Every spring, couples from around the world travel to Korea hoping to experience the country’s spectacular cherry blossoms, but planning a surprise proposal around a bloom that refuses to follow a calendar is never as straightforward as it sounds. When Chasen contacted me about proposing to his girlfriend, Krista—a Korean adoptee reconnecting with her heritage during their trip—I quickly realized this would be far more than a typical cherry blossom photo session. Over the following months we planned every detail together, and just days before the proposal I set off on a scouting mission, driving hundreds of kilometres and hiking nearly 15 kilometres in search of the perfect location.

The result was an unforgettable afternoon at the beautiful Sudeoksa Temple, followed by portraits beneath the blossoms, Korean barbecue, and the beginning of an unexpected friendship. What started as a proposal in the Korean countryside eventually led to an invitation to photograph Chasen and Krista’s wedding in Colorado nearly two years later. Below is the full story of how one thoughtful email turned into one of the most memorable client relationships I’ve ever had—and why sometimes the best photographs begin long before anyone picks up a camera.

Every spring my inbox starts filling up with messages from couples hoping to plan a proposal beneath Korea’s cherry blossoms. They’re usually travelling from overseas, have booked flights months in advance, and understandably assume that if they’re arriving during “cherry blossom season,” everything will magically line up.

Unfortunately, cherry blossoms don’t care about anyone’s itinerary.

After photographing spring in Korea for more than fifteen years, I’ve learned that trying to predict peak bloom months in advance is little more than an educated guess. A warm spell can push the blossoms out early. A cold week can delay everything. Strong wind can strip a tree overnight. Every year I watch people book trips around blossom forecasts, only to discover nature had slightly different plans.

That’s why I don’t like promising a specific location until I’ve actually seen it with my own eyes.

When Chasen first contacted me about proposing to his girlfriend Krista during their trip to Korea, I could tell almost immediately that this wasn’t going to be one of those “show up and hope for the best” projects. He’d already done his homework. In his first email he listed several famous blossom locations around Seoul, explained that he understood crowds could be a problem, and admitted he’d already discovered how unpredictable the timing could be. He wasn’t asking me to wave a magic wand. He wanted someone who knew the country well enough to help make good decisions as conditions changed.

One sentence from that first email has stayed with me ever since.

“One thing that drew us together is our love of travel.”

The more we talked over the following months, the more that sentence explained everything.

A Proposal That Reflected Their Story

Krista is a Korean adoptee, and although they’d both visited Korea before, this trip felt different. It wasn’t simply a holiday with a proposal tucked into the itinerary. It was an opportunity for her to reconnect with a country that was part of her story. Chasen also mentioned that she wasn’t interested in being proposed to at one of Seoul’s grand palaces. She’d much rather be surrounded by nature, somewhere peaceful, somewhere that felt genuinely Korean rather than simply famous.

I loved that idea.

One thing people quickly discover after travelling around Korea is that some of the country’s most memorable places aren’t the ones that appear on the front of every guidebook. Sometimes they’re tucked away in the countryside behind a mountain pass or at the end of a winding road, and they require just a little more effort to reach. Those are often my favourite places to photograph because they give couples room to slow down and actually enjoy the experience instead of constantly weaving through crowds.

The only challenge was that we still didn’t know where spring was going to show up.

Searching for the Perfect Location

A few days before Chasen and Krista were due to travel south from Seoul, I packed my cameras, rented a car, and headed out scouting. The original plan centred around Gaesimsa Temple near Seosan, but I never like putting all my eggs in one basket during blossom season. If one location isn’t cooperating, I want to know exactly what my alternatives are rather than making decisions from behind a computer screen.

By the end of the day I’d driven to four different locations, walked roughly fifteen kilometres, climbed more hills than I’d planned on, and photographed just about every promising spot I could find. Gaesimsa was beautiful but there was construction in several areas and the blossoms hadn’t quite reached the stage I’d been hoping for. Mususa was quickly crossed off the list. Haemi had some of the strongest blossom displays of the day, but it lacked the atmosphere I thought this proposal deserved.

Then I reached Sudeoksa.

The moment I walked through the entrance I slowed down.

It wasn’t because the blossoms were dramatically better than everywhere else. They weren’t.

It was because the entire place felt different.

The temple sat quietly against the mountainside, with traditional wooden buildings, stone walls, winding pathways and flowering trees scattered throughout the grounds. Instead of one beautiful backdrop, it offered dozens. Better still, there was space. Couples could wander without constantly waiting for tour groups to clear out of the frame, and the whole place invited you to stay longer than you originally intended.

That evening I sent Chasen what was probably the world’s most over-the-top proposal scouting report. Photos, videos, voice notes, rankings, pros and cons, construction updates, blossom conditions, walking distances and my honest opinion of every location I’d visited. Looking back, it was probably far more information than he expected.

His reply told me we’d made the right choice.

Rather than worrying that the blossoms weren’t at their absolute peak, he wrote that Krista had really been connecting with her Korean heritage during the trip and that he thought the traditional temple surroundings would mean more to her than chasing the perfect blossom tree. Reading that made the decision easy.

Sudeoksa it was.

The Final Plan

Once we’d settled on Sudeoksa, the planning became much more about refining the experience than changing locations.

Over the next day or two, Chasen and I exchanged dozens of messages. We talked through everything from bus schedules and taxi rides to where he should leave their backpacks before proposing. He even asked which side of the rock he should stand on so Krista’s face would be more visible in the photographs. I laughed when I realized I’d accidentally sent him a pin for the wrong rock at first, which naturally resulted in another round of screenshots, circles and hand-drawn diagrams explaining, “Not that rock… the one just behind it.”

It might sound like overkill, but I’ve found that the more planning we do beforehand, the less either of us has to think on the day itself. Instead of wondering where to stand or worrying about whether they’re in the right place, couples are free to focus on each other.

