Delaware River Bank: Reminiscing about the Osipcheon River

The town selected for a vacation with my elder daughter's family was a place devoid of any local government. Such towns, referred to as hamlets, exist only in name, not falling under any legally defined organization like towns or boroughs. They operate independently, without administrative assistance, relying on neighboring towns. With a population of just 430 residents, this hamlet nestled in the Catskill Mountains of New York seemed secluded even without a visit. As we traveled towards a vacation home, the journey involved crossing mountains, traversing waters, crossing more mountains, navigating waters again, and sometimes following water paths, all on winding, breathless roads. During this challenging journey, the novel "Rip Van Winkle" by Washington Irving, set in this region just before America gained independence, came to mind.

 

In a village near the Catskill Mountains of New York, a man named Rip Van Winkle lived. Although he was kind, he lived tormented by his always-nagging wife. One day, while out hunting, he encountered long-dead Dutch ancestors (ghosts) who were on a North American exploration. They were drinking and playing bowling, and while Rip Van Winkle watched, he secretly stole and drank their alcohol, falling asleep. When he woke up, 20 years had passed, and America had become an independent nation, leaving him an old man with white hair.

 

After arriving at the accommodation and unpacking, we immediately headed to the Delaware River flowing next to our lodging. Sitting by the river, observing the surroundings, the river's width was not vast for its midstream location. On the opposite side, mountain ridges extended along the river, and the evergreen trees standing side by side along the riverbank seemed deliberately planted and well-maintained. The gently extending mountain range was smooth, not exuding any mystical energy. It did not feel like the dwelling place of mountain spirits or a lazy farmer awakening from a long nap, like Rip Van Winkle.

 

On this side of the river, white flowers filled the trees, and tall weeds grew densely. The slow-flowing water was so clear that you could see the stones on the riverbed. As I surveyed both sides of the river, memories of the Osipcheon River from my hometown, which flowed across the town, came to mind. The river width, the scenery on both sides, and the color of the water somehow resembled the Osipcheon, which flowed through my hometown. My gaze slowly roamed up and down the Delaware River until suddenly, memories of several children from my childhood, who used to search for food by the Osipcheon, came to mind. Names like Geunsu, Yeonmyeong, Yeongrae, Hogyong, Yeonghwan, and Yeongjin... Geunsu and Yeonmyeong left the world long ago, for some urgent reason.

 

The children were picking up flat stones scattered in the river and putting them in a battered pot. In a hurry, they would take them home, boil them, and dip them in red pepper paste to eat. The riverbed fish, known as "ppuguri," was small enough to be cooked sufficiently when mixed with red pepper paste and soybean sauce at home. Even during the post-war period, when we were always hungry, the children used to bring the ppuguri from the Osipcheon. If fishing wasn't satisfying, they would focus on catching grasshoppers or dragonflies in the barley fields or chasing tadpoles in the rice paddies.

 

Fifty years have passed, but my heart is still as young as in those days. Although my body now relies on crutches, transformed into the appearance of an unchanging old man, I have not witnessed the scenery of alcohol drinking and bowling like Rip Van Winkle, nor have I witnessed the excitement of watching the gods play baduk (Go). Somehow, time has passed so quickly, and memories of my childhood remain only in my mind. Even if I were to contact friends who played together by the river, there are few who remember me, and some have already left this world. Truly, the fleeting years are ephemeral.

 

(September 2, 2017)