Wild Harvest Life - Winter Family in PNW

Fresh fall mugwort in my hand. Even in fall, finding these familiar green and silvery leaves in Washington makes me happy. Mugwort is one of those plants that feels deeply personal to me. In Korea, mugwort is called ssuk (쑥) , and many Koreans have strong memories connected to it—especially spring mugwort. Spring mugwort is tender, fragrant, and widely loved. People often use it in pancakes, soups, rice cakes, and many seasonal dishes. But I live here in Washington State now, far from Korea, and that changes how I look at things. Even if fall mugwort is not as soft or as aromatic as spring mugwort, I still feel happy whenever I find it. If it carries even a little of that familiar mugwort scent, it already feels special to me. Recently, I noticed fresh, soft mugwort leaves appearing here and there as summer was fading into fall. That made me want to film a closer look at this plant—its front, back, shape, texture, and the way it changes as the season moves forward. What Fall Mugwo...

Have you ever seen a plant with enormous maple-like leaves, clusters of berries, and sharp spines covering nearly every exposed stem? I recently stopped to film one of these remarkable plants in a moist forest here in Washington State. From a distance, its wide green leaves were the first thing I noticed. They looked almost like giant maple leaves spreading across the forest understory. Then I moved closer and saw the feature that makes this plant impossible to forget: sharp spines along the stems, leaf stalks, and even the veins on the undersides of the leaves. The plant was also carrying a long cluster of developing berries. Some were still green, while others had begun turning pink. As they mature, Devil’s club berries become a vivid red and stand out dramatically against the deep green leaves. This extraordinary Pacific Northwest native is Devil’s club , scientifically known as Oplopanax horridus . Devil’s club (*Oplopanax horridus*) growing  in the moist forest understory of W...

I Did Not Even Know Fireweed Existed Until recently, I did not even know that fireweed existed. I first heard the name while watching one of my favorite foraging YouTubers. In the video, several foragers were walking through the forest together looking for mushrooms. Along the way, someone stopped to harvest a tall plant with narrow leaves and pink flowers. “Fireweed,” they called it. They also mentioned that fireweed could be sold alongside wild mushrooms. That detail caught my attention, so I visited the forager’s online shop. Sure enough, fireweed was really listed there. From that moment, I became curious. What was this plant? Why were people harvesting it? How could it be used? And most importantly, could it possibly grow here in the Pacific Northwest near my own home? I began reading and watching everything I could find. The more photographs I saw, the more familiar the plant looked. Then one thought stopped me: Wait a minute. Don’t I see this along our mountain road? The plant I...

A cold, tangy bowl of miyeok oi naengguk made from wild seaweed I harvested in Washington State. Some foods stay in our memory for decades. They do not have to be expensive or complicated. Sometimes they are simply the foods our mothers made when we were children—the dishes that appeared every summer, every winter, or every special season until their flavor became part of our memories. For me, one of those foods is Korean seaweed and cucumber cold soup. My mother once told me that when she was pregnant with me, she constantly craved sour foods. She wanted foods made with vinegar, sour fruit, and even well-fermented sour kimchi. Apparently, that taste never left me. Even now, as I am getting close to fifty, I still absolutely love sour food. Give me something cold, tangy, vinegary, and refreshing on a hot summer day, and I am happy. That may be why I have never forgotten the bowls of cold seaweed and cucumber soup my mother made for us every summer when I was young. Cool. Tangy. Crunchy...

From leaves large enough to hide my face to delicate purple flowers surrounded by tiny hooks —this is the remarkable transformation of wild burdock. This year, I discovered a large patch of wild plants growing along the edge of the woods in the Pacific Northwest. At first, what caught my attention was not a flower or a seed head. It was the leaves. Some were enormous—broad, green, and large enough to hide my entire face. When I realized what the plants were, I felt both surprised and genuinely happy. This was wild burdock, a plant in the genus Arctium , and burdock happens to be one of my favorite foods. I had seen burdock root in Korean grocery stores and eaten it in familiar Korean dishes for years. I knew the earthy fragrance and pleasantly firm texture of the root. But finding a thriving patch outdoors was completely different. For the first time, I could return to the same place and watch the plant change: from a low cluster of huge leaves to tall branching stalks, purple flowers,...