“Sorry, but can you come help pick red peppers?”
One late night, unable to sleep because of the heat, I received a short text from my brother, who lives in the countryside and helps our parents with farming. Even in that single sentence, I could sense his desperation. The next morning, I caught the first bus and headed straight to my parents’ house.
“Mom, your worker has arrived!”
Mom greeted me with a bright smile. She was glad to have an extra pair of hands during such a busy season, but I could see the worry in her eyes—she knew how hard it would be for me to endure the midsummer sun.
When we arrived at the red pepper field, Dad, my brother, and my sister-in-law were already hard at work. It was their first year growing red peppers. The field stretched farther than I had imagined, and the clusters of vibrant red peppers seemed to call out, begging to be picked.
Mom and I began working from opposite sides of a row. The weeds, which had not been pulled in time, had grown thick and tangled, making it hard to move forward. My mother, who had spent her whole life farming, moved with steady rhythm and practiced ease. I, however, struggled to keep up, bending over without pause until my back began to ache. The sun beat down mercilessly—no clouds, no wind, just the heavy heat pressing on my shoulders. My hat and clothes were drenched with sweat, and my face burned as red as the peppers in my hands.
“The breeze is better today than yesterday,” Mom said, glancing at me.
There was no breeze, not even a whisper of wind. She only said that to lift my spirits. I felt a pang of guilt watching her continue to work under the same blazing sun without complaint. My heart ached for my parents who endured this heat every day—but the sympathy quickly gave way to one simple wish: I just want the sun to go down.
Even the cheerful chatter from the radio no longer reached me. Then, breaking the heavy silence, I heard Mom say, “Aigo, you’re pulling out the weeds ahead of her so your daughter won’t have a hard time.”
I looked up and saw Dad in the same furrow, a few steps ahead, picking red peppers beside my ridge. Without a word, he had been working while quietly pushing aside the thick weeds to clear the way for me. I hadn’t realized it until Mom mentioned it. Lost in my own discomfort, I hadn’t seen how he had been helping me—silently, with a father’s quiet care.
When the sun, which had seemed like it would never set, finally sank behind the hills, our work came to an end. We loaded the baskets of red peppers into the car. On the drive home with my family, an indescribable happiness filled me.