything from the beginning."
River thought about his Seoul restaurant, his awards, his reputation, his penthouse apartment. Then he thought about the old man's face when he tasted the real kimchi jjigae. About Mrs. Kim's joy over purple tomatoes. About the satisfaction he had felt turning compost and planting seeds.
"I'm sure," he said. "I want to learn to grow things that matter."
Flora's smile was brighter than the autumn sunshine streaming through the restaurant windows.
"Okay, city chef. But fair warning - once you really start growing things, it changes how you see everything. Including yourself."
River looked down at his soil-stained hands and smiled back.
"I'm counting on it."