By Lyman McLallen

The five of them were hiking ahead of me on the mountain trail, and listening to their friendly banter, I knew they weren’t racing to get to the top, but were just out having fun. They were in their late-60s to mid-70s, and if I had any big sisters, they would have been the right age.

It wasn’t long before they noticed that I wasn’t trying to pass them.

``Bang gap sum ni da,” one of them said to me, which is Korean for saying, ``Nice to meet you.”

``Bang gap sum ni da,” I said, greeting them back.

``Mi gook sa ram?” another asked, which is Korean for asking if I’m from America.

``Mi gook.” I said, pointing to myself.

``Why don’t you hike with us?” one of them asked me in good English. ``There is a place up the mountain where we’re going to have a picnic. You’re welcome to join us,” she said. ``We’ve got plenty of food.”

``Thank you so much,” I said. ``I’d be glad to.” And just like that, I became a member of their hiking party.

For hiking on the mountain, they came prepared. They wore long sleeved blouses and wide-brimmed hats that shielded their faces from the sun. They had on large brightly colored kerchiefs loosely tied around their necks. They had their trouser cuffs strapped around the tops of their hiking boots so they wouldn’t trip on anything and fall. Each of them carried a pair of lightweight metal hiking sticks, and they wore padded leather gloves so they wouldn’t get blisters from handling their sticks.

When we reached the picnic spot ― a shaded level clearing perfect for a picnic ― they took mats out of their backpacks and spread them on the ground. Next, they each got out a cooler no bigger than a shoebox, and from their coolers, got out about a dozen snap-top containers in which they had packed kimchi, gimbab, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, persimmons and pears, all peeled and sliced. They had some chocolate and a bag of tangerines, and even had a few plastic liter bottles filled with makgeolli.

I offered to help but they wouldn’t let me.

``You’re our guest,” the woman who spoke English said. ``You sit down right here and we’ll get everything ready.” One of the women put a paper cup in my hand filled with makgeolli, which I drank fast because I was thirsty and the makgeolli was good and cold. I was a little embarrassed, though, because I drank it so fast, and it must have showed.

``That’s okay,” the woman who spoke English said. ``Drink all you want. We’ve got plenty.” The woman who gave me the cup, filled it again. Another woman gave me a pair of disposable wooden chopsticks.

``Help yourself,” the woman who spoke English said.

The food at the picnic was some of the best I’ve ever tasted.

``Where are you from in America?” the woman who spoke English asked.

``From Tennessee,” I said.

``Oh,” a couple of them said. ``The Tennessee Waltz.” Many Koreans of that age so I have learned like the song by the American singer Patti Page, which was a big hit in the early 1950s.

``You wonder why I speak English,” the woman who spoke English said. ``I lived in Iowa for five years while my husband was studying at the university there.” She then showed me her family pictures, which she kept on her cell phone. ``This is my oldest son and his family,” she said. Her son had an attractive family of his own: his wife, two daughters and a son. She told me with pride that he is an executive with a big Korean corporation.

Then another one of the women got out her cell phone and showed me her family pictures, and during the picnic, I looked at all of their family pictures. Although they were proud of their children and grandchildren, I didn’t think of them as grandmothers, for they were self-reliant and not at all what you would think of as grandmotherly, and I imagine that if somebody other than their grandchildren called them a grandmother, they wouldn’t like it.

As the picnic ended, I volunteered to gather all the trash and put it in the plastic bag that one of them had brought just for that purpose.

I hiked back down the mountain with them, down to the entrance of the park, and before we parted company, I thanked them for their kindness and generosity for inviting me to their picnic. I told them that I had had a wonderful time with them on the mountain that day, and I did.

The writer is a professor in the English College of Hankuk University of Foreign Studies. He can be reached at mclallen.hufs@gmail.com.