Episode 11: Sweet Potatoes
"I'm I Minu, and I live in Okcheon-myeon."
"I've heard about you from Minho. That you returned to farming this time."
"Yes, that's right."
I had met up because Minho said we should, but now that we were actually sitting here, things felt a bit awkward.
But Gu Sangho treated me so warmly that none of that awkwardness showed, and I could see why Mandeok had said he had a good personality.
"It's fate that we met like this, so let's see each other often and get along."
"Yes, I heard you're our senior, so please speak comfortably."
He smiled at my words; it seemed he had wanted to do the same.
"Is that okay?"
"Yes, it's more comfortable for me too."
"Then I'll speak comfortably too. Are you all hungry? I've already placed the order, so let's go in and eat."
We entered the restaurant and sat at the reserved table, where the side dishes were already set out.
And after waiting a moment, the ordered dishes began coming out one by one.
The first to arrive was chicken yukhoe—finely minced chicken breast, gizzard, and feet, served to be eaten with sesame oil and salted dipping sauce.
I dipped the chicken breast in the salted sauce and ate it, and he asked,
"How does it taste?"
"It's my first time eating it, but it's delicious."
When I came here with my father in the past, I hadn't eaten the chicken yukhoe because I wasn't used to it. But having tried it now, it tasted better than I expected.
"I'm glad it tastes good. If you ever need chicken, come here. The owner here slaughters them cleanly so they don't smell."
"You're right. I don't usually eat chicken yukhoe because of the smell, but this place is different."
Mandeok kept picking at it, seeming to like the taste, when Gu Sangho picked up the soju bottle beside him.
"We should have a drink of soju too."
"Of course, Hyung. This is what we came out for."
Mandeok lifted his glass and accepted the pour from Gu Sangho. Gu Sangho offered me a drink as well, but I refused.
"I'm sorry. I can't drink alcohol."
"Oh?"
Gu Sangho looked surprised, and Mandeok explained on my behalf.
"Minu made a vow not to drink after his father passed away from liver cancer. Let's just drink between us."
"I see, there was a reason like that. Then you shouldn't drink. Would you like a soft drink instead?"
"Yes, I'll have cola."
I asked for cola instead of alcohol, and after pouring it into a cup, we all raised our glasses together.
"You returned to farming after your father passed away?"
"Yes, that's right."
"There are quite a few people in our village who returned to farming like that. Exactly when did you come back?"
"It's been just under a month."
"You must still be overwhelmed."
"Yes. Minho told me that Hyung also returned to farming, so I came along hoping to ask for advice on what to do."
At my words, Gu Sangho nodded and asked,
"Have you decided on your crops?"
"Crops?"
"Yeah, your main crop."
To be honest, I hadn't thought that far ahead before coming down here.
My father had grown rice and cabbages, and not wanting to seem like someone who hadn't thought things through, I said cabbage for now.
"I'm thinking of growing cabbages."
"Cabbages..."
Gu Sangho made a displeased expression at my words; it seemed he didn't think much of cabbage.
"Are cabbages not good?"
"It's not so much that they're bad, but it's hard to make big money with cabbages."
"Is that so?"
"Cabbages are heavily affected by weather, and prices vary greatly depending on the harvest..."
I had helped my father plant cabbages a few times, but I had never heard talk like this.
"If the weather is bad, prices go up but production drops. If the weather is good, the harvest is good, but then cabbage prices drop. It's good for consumers because they can eat cheaply, but when you're farming cabbages, the difficulties are endless."
I had seen news before about farmers plowing under their cabbage fields because they couldn't even cover labor costs—now I understood why.
"Old folks often say that to make money growing cabbage, everyone else's cabbages need to be swept away by a typhoon while only yours survive, but how is that even possible? If a typhoon sweeps through, ours would get swept away too."
He talked about the drawbacks of cabbage farming as he drank soju, and I could fully relate.
"I understand what you mean. Then what about sweet potato farming?"
I had been curious about the sweet potato farming he was doing, and he smiled as he spoke.
"My parents grew sweet potatoes, so I started with them too. Sweet potatoes aren't a bad choice when you're first starting out. If you haven't decided on a crop yet, how about trying sweet potatoes?"
Gu Sangho recommended sweet potatoes to me, and personally, I did like them.
I especially liked moist sweet potatoes, and in winter, I often bought the roasted ones sold in front of the supermarket.
"Hyung, I heard sweet potatoes have good profit margins. Is that true?"
Mandeok, who was very interested in making money, asked about the profits, and Gu Sangho said with a smile,
"As you know, sweet potatoes are the county's main crop, so you can get a lot of support. Also, sweet potatoes have high demand and diverse distribution channels, so you don't have to worry much about sales. The return on investment isn't bad either."
Every region has crops that the local government focuses on promoting.
Just like how pears come to mind when you hear Naju and apples when you hear Mungyeong.
Haenam had been heavily promoting sweet potatoes as its main crop, and I knew that sweet potato farming was especially prevalent in Hwasan-myeon, where Gu Sangho lived.
