가을 한 가운데로 들어가고 있습니다. 아침저녁은 쌀쌀하게 느낄 만큼 바람이 달라진지 오래입니다. 그러다 보니 여름 한철 눈부시게 푸르던 나뭇잎들이 가을 타는 남자들처럼 까칠해지고 있습니다. 각기 다른 색깔이지만 벌써 낙엽이 되어서 떨어집니다. 느티나무는 말할 것도 없고 벚꽃나무도 잎들을 떨어뜨리고 있습니다. 나무가 크면 좀 더 멀리 흩날려 정원 곳곳에 뒹굴고 있습니다. 그리고 엄나무는 아예 모든 잎들을 떨어뜨려버리고 온몸에 날카로운 가시를 드러내며 겨울을 지낼 차비를 끝낸 모습입니다.
그러다 보면 낙엽들을 치우는 일도 가을을 맞이하는 길목에서 피할 수 없는 일입니다. 너무 많은 낙엽이 있으면 갈퀴를 사용해야 하겠지만 여기 저기 조금씩 흩날리는 낙엽들은 빗자루가 제격입니다. 합성수지로 된 현대적(?) 빗자루보다는 대나무로 만들어진 빗자루가 사용하면 할수록 잘 쓸린다는 것을 발견하고 감동합니다. 대나무 빗자루는, 합성수지로 만들어진 것처럼 끝이 간추려져 있지를 않고, 거의 카오스 이론을 기억나게 할 만큼 쓸리는 끝이 다양한 굵기와 방향을 향하고 있습니다. 그러다보니 간추려진 합성수지로는 상상도 못할 만큼 잘 쓸립니다. 그리고 빗자루가 땅에 닿는 각도에 따라서, 그리고 힘을 주기에 따라서 제 역할을 잘 감당합니다.
잔디위에 떨어진 낙엽을 치우는 일은 대나무 빗자루가 아니면 더더욱 감당하기 어렵습니다. 곧 손님도 오시니까 오늘은 모처럼 시간을 내어서 정원손질을 했습니다. 낙엽을 다 치우는 것보다 벚꽃나무 아래 벤치 주변에는 그대로 남겨두기로 했습니다. 마치 아름다운 그림처럼, 감동적인 시처럼 흩뿌려진 낙엽을 바라보는 일도 즐거움이니까요! 이제는 뽑아서 말려둔 잡초와 쓸어 모은 낙엽들을 태워야 할 차례입니다. 무언가 를 태우는 일은 제 아내가 두산리로 이사 온 후에 새로 개발한 취미생활(?)이라고 하지만 요즈음은 제가 인계 받기로 했는데 오늘도 역시 아내가 태웠습니다.
완벽하게 마르지 아니한 것들은 몹시도 연기를 피웁니다. 그래도 쓸고 태우고 정리하면 주변이 보다 아름다워지는 맛에 이 일을 계속하나 봅니다. 바람에 누운 코스모스를 일으켜 세워서 묶어주고 진보라 아스타도 돌을 옆에 고와서 바로 세워줍니다. 더 예쁜 자세로 고운 얼굴로 감사하는 것 같습니다. 두 시간 정원 일을 하고 나니 배가 출출한 것이 간식 시간이 된 것 같습니다. 타고 있는 불을 다시 살핀 다음, 집으로 올라오는 입구에 서 있는 감나무를 살펴보니 마지막 남은 단감이 있습니다. 장갑에 문질러 닦은 다음 깨물어 먹는 맛이란 시골생활이 주는 기쁨이요, 땀 흘려 일한 사람에게 주어지는 선물이기도 합니다.
We are venturing deep into the heart of autumn. It has been a while since the morning and evening winds shifted enough to bring a perceptible chill. As a result, the leaves that once shone with brilliant green throughout the summer are now turning dry and restless, much like men who succumb to autumn melancholy. Though each bears a different hue, they are already turning into fallen leaves and drifting down. Not to mention the zelkova trees, even the cherry blossoms are shedding their foliage. Larger trees scatter their leaves even farther, leaving them tumbling about every corner of the garden. Meanwhile, the prickly castor oil tree has already dropped every last leaf, baring its sharp thorns to the world as if fully prepared to weather the winter.
Inevitably, gathering these fallen leaves becomes an unavoidable chore on the threshold of autumn. If there were heaps of leaves, a rake would be necessary, but for leaves lightly scattered here and there, a broom is just the thing. I find myself deeply impressed discovering that an old bamboo broom sweeps better and better with each use, far surpassing any modern (?) synthetic broom. Unlike a synthetic broom with neatly aligned bristles, a bamboo broom has sweeping ends of varying thicknesses pointed in all directions, almost reminiscent of chaos theory. Precisely because of this, it sweeps far better than one could ever imagine with tidy plastic bristles. Depending on the angle at which it touches the ground and the amount of pressure applied, it fulfills its purpose admirably.