One message I sent him the afternoon of the proposal probably sums up my philosophy better than anything else.

If Krista was tired after the bus ride, if she wanted to stop for food, or if the whole afternoon started feeling rushed, I offered to stay another night and photograph the proposal the following morning instead. It would have meant another motel, another day of car rental and another day away from Seoul, but none of that mattered if it meant they enjoyed the experience more.

I’ve always believed that a proposal is something you only get one chance to experience. Great photographs are important, but they should never come at the expense of the memory itself.

Waiting at the Temple

The following afternoon I arrived at Sudeoksa well before they did.

One of the biggest advantages of scouting beforehand is that there’s very little guesswork left. I already knew where the light would be falling, where I wanted to hide, how people naturally walked through the temple grounds, and exactly how the proposal would unfold if everything went according to plan.

As their taxi slowly made its way up the mountain road, I watched their location on my phone and quietly got into position.

When they finally appeared, they looked exactly like any other couple spending an afternoon exploring a beautiful Korean temple. They wandered up the stone pathway, stopped to admire a few buildings, and gradually made their way toward the rock we’d chosen the night before.

From where I was hidden, it was almost funny watching Chasen try to act natural while simultaneously steering Krista toward a very specific piece of granite without making it obvious.

Eventually they stepped up onto the rock together.

He took a breath.

Reached into his pocket.

Dropped to one knee.

And, thankfully for everyone involved…

She said yes.

Slowing Down

One of the reasons I love photographing proposals outside Seoul is what happens afterwards.

The pressure is gone.

There’s no secret left to protect, no ring hidden away in a pocket, and no nerves about whether the answer will be yes. Suddenly the entire afternoon opens up.

Instead of rushing into a portrait session, we simply explored.

We wandered through temple gates framed by spring blossoms, followed winding stone paths through the forest, paused beside centuries-old buildings and stopped whenever beautiful light caught our attention. Some locations I’d discovered during scouting, while others appeared simply because we weren’t in a hurry.

The blossoms may not have been at absolute peak bloom, but by that point nobody cared.

In fact, looking back through the photographs now, I don’t think I would change the timing at all. The fresh spring greens, flowering trees and traditional Korean architecture combined to create something that felt much richer than a single tunnel of cherry blossoms ever could.

As the afternoon drifted into evening, the crowds gradually disappeared and the temple became wonderfully quiet. Those last twenty or thirty minutes of soft evening light produced some of my favourite portraits from the entire session.

Korean Barbecue and Good Company

Once we’d packed the cameras away, the three of us did something I always enjoy whenever time allows.

We went out for dinner.

One of the unexpected perks of this job is that photography often becomes an excuse to meet fascinating people. Some clients arrive, we photograph them, shake hands and never cross paths again. Others become the kind of people you genuinely hope to keep in touch with.

Over Korean barbecue we talked about everything except photography.

Colorado.

Travel.

Life in Canada.

Life in Korea.

Their plans after Busan.

My favourite places to visit in the countryside.

By the end of the evening it didn’t really feel like photographer and clients anymore. It felt more like three travellers who’d happened to share a memorable day together.

The next morning they checked out of the Stayfolio accommodation they’d booked nearby, soaked in the hot tub, called family and friends with the news, and sent me a few photos of their evening together. Before they left for Busan, I pointed them toward a couple more cherry blossom spots around Seosan and Haemi that had started blooming beautifully overnight. It felt like a nice way to finish what had become much more than just another photography booking.

When a Client Becomes a Friend

Normally that’s where one of these stories would end.

Gallery delivered.

Kind review received.

Another happy couple.

Instead, Chasen and Krista kept popping back into my life.

A few weeks later they ordered additional photographs because they couldn’t narrow down their favourites. We continued chatting over WhatsApp. They left one of my favourite Google reviews, joking that they’d “10/10 plan a proposal with Greg again… if that’s how that worked.”

I replied that I sincerely hoped they wouldn’t need another proposal photographer.

Not long after that, Chasen asked something I never expected.

Would I photograph their wedding in Colorado?

At first I thought he was joking.

Then we started talking dates.

Budgets.

Venues.

Timelines.

A year and a half after photographing their proposal beneath the cherry blossoms in Korea, I found myself boarding a flight to Denver instead.

From Korea to Colorado

Photographing a wedding is always special, but photographing the wedding of a couple you’ve already shared such an important chapter with is something entirely different.

I wasn’t arriving as a stranger meeting them for the first time on their wedding day.

I’d already watched Chasen nervously rehearse a proposal.

I’d watched Krista reconnect with her Korean heritage.

I’d shared dinner with them, explored temples together, and watched their relationship take another huge step forward.

By the time I landed in Colorado, they weren’t simply clients anymore. They picked me up from the airport, welcomed me into their home, introduced me to their families, and trusted me once again with one of the biggest days of their lives.

It’s amazing to think that all of it started with one thoughtful email asking whether it was possible to plan a proposal during cherry blossom season.

Looking Back

When people ask me about the best places to propose in Korea, they’re often expecting me to name a park, a palace or a famous cherry blossom street.

The truth is, I don’t think there’s a single “best” location.

The best location is the one that fits your story.

For Chasen and Krista, that meant leaving the crowds behind, embracing the uncertainty that comes with spring in Korea, and choosing a quiet temple where culture, nature and travel all came together in one place. The cherry blossoms certainly played their part, but they were never really the heart of the story.

The heart of the story was two people who loved exploring the world together, and a proposal that reflected exactly who they were.

As photographers, we’re often hired to document a single day, but every now and then we’re lucky enough to witness something that grows into much more. This was one of those rare occasions, and it’s a story I’ll always be grateful to have been part of.