After that, Mandeok and I asked a lot of questions about things we were curious about, and from what we heard, sweet potato farming seemed quite good.
Gu Sangho actively recommended sweet potato farming, and suddenly I had a thought.
Earlier, he had said that when cabbages have a good harvest, prices drop. It's only natural that prices fall when supply increases.
From that perspective, wouldn't it be better for Gu Sangho if fewer people farmed sweet potatoes, so he could make more money?
I could think of it as kindness toward a young man who returned to farming, but we had only met today.
There might be another reason, so I asked carefully,
"But wouldn't it be better for you, Hyung, if fewer people farmed sweet potatoes?"
Gu Sangho laughed at my words.
He seemed to catch what I was getting at.
"Since you're asking like that, I'll be honest. Actually, there's a separate reason I recommend sweet potato farming... The elders who formed the cooperative with me and grow sweet potatoes have gotten very old."
The news often reports that the Republic of Korea has entered an aging society.
But in the countryside, that aging process is even steeper.
I had once heard that my father was part of the youth association, and I had laughed a lot at that.
Because my father, who was over fifty, being in a "youth" association was completely ridiculous.
But thinking about it, that just shows how many old people there are in the countryside.
"They're old, so it's hard to cultivate sweet potatoes like they used to, and some have passed away, so the amount of sweet potatoes produced by the cooperative has been gradually decreasing."
I nodded at his words; it was only natural that production would decrease when the number of farmers themselves was falling.
"Right now, the cooperative sells sweet potatoes through an online shopping mall, and we're planning to expand our distribution to large supermarkets. But to get into large supermarkets, we need to be able to supply a steady volume of sweet potatoes. Thinking about it that way, the more sweet potato farmers, the better."
He calmly explained his situation, and I understood why he had recommended sweet potato farming.
"But I'm not saying you have to join our cooperative. For someone genuinely returning to farming, sweet potatoes really aren't a bad choice to start with."
His voice had risen slightly, and I could fully tell that sweet potato farming had many advantages.
"Are there no downsides?"
Where there are advantages, there are bound to be disadvantages.
"Mm... If I had to name a downside, I'd say the profit per unit area isn't that high? To make a profit, you need a fairly large cultivation area, and when the area gets bigger, it naturally takes more work, so you need a lot of laborers."
He talked about the downsides too, and needing a lot of work seemed like a significant disadvantage in the countryside, where labor was scarce.
Then he poured himself a glass of soju, drank it, and said quietly,
"And this is a personal reason, but working with elderly seniors gets stifling sometimes."
Mandeok and I laughed at the same time at his words. Indeed, in the village, there were many stubborn old folks.
"Even when I offer good suggestions, I often get ignored while they bring up their experience. It really gets to me, so I really want to work with young farmers like you guys, doing labor together and sharing drinks like this."
He spoke with a slightly self-deprecating tone, and unlike the money he made from farming, he seemed to be struggling mentally.
Indeed, one of the hardest things about returning to farming for young people was the frustration.
There was the frustration of not being able to communicate, but there was also the frustration of having nothing to do after work because there were no leisure facilities in the countryside.
Even to watch a movie, there was no theater in Haenam, so they had to go all the way to nearby Mokpo.
They worked and earned money, but there was nowhere to spend it.
That might have been why he had welcomed me so warmly—he was glad to meet someone his age.
"Anyway, sweet potato farming really isn't bad, so think about it seriously. If you're willing, I'll help you."
"Yes, I will."
****
When I returned home, I sat on the wooden porch and thought carefully.
Originally, when I first came down to the countryside, I had planned to grow rice. Since we had rice paddies, I planned to produce rice for eating and sell the surplus to make money.
But winning the lottery changed my plans.
Now that money wasn't very important, I started tending a vegetable garden, thinking I'd grow crops I wanted to grow.
I planted vegetables I liked, such as lettuce and perilla leaves, and it felt good to think about how they'd grow quickly so I could eat them.
In that sense, sweet potatoes weren't bad.
I sat blankly, staring at the middle of the yard, and remembered how I had lit a fire there once to drive away mosquitoes.
Crackle, crackle.
Watching the crackling bonfire, I had fire-gazed with Mom and Dad, and the flickering warmth had been so nice.
And what I had loved most was the roasted sweet potatoes Mom pulled from the bonfire.
She peeled the sweet potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil for me to eat easily, and I loved that soft, moist texture.
That was probably why I still liked moist sweet potatoes—the memory remained from that time.
The store owner had told me when I bought sweet potatoes at the mart that roasting them over fire evaporates the moisture and concentrates the sugar, so you can taste much more sweetness.
Recalling those old memories, I found myself wanting to eat roasted sweet potatoes by a warm fire this winter.
Meow.
I had been sitting still, lost in thought, when Nabi approached and rubbed against me.
I stroked her head, and she rolled over, seemingly in a good mood herself.
"Do you like sweet potatoes too? Shall we grow some?"