Persimmons

I live in quite a lovely neighborhood...have I mentioned that yet?

I vividly remember the first morning that I woke up in Seoul...my suitcases and boxes in piles and I jet-lagged and dazed from what seemed at the time to be a wise decision to move halfway around the world.  If my mother taught me anything, it is this simple rule:  When you are feeling the most down-and-out, PRIMP, damn it!  Put on a nice dress, do something with your hair, don't forget your makeup...you get the idea.  If you're a man, I wouldn't recommend this strategy if you're living in Korea. 

But I remembered her words of wisdom and followed them that morning - stepping out to explore my new neighborhood in a delightfully-draped and casually shiek light grey jersey dress I had purchased for full price (gasp!  don't tell my mom...) back in the States and a pair of strappy white sandals.  Hair perfectly coiffed, makeup on, umbrella protecting me from a light mist, I had walked perhaps 15 feet down the street and noticed an intriguing wrought-iron gate and brick fence surrounding the entrance to what appeared to be a multi-story home.  Cool.  The gate opens, an older Korean woman walks out and sees me passing by.  She makes eye contact, warmly smiles at me, and says simply, "So very beautiful."  Why, thank you!  And welcome to Korea, Ricki - what a great way to start your life in a new country!  Must be a good omen.

By now I know that "multi-story home" is actually a brothel.

And yet...I still find it to be a lovely neighborhood.  Just across the street from the brothel is another multi-story home, also surrounded by a brick fence and wrought-iron gate.  It has (rare here) an actual space for a yard and proper trees.  Two trees, to be specific - and persimmon trees, to boot.  It wasn't the persimmons that I noticed first, though.  It was the dog.  A proper dog.  Not one of the little yappy dogs you see all over in Seoul, but a chestnut-colored golden retriever with the eyes of an old soul.  Big enough to eat, I'm sure - but wisely protected by the aforementioned brick fence and wrought-iron gate.

I might never have noticed the dog had it not been for a complete stranger.  As I was walking home from school one day I couldn't figure out why a seemingly sane-looking Korean woman was standing by the brick fence and looking through an opening about the size of a breadbox.  Kind of rude to just stand and peer through someone's fence for minutes on end, don't you think?  My face took on the self-righteous sneer of the judgmental, but within the distance of a mere city block widened into a smile and then deepened quickly into an all-out shit-eating grin.  A beautiful, calm, chestnut-colored golden retriever was standing with his paws on the opening of the fence, his chin resting on his paws.  He looked back and forth between the Korean woman and myself, never moving his head as she cooed at him and petted him...at which point, reader - you're thinking she sounds pretty lame, uh?  So this isn't the time to admit that EVERY time I walk by that house, I now do the same thing.

Then I noticed the persimmon trees.  It's been close to freezing temperatures a couple times now, all of the leaves had fallen off the trees, and yet whoever lived in this house hadn't picked their persimmons.  I was confused.  Were they just lazy?  Is there such a thing as an inedible persimmon?  And what is it about a stupid persimmon that motivated me to finally get back to writing blog posts?  Your guess is as good (or better) as mine.

Regardless, I stopped like the gawker I am and watched this family as they harvested the trees.  I would say I had no shame - but that isn't true.  I did feel a bit embarrassed to be standing on the sidewalk, a voyeur to the delightful mix of laughter and exchanges of banter between family members, drawing easy parallels to the harvest traditions in Wisconsin I was homesick for.  All told, there were at least twelve of what appeared to be an extended family involved in the process...old women sitting or crouching on the ground prepping the harvested fruit, another woman up on the balcony passing a harvesting tool back and forth to a young man on a ladder, and other family members or friends who had the best job of all - standing, observing, and shouting suggestions.  Someone noticed me watching, and the wrought-iron gate was opened so that I could see better.

You'll have to forgive the image quality...my iPhone was all I had!

As the level of my embarrassment grew and motivated me to start moving down the street, an older man came out with a gift of persimmons.  He showed me how to yank the top off, peeled aside the skin, and ate a couple of pieces of fruit with me.  The color was amazing - deeper red than any persimmons I'd seen in the stores - and the flesh was soft, deeply sweet, and decadent.

Outside and inside of persimmon.

Then a couple of the older women sent a young girl over to me to deliver some persimmon branches.  At some point during the dialogue in Korean, the word "Christmas" was said...other than that the charades that ensued may have meant anything from "this is how the persimmons hang on the tree" to "hang these branches on your wall" or, well, who knows?

Which brings me back to living in such a lovely neighborhood.  From the man I buy my weekly orchids from and the songbirds he keeps in his shop to the woman at Lemon Mart who communicates her pleasure at my taste for makkoli and the neighbors in between...it's not quite home, but feeling closer to it.

Persimmon and Wisconsin Crazy Quilt