Dear Clara,

Sad news! I was in the garden today and saw our cornstalks flattened to the ground beyond salvation. That awful hurricane in Vienna over the weekend didn’t spare them.

Remember that beautiful summer day when you came to the garden with your mom, dad, and little sister, and you saw me cultivating the ground? Planting corn, I said, and you could help. Your eyes sparkled with glee. Just two years old, but you were quick to learn, and I had to dig holes faster to catch up; you buried the seeds like a pro. It was the end of June; skeptics told us it was pretty late for plantin­g corn, and we could not hope for a harvest. Your mom always says, “Hope springs eternal,” so we ignored the non-believers. Then the first corn kernel sprouted, the next, and the next; there was no stopping them until we had a cornfield under Walter’s apricot tree.

You grinned, and I thought you looked like that emoji smile symbol as your mom showed you the first bushel. I cannot forget that smile, you little gardener, as you looked in wonder at the result of your labor. Soon, we’ll have corn on the cob and binatog (a Filipino dessert made with corn kernels) despite the temperature dropping each day. We won’t give up, though, come frost and ice. Your mom made us believe. What does she say all the time? Yes, hope springs eternal. There’s a story behind this, and I’ll tell you when you’re grown up. Or never, should I forget. I would be a centenarian by then.

Clara, that storm last weekend with winds over 100 km/hr shattered that hope of corn on the cob and binatog. I wasn’t in the garden to save them, and I could do nothing even if I was there. Walter wasn’t much of a help, either. He also didn’t go out to see what was happening outside his garden house. Never mind that Onkel Walter heard objects flying, but he didn’t bother to look. His cat was nervous, he said. It would jump out the window when a flying bucket or something hit the ground, but in a flash, it was soon back to safety in Walter’s bed. By the way, that cat was not even his. It belongs to the garden community; it does not have a permanent home—a gipsy cat.

It pained me to uproot the fallen cornstalks, a stark reminder of our joint effort and the hope we had planted. But I refuse to let this tragedy dampen our spirits. Look, I managed to salvage the young bushels. We have baby corn! If we can’t enjoy corn on the cob and binatog, we can always whip up a delicious chop suey, can’t we? This is a testament to our resilience, Clara, and a reminder that we can always find a way to make the best of a situation.

I can see your mom smiling.

This is your TiDi. Mwah!