Home Town: Myth of 5 colour Rock

Hometown: Grandmother’s House and the Five-Colored Rock
by Young Bum Lee

When I think of my hometown, the first things that come to mind are my grandmother’s house and the Five-Colored Rock that stood behind it.

I was born in Seoul and moved three times before I turned ten. Twice, it was because my older brothers set up their own households. The last move came around the time of Korea’s liberation, when our family was forced to relocate due to a city plan to build a large road in front of Gyeonggi High School’s main gate.

Looking back, those frequent moves in childhood were not entirely pleasant experiences. But fortunately, my grandparents lived nearby in Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province, so every school vacation we could escape to the countryside.

From Hyoja-dong, we took a streetcar to Dongdaemun, then transferred to a local train for about an hour until it reached its final stop at Gwangnaru. After crossing the Gwangnaru Bridge and walking west past Cheonho-dong for about ten li (around four kilometers), a low mountain appeared. Beyond that ridge lay a village, and in front of it stood a large, towering rock known as the “Five-Colored Rock.” To the villagers, it was almost sacred—like a guardian tree in a shrine.

Along the stream grew rows of weeping willows swaying as if dancing with the wind. The fields surrounding the village turned lush green in summer and golden in autumn. In the distance, Namhansanseong Fortress rose like a folding screen. The changing scenery of the seasons filled my young heart with wonder and awe.

At the foot of the hill stood six thatched cottages and one tile-roofed house. The latter, more than a hundred years old, was my grandmother’s home. I can still remember the taste of the fresh cucumbers, melons, and watermelons I ate there during summer vacation. In autumn, jujubes, chestnuts, and persimmons ripened, and their sweetness surpassed any fruit I have ever tasted since.

My grandmother was a beautiful woman, an excellent cook, and a healer without a license. When my younger sibling had a fever, she made medicine from chicken droppings; when we had stomachaches, she caught frogs and made folk remedies. Strangely enough, they always worked. Whether it was dogs, chickens, pigs, or cows—everything thrived under her care. Above all, she loved her grandchildren deeply. Every vacation, we were surrounded by her affection, and even now I see that time as one of life’s greatest blessings.

Years passed. My grandfather passed away while I was still in Korea, and my grandmother lived on alone. Much later, when I was living in America and returned to visit her, I was moved to see how much she had aged. The Five-Colored Rock that I revisited then seemed smaller than it had in my childhood. Yet the green moss that covered it was still vibrant, and the sunlight glinting on its speckled surface remained unchanged.

As I stood gazing at that rock again, I thought about why people once regarded it as sacred. Perhaps, in the hardships of daily life, it appeared dark when their hearts were heavy, shone red when they carried hope, and glowed golden during the harvest season. Maybe that was why the rock always seemed to comfort and guide the people of the village.

In my life, I moved several times in Korea, and after immigrating to the United States, I lived in Utah, Oregon, California, and Arizona before finally settling in Laguna Woods in 2018. This is now my new hometown.

But in my heart, my true hometown will always be that village where the Five-Colored Rock still stands tall — and my grandmother’s house beside it.

May 3, 2025