Lee Sang-ok Hanji Part Two

This is part of a lovely hike I went on with Dr. Lee above the papermill while everyone else worked. Dr. Jo had told us that the reason that only twisted trees were left up here was because all of the straight up and down ones were cut down. After stripping the dak, the next step was to scrape it, which is slower and more laborious. Two days after our first visit, we returned on March 4 to the papermill, and that was my ill-fated day. Dr. Lee was to pick me up from the guesthouse at 7am, and I had been really diligent about eating my oatmeal concoction that I brought from home (which took up a LOT of space and weight in my bags) for breakfasts. I was so tired from three days straight of non-stop fieldwork and interviews, plus the constant travel was taking a toll.

On our descent, Dr. Lee picked up a stick to dig this out to show me, so I could smell the roots of this plant that Koreans love called naengi that indicates spring. I would have missed it in a small weedy triangular patch of ground next to the road. For my whole life I've had disordered eating and in my adulthood I've become weirdly more panicked about missing meals or going hungry (though I've never actually gone hungry; that story comes from a previous generation in my family that lived through devastating war and its aftermath). I'm sure if I knew more about what comes from where, I would worry so much because food sources are everywhere if you know where and how to look. Anyhow, I should have either skipped breakfast that morning or had only oatmeal, but in my worry about being hungry later, I also had toast with peanut butter and marmalade, and took my vitamins immediately afterwards. I ate too quickly because I didn't want to be late. This entire combo made my stomach hurt.

At this point in our hike, I thought, maybe I'll be okay if I just eat lunch and it pushes everything else down. I know, it sounds weird that I'd think that eating MORE would settle my stomach. But I also was worried, because I've thrown up before after taking vitamins at breakfast when the food is scant—right before getting on a plane (so, always work travel related).

This is across the road from the main papermill area and the house, where Lee Sang-ok Traditional Hanji stores dried plants to burn to make jaemul ("ash" + "water"), the potash used to gently cook the cleaned bast fiber.

In an adjacent, more modern building is where they store dried raw dak fiber. Mr. Lee only uses Korean dak to make his hanji. I think his hanji was used a lot as window paper, or changhoji. I had gotten samples years ago but didn't realize he was the papermaker, because it was labeled "Jirisan Hanji." Apparently, he is using this name even though it's the name of a different papermill that is no longer in business. So it gets confusing.

Inside the house, the ajumma are scraping the outer black bark from the inner white bark. Dr. Lee asked them from the start to scrape all the green bark away, and not to worry about having less fiber to make paper, because the research project is to see how much white bast fiber comes dak trees that grow in different regions. But they are used to leaving green bark on, so that wasn't happening.

Again, they needed to keep all the bundles separate and would call over someone on the research team from the National Forest Science Institute to label each batch when they were done. Dr. Lee and I had already had a long conversation about getting new dak knives made by blacksmiths in Korea and the US. I was somewhat relieved to find that it was not only me having a hard time—he had to have his first order redone, and didn't have as good a model because the knife he brought as a sample was so worn. I've been asking about knives everywhere I go and people all say, go to a blacksmith and order a bunch! But the key is making sure they understand what the knife is supposed to do and how it's held in your hand. Rarely are the Korean knife handles for dak (and bamboo) actually held in the hand. Usually, you have to grip the blade, not only the handle.

These stripped trees become firewood.

The second day was warmer than the first, when it even snowed a bit.

This is from the first day, inside of the mill, and Dr. Jo said they needed to replace the blades as they are rusting, but there's no money for that.

Dr. Jo remembered the samples that I was sent years ago from here, and I remembered how I wasn't willing to use them for jiseung at the time, being too precious with the paper. But on our first visit, I tried to make cords in both directions on a sheet (apparently Mr. Lee does apmuljil twice on each layer, meaning that he dips from front to back twice before beginning the side to side motion called yupmuljil) and they worked just fine. I ordered some (not as many as I'd like to have, but had only so much cash on me given the delay in my paperwork that kept me from getting a debit card right away) and he packed it for me to take home.

I had to take off my mask for this since I lick my hands to make the cords. I traveled back to Seoul (a four-hour bus ride from Jinju) with the roll and then Beau Kim helped me mail it home right away so I wouldn't be tempted to make cords or weave while I'm here (also, it was too long to put into my suitcase).

On the first day, it was wonderful to pull up to the mill and see all this dak fiber hanging along the bridge.

They've set up a reservoir in the stream where they can rinse and soak their fiber. This area has clean mountain water and they've even rigged a pulley system from the bridge to make it easier to pull rinsed fiber back up from the water.

This was impossible to do on the second day, because there was construction upstream and it caused the water to get very muddy, so they rinsed in a outdoor stone reservoir up next to the mill.

I loved watching these two worlds collide, a forest science research team bundling, labeling, weighing, and bagging samples while the ajumma stripped bark. This was before I overdid everything, not sleeping enough, not getting any downtime. After eating lunch on the second day, I did not feel any better and was worried about not having any plastic bags on hand. I miraculously avoided throwing up in Dr. Lee's car but felt so badly because he was explaining so many wonderful things about the trees in the region, how he ended up getting into forest science, and driving me up and down steep winding mountain roads (I was too ill to photograph). I finally had to beg him to pull over to find a bathroom. After trying to break into an elementary school (remember we were still in a very sparsely populated area), we drove to a nearby winery where I made a beeline to the restroom. I wish I could say that was my only barfing of the day, but there is even MORE that I did afterwards (for another post).

Tellingly, I've already vomited while in a moving vehicle in Korea, 14 years ago, on the highway, opening the window and ruining the outside of the car. I did it again months later after a trip to Jeonju and trashed a gorgeous wool coat on the bus because I didn't have a plastic bag. You'd think I'd learn. But here I am, after another research trip where I overexerted myself and am too tired to organize the photos for you now. Fortunately, I'm insisting to myself that I stay here for two weeks, come to the office every day, and do the work I was too scattered to do for the last month and a half.