'Tis the Season

‘Tis the Season

Days before Christmas, everyone is getting in the festive mood. Looking ahead of the looming finals, students are busily buying their tickets to go back home, while mothers are cleaning up the house, trying to calm down their fluttering hearts. So I wanted to share a story– not necessarily involving the snow, cold, or our favorite Santa Claus, but one that shares the same warmth as the Christmas dinner that everyone looks forward to. Here it goes:

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Whenever I visit Korea for vacation, I endure a four-hour bumpy bus ride to Hwacheon, a small town in the countryside. On top of a hill there sits a creaky wooden bench from which I can see miles away. The scenery changes as crops become orchards and, on the horizon, orchards become the blue sky. Colors shift from chili-pepper red to eggplant purple, while the odor of manure suggests that perhaps there are more animals than people.

I made the bench on the hill four years ago with the help of my uncle. It was for my great-grandfather, in gratitude for the boxes of snacks he presented me with whenever I came down from Seoul. There was no room in the backyard because of the Siberian ginseng that he grew. But I had the perfect spot in mind – a safe distance away where I wouldn’t hear the rowdy singing of my relatives after too much beer, yet close enough to see the town passing below.

It isn’t necessarily the clean air or the crystal-clear streams that lure me to this place, but the routine yet jovial life that many people here live. A day’s work on the cornfield is repaid with a basketful of cabbages. All chores are considered communal duties. No competition to accumulate wealth. No fancy car to show off. And no new house in town for as long as I can remember. Simple and peaceful.

       “Try to find calm in the cities,” my great-grandfather told me on our third hour of crouching down and watching crows swirl by our corn field. He was right; it’s so hard to find time to relax and look away from the rest of society buzzing by. “But what good is it to do that?” I asked out of childish curiosity. He then pointed to the cornfield we’d been so passionately protecting. “Here, every single corn is of great value. On the other side, it’s not about precious food, but means of making money.” It was true. Though my great-grandfather was no famous philosopher, I understood where he came from. Once you escape city life, take a breath, and look around, you can find importance in simplicity and peace in everyday minutiae. Through my visits to Hwacheon during the summers, I learned to appreciate and value what I have and take a step from materialistic attractions. Whenever I imagine the bench, the fields, and my great-grandfather next to me, I am inspired to embrace non-monetary values and to reject materialistic values asserted by society.

       The town is aging. Young people move to nearby cities, and they aren’t being replaced. Over the past 14 years, I’ve watched the population drop from 26 to 25 as I bid my great-grandfather farewell. I grow sad as I realize that Hwacheon is becoming a fading picture in my mind. It’s painful to imagine that one day there will be no one there to greet me. But I know that won’t be the case. The strength of the community built on cooperation and simple values will endure. And whenever I return to sit on the bench, I’ll see the townspeople below – all smiles and living the relaxed life as usual.