By Sho Chang-young
The zelkova is a deciduous tree that grows in temperate areas such as in East Asia, growing up to 20-35 meters tall, and the diameter of a full-grown tree trunk can be more than 2 meters. It has a round-shaped top due to its numerous evenly―developed branches. The leaves are oval or egg-shaped, with sharp jagged edges. Its flowers bloom in May, and its nut-like fruit ripens in October.
Koreans have been familiar with the zelkova since ancient times. We have regarded the old zelkova at the village entrance (or center) as a symbol of a guardian deity that protects the community. These trees usually provided excellent shade for rest in summer. So, it was natural to build a pavilion, if possible, around the tree and gather there for socializing and relaxing. As a result, it got the nickname, "pavilion tree."
In South Korea, there are now dozens of particularly old zelkovas that are officially protected. They are well cared for by the central government under the designation of "natural monuments." In addition, there are quite a few zelkovas of cultural and historical value managed by the local government.
A few days ago, I happened to see a famous zelkova in a neighborhood in Seoul. It is called the "Hwayang-dong Zelkova" and was designated as Seoul City Monument No. 2.
It's approximately 700 years old and measures 28 meters tall and 7.5 meters wide in circumference. According to old literature records, a pavilion called "Hwayangjeong" was once located near this zelkova. Neighboring the pavilion, there used to be horse ranch, and King Sejong of the Joseon Dynasty is known to have appreciated the landscape and the view of horses romping around there.
It's a miracle to have a 700-year-old zelkova still standing in a residential neighborhood in a gigantic city like Seoul, and it's fortunate for its residents, too. The local government has installed several benches and other facilities in the rest area. There also were shelves containing books for outdoor reading.
On the one hand, it reminded me of my memories of zelkova trees. In my childhood, in midsummer, I used to play with my friends in the pavilion under the old zelkova in my hometown neighborhood, where the adults would be chatting, fanning themselves. I still vividly remember the loud sound of cicadas and the cool and sweet taste of watermelon.
The Hwayang-dong Zelkova witnessed all of its related histories and people's lives. In this ever-modernizing era, the effort to protect and preserve old natural living things is important. We should look closer at our old but ignored things around us which we have passed indifferently. It is also a way to enrich our hearts.
Just in time for spring, to see green young leaves sprouting from the new branches of that ancient zelkova was truly phenomenal. I would definitely like to go back there this summer: sit on the bench in the shade, listen to the pulsing sounds of the cicadas, and read some books while leisurely fanning myself.
Lastly, when I left the tree and was passing a nearby university campus, a very large banner attached to the entire wall of one of its buildings caught my attention. It was probably to welcome new students, and contained a big picture of a zelkova and the slogan: "Even the grand zelkova was only a sprout at the beginning!"
The writer (sochan57@naver.com) is a retired principal of Gunsan Girls' High School.
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Koreans have been familiar with the zelkova since ancient times. We have regarded the old zelkova at the village entrance (or center) as a symbol of a guardian deity that protects the community. These trees usually provided excellent shade for rest in summer. So, it was natural to build a pavilion, if possible, around the tree and gather there for socializing and relaxing. As a result, it got the nickname, "pavilion tree."
In South Korea, there are now dozens of particularly old zelkovas that are officially protected. They are well cared for by the central government under the designation of "natural monuments." In addition, there are quite a few zelkovas of cultural and historical value managed by the local government.
A few days ago, I happened to see a famous zelkova in a neighborhood in Seoul. It is called the "Hwayang-dong Zelkova" and was designated as Seoul City Monument No. 2.
It's approximately 700 years old and measures 28 meters tall and 7.5 meters wide in circumference. According to old literature records, a pavilion called "Hwayangjeong" was once located near this zelkova. Neighboring the pavilion, there used to be horse ranch, and King Sejong of the Joseon Dynasty is known to have appreciated the landscape and the view of horses romping around there.
It's a miracle to have a 700-year-old zelkova still standing in a residential neighborhood in a gigantic city like Seoul, and it's fortunate for its residents, too. The local government has installed several benches and other facilities in the rest area. There also were shelves containing books for outdoor reading.
On the one hand, it reminded me of my memories of zelkova trees. In my childhood, in midsummer, I used to play with my friends in the pavilion under the old zelkova in my hometown neighborhood, where the adults would be chatting, fanning themselves. I still vividly remember the loud sound of cicadas and the cool and sweet taste of watermelon.
The Hwayang-dong Zelkova witnessed all of its related histories and people's lives. In this ever-modernizing era, the effort to protect and preserve old natural living things is important. We should look closer at our old but ignored things around us which we have passed indifferently. It is also a way to enrich our hearts.
Just in time for spring, to see green young leaves sprouting from the new branches of that ancient zelkova was truly phenomenal. I would definitely like to go back there this summer: sit on the bench in the shade, listen to the pulsing sounds of the cicadas, and read some books while leisurely fanning myself.
Lastly, when I left the tree and was passing a nearby university campus, a very large banner attached to the entire wall of one of its buildings caught my attention. It was probably to welcome new students, and contained a big picture of a zelkova and the slogan: "Even the grand zelkova was only a sprout at the beginning!"
The writer (sochan57@naver.com) is a retired principal of Gunsan Girls' High School.