Clearing fallen leaves off the lawn is especially difficult without a bamboo broom. With guests arriving soon, I took some time today to tend to the garden. Rather than sweeping away every last leaf, I decided to leave those scattered around the bench under the cherry tree. Gazing at fallen leaves strewn like a beautiful painting or a moving poem is, after all, a genuine pleasure! Now it is time to burn the dried weeds we previously pulled and the leaves we have swept together. Burning things is jokingly called a new "hobby (?)" my wife took up after moving to Dusan-ri. Although I was supposed to take over this task lately, my wife took charge of burning them again today.
The pieces that have not dried completely billow with thick smoke. Yet, I suppose we keep doing this work because sweeping, burning, and tidying up makes the surroundings all the more beautiful. I prop up and tie the cosmos flowers bent down by the wind, and support the deep purple asters with stones so they stand upright. They seem to express their gratitude with lovelier postures and tender faces. After two hours of gardening, my stomach starts to rumble, letting me know it is time for a snack. After checking on the burning fire once more, I look over at the persimmon tree standing near the entrance to our home and spot the very last sweet persimmon. Rubbing it clean against my work glove and taking a crisp bite—what a delightful joy of rural life, and a gracious gift granted to those who labor by the sweat of their brow.
Ons beweeg nou diep die hart van die herfs binne. Dit is al lankal dat die oggend- en aandwinde verander het en 'n merkbare koelte bring. Gevolglik word die blare wat die hele somer lank so heldergroen gestaan het, nou droog en rusteloos, net soos mans wat deur herfsmelankolie oorval word. Alhoewel elkeen 'n ander skakering het, val hulle reeds af as herfsblare. Om nie eers van die selkowabome te praat nie, laat selfs die kersiebloeiselbome hulle blare val. Hoe groter die bome is, hoe verder waai die blare en rol hulle in elke hoekie van die tuin rond. Intussen het die stekelrige kasteroliewoestynboom al sy blare heeltemal afgeskud en sy skerp dorings ontbloot, asof hy reeds ten volle voorbereid is om die winter te trotseer.
Dit bring mee dat die opruim van die blare 'n onvermydelike taak word op die drumpel van die herfs. As daar hope blare lê, sou 'n hark nodig wees, maar vir blare wat hier en daar rondgewaai het, is 'n besem net die regte ding. Ek is telkens verwonderd oor hoe 'n bamboesbesem, hoe meer mens dit gebruik, al hoe beter vee as 'n moderne (?) sintetiese besem. Anders as 'n sintetiese besem waarvan die punte netjies geknip is, herinner die punte van 'n bamboesbesem byna aan die chaosteorie—hulle verskil in dikte en wys na alle rigtings. Juis daarom vee dit veel beter as wat 'n mens jou ooit met 'n netjiese plastiekbesem kan voorstel. Afhangende van die hoek waarmee dit die grond tref en die krag wat jy uitoefen, vervul dit sy doel voortreflik.
Om gevalle blare van die grasperk af te verwyder, is byna onmoontlik sonder 'n bamboesbesem. Aangesien daar binnekort gaste kom, het ek vandag spesiaal tyd ingeruim om die tuin reg te ruk. Eerder as om elke liewe blaar weg te vee, het ek besluit om dié rondom die bankie onder die kersieboom net so te los. Om te kyk na blare wat soos 'n pragtige skildery of 'n roerende gedig gestrooi lê, is immers 'n pure vreugde! Nou is dit tyd om die uitgetrekte, droë onkruid en die opgeveegde blare te verbrand. Om dinge te verbrand, word gekskeer my vrou se nuwe "stokperdjie (?)" genoem sedert ons na Dusan-ri verhuis het. Hoewel ek onlangs veronderstel was om hierdie taak oor te neem, het sy dit vandag weer self aan die brand gesteek.
Dinge wat nie heeltemal droog is nie, maak geweldig baie rook. Nietemin hou 'n mens sekerlik aan met hierdie werk vanweë die vreugde om te sien hoe vee, brand en opruim die omgewing soveel mooier maak. Ek help die kosmosblomme wat deur die wind platgewaai is weer regop en bind hulle vas, en stut die dieppers asters met klippe sodat hulle fier regop kan staan. Dit lyk asof hulle met 'n mooier houding en lieflike gesigte hulle dankbaarheid betoon. Na twee uur se tuinwerk begin my maag knor en voel dit soos teetyd. Nadat ek weer 'n ogie oor die smeulende vuur gegooi het, kyk ek na die persimmonboom by die ingang na die huis en sien die heel laaste soetpersimmon hang. Om dit aan my werkskandskoen skoon te vryf en 'n krakerige hap te vat—dít is die vreugde van die plaaslewe, en 'n kosbare geskenk aan diegene wat in die sweet van hul aangesig arbei.