Chronicle of the Valley

One evening, as I headed down to the gym on the first floor of the apartment building for a workout, I noticed dozens of fireflies fluttering near the back door. The water flowing from the pond in the park across the street streamed into the creek right next to the apartment, surrounded by trees and grass—a perfect habitat for fireflies. In Korea, the excessive use of pesticides has made fireflies a rare sight, but in the past, they used to be abundant, lighting up the night in various neighborhoods.

 

The house I lived in until the age of six was situated at the edge of a town. A quiet, short slope led to a downhill path, and from there, it became a rural area called "Golan," a valley with small fields and houses scattered here and there. A small stream flowed through the center of the valley, providing an ideal environment for fireflies. Although "Golan" doesn't appear on the map and wasn't a designated place name in Hamgyeong Province dialect, it was a unique and picturesque valley.

 

Before attending school, I often played in Golan with local mischievous kids. We would cross the hilly path and engage in various activities, from pretend sword fights using tree branches to following older kids armed with makeshift guns made from umbrella handles as they went hunting for birds. It was a carefree time of exploring fields, climbing hills, and, occasionally, sneaking fruits like peaches, plums, and apricots. Evenings were marked by playing until sunset and rushing home for dinner.

 

Next to our house lived the Wang-ki family, known for their loud and often quarrelsome voices. People in the neighborhood tended to avoid them due to their confrontational nature. Right next to the Wang-ki family lived a family with many daughters, and their names—Baguni, Dongguri, Gwangjuri, Sokuri—were amusingly named after items used for carrying things like baskets. Their parents might have given them formal names like Sukja or Myeongja, but the family and neighbors affectionately called them by their whimsical names.

 

In the morning, I woke up with sleepy eyes and hurriedly ran to the neighboring house, Taewoong's house. Standing in front of their gate, I would shout, "Taewoong-ah!" If Taewoong, a high school student who often washed up or exercised by the well, heard me, he would come out, patting my head and asking, "How are you?" He treated me like a younger sibling and enjoyed playing with me. During winters with heavy snowfall, he even made snowmen to show me and built Eskimo houses out of snow, proudly showcasing his creations. Although Taewoong, who used to treat me like a fearless little friend, must be over eighty now, looking back, I realize I was quite impudent, casually calling out to older folks as if they were my peers.

 

The house we lived in was owned by our father’s cousin, Uncle Park. Despite almost twenty people living under the same roof, the house was so large that it never felt cramped. It was a time when it was common for extended family and acquaintances to live together, especially considering the difficult circumstances after the armistice of the Korean War. Despite my own somewhat quarrelsome nature, Uncle Park and his wife were kind and understanding, often overlooking the skirmishes between me and their son, who was of the same age as me.

 

When I turned six and entered elementary school, our family moved to a nearby neighborhood after purchasing our own house. However, we stayed in touch to the Park family. While I have lost touch with the other members of the Park family since coming to the United States, their third daughter and second son  live in New York, about an hour away from my house in New Jersey. Over the years, we have exchanged occasional greetings over the phone but haven't had the chance to meet again.

 

Since moving to a house near Golan, I rarely had a reason to visit, but during my elementary school days, several friends from Woojiri town and Madalli town, who lived in or passed through Golan, were part of my circle. They would often cross the hills and go to school together. Names like Hee-il, Hyeontaek, Seokin, and Haeseok bring back memories of those childhood friends. Hearing from Seokin recently about life in Golan would be interesting. Even if I hear that fireflies and the stream have disappeared, I wouldn't be surprised. Still, I truly hope not to hear news about towering high-rise apartments invading that narrow area. My memories of Golan are likely outdated, and the reality may differ.

 

Reflecting on the picturesque scenery of Golan and the nostalgia it brings, I'm tempted to ask Seokin for recent updates. Although the email exchange has ceased for quite some time, revisiting those childhood stories with Seokin would be entertaining. Perhaps it's time for us to collaborate on documenting the chronicles of Golan, recording fragments of our memories in chronological order. I envision a title like "Chronicle of the Valley" for our collaborative effort. If that proves challenging, Seokin might consider documenting his own stories, and the title could be "The Legend of the Valley."

 

(July 16, 2013)