The Persimmons of Summer

There was once a persimmon tree which stood atop a low hill. At the foot of the hill rests a small village resided by simple villagers who led a simple life. The persimmon tree, however, was guarded by a dryad. Dryads stay away from the presence of mere mortals but the dryad here chose to live somewhere a little near mere mortals. She reasoned that these villagers seldom climb uphill. The only time they come near the persimmon tree was during autumn, when persimmons turn deep orange.

The villagers lived a happy life and so did the dryad. She did not get frequently disturbed by villagers rummaging her home for persimmons. She enjoyed watching the villagers wake up early in the morning and busy themselves with the usual village work and sleep early in the evening to prepare for another tiring day tomorrow. All was well until one hot summer day.

The dryad was sleeping soundly when she heard loud noises from outside. The dryad peeped from the trunk and saw this man, a greedy-looking man, rummaging her home. He made a lot of hrmph noises before he gave the tree a strong kick and left. The dryad came out from behind the branches and was shocked to see that the greedy-looking man had broken some twigs. A pile of leaves and some flowers were also scattered on the ground. Though outraged, the dryad held her temper and began tending her home.

The next day, the dryad was woken again by loud rummaging noises. This time it was a woman, a hoggish woman. Again, the dryad tended her home after the woman had left.

This scenario lasted for weeks until the whole village came uphill to demand for persimmons. The villagers began shouting and complaining.

“Sujeonggwa. How can I make my spicy sujeonggwa?”

“The nearby villages want more of my persimmon vinegar. This means more gold. But where are the persimmons?”

“How come we only get to taste persimmon puddings in autumn?”

“I want crisp persimmons during the summer, too.”

“If I can’t get my dried persimmons right now, I’m going to cut this good-for-nothing tree!”

And the villagers all demanded the tree be cut.

Dryads die when their homes die. Will all her might, the dryad summoned persimmons from the tree. One by one, little green persimmons magically appeared from the branches of the tree.

Just as one villager swung his axe, a little boy yelled and pointed to the tree.

“Look,” he said, “Persimmons!”

With that, the villagers picked as many persimmons as their hands could carry. The harvesting took several hours for the villagers could never get enough. They stopped only when they noticed that there was nothing left on the tree but leaves.

The next morning, there was neither loud rummaging noises nor cutting down of the dryad’s persimmon tree. The dryad was happy about this so she came of out her home to see if the villagers were happy and contented with their basketfuls of persimmons. But the village streets were empty. There was no soul in sight, not even a stray cat. The dryad concluded that the villagers might be busy inside their kitchens, making spicy sujeonggwa, persimmon vinegar, persimmon puddings, crisp persimmons, and dried persimmons.

The dryad saw no mere mortal for days until one hot summer afternoon. There was a man, a young man that the dryad had never seen before. The young man looked quenched and exhausted. He seemed to have not slept for nights. He climbed uphill and stopped in front of the persimmon tree. The dryad was a little scared about this; she did not want any more rummaging and cutting of her home. But what happened next surprised the dryad, the young traveler sat under the shade of the persimmon tree, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep. The dryad could not understand how her persimmon tree, she, and a mere mortal could spend a moment so serene.

The dryad watched the traveler sleep for hours. She would hide behind the leaves whenever the traveler moved. Finally, the young man opened his eyes. The dryad moved farther behind the leaves. The young man spoke, “The tree might not have fruits to satisfy my hunger or quench my thirst but it does have a large shade to restore my health. I will not ask anything else from you. I am grateful of your existence.” He gathered his things and continued his travel.

The dryad smiled and whispered, “Blessed are those who recognize the little things I can offer. They shall not taste bitterness from the gifts I have been forced to give.”