The ‘Harmonica House’ refers to a unique style of dwelling constructed in the 1960s to house laborers mobilized for North Korea’s ambitious construction projects. My family settled in one of these houses, a single-room compartment among six, and began our life as migrants under a porous roof. This roof, made of wooden lattice sticks, rice straw, and mud, allowed us to gaze at the stars above.
Our living space measured 2.5 meters by 3.5 meters, with a kitchen area in the front featuring four iron kilns arranged in a cross shape. The absence of a door between the kitchen and the room meant that upon entering, one could see all the way to the backyard through the back window. In the backyard stood a six-meter-high chimney constructed from wooden boards, and beyond it lay a two-meter-deep kimchi cellar.
When I reflect on how nine people managed to coexist in that tiny, shabby house, I can’t help but laugh. My mother always said, ‘It’s not the narrowness of the house but people’s narrow-mindedness that makes it challenging to live.’ They say women are weak, but mothers are undeniably strong. My mother was a testament to this strength.
Bearing and raising seven children might be hard to fathom, especially in the context of South Korea, where the birth rate is among the world’s lowest at less than 0.8. Fortunately, North Korean nurseries and kindergartens were still somewhat functional during that time. My mother worked at the Hyesan Blueberry Processing Factory (혜산들쭉가공공장) around the time of my birth on April 25, 1967. My eldest brother, Park Sang chol, also worked at the factory as the secretary of workplace public affairs after completing his military service in Gangwon Province.
The Hyesan Blueberry Processing Factory (혜산들쭉가공공장) stands as one of the few renowned enterprises in Ryanggang Province. Kim Il Sung himself visited this facility several times in the 1960s, providing field guidance.
Bog blueberries are a type of shrub, bearing fruit slightly larger than omija (magnolia vine). They start off blue when unripe, turning dark-blue in the fall, offering a sweet and sour flavor. Bog blueberries serve various purposes. The highest-quality alcohol is derived from the steam produced during the fermentation of these berries. This white-colored wine boasts an alcohol content ranging from 30% to 50% and is primarily exported. A lower-alcohol variant at 16-18% is pink in hue and enjoyed by the general populace. Unlike other bitter-tasting alcoholic beverages, bog blueberry wine has a unique sweet and sour flavor that can catch people off guard, especially women.
High-quality alcohol is intrinsically linked to good water, and Ryanggang Province, home to Mount Paektu, is unparalleled in terms of pristine air and water. In Uiyong-dong(위연동), Hyesan-si(혜산시), the 960-valley boasts a cold, year-round flowing well known for its purity. The wine produced from berries and water in such an exceptional environment is undeniably a renowned representation of North Korean alcohol.
My mother, a highly trusted and diligent worker, made the difficult decision to resign from her job due to my incessant crying as a baby. Apparently, I cried vigorously and continuously to the point where even the caregivers at the factory’s nursery found it challenging to manage. Later on, my mother would jest, ‘You must be a good singer now because you cried so much back then.
After leaving her job at the best workplace for workers in Hyesan, my mother embarked on a journey to the countryside with my older brothers and sisters to purchase food. She traveled to various farming villages in Pochon County, such as Uihua-ri (의화리), Pokgaebong (복개봉), and Tanbong (딴봉), which were 3.5 to 40 kilometers apart from our home. As I grew older, I accompanied my mother on these trips carrying 20 to 30 kilograms of potatoes.
Potatoes were, and still are, the staple crop for Pochon County, located along the border of Hyesan city. Potatoes were much more affordable, costing only 5 to 10 times less than other grains. However, unlike rice, potatoes were quickly digested, leaving you hungry again despite eating a significant quantity.
Due to financial constraints, my mother initially purchased consumer goods on credit from a wholesale store and traded them for potatoes in the countryside. These goods ranged from candy and crackers to combs and sneakers, sometimes yielding a profit ten times the original price.
People in the farming villages, despite their inability to afford rice or more expensive foods, could at least enjoy a filling diet of potatoes. Each household would dig a hole over two meters deep in a sunny area near their homes (to prevent freezing) and store potatoes to last them through the year. After toiling tirelessly through three seasons, farmers finally found relaxation during the winter. Men often played cards while enjoying alcohol, occasionally loading manure from their livestock into carts for the paddy fields. Women spent their winters playing yut (a traditional Korean board game) please describe yut and chatting.
Despite being considered a humble food, potatoes hold a special place in my heart. My mother’s typical potato-based meal recipe involved boiling water in a caldron. Once the water reached a boil, peeled and cut potatoes were placed at the bottom, followed by a handful of corn, sorghum, barley, or peanuts, and then rice on top. After 30 minutes of cooking, the meal was ready, with potatoes making up about 80% of it.
The smashed potatoes were served on my father’s bowl, followed by ours. What remained at the bottom of the caldron, scorched and sticking, was left for my mother. When we ran out of potatoes, she would prepare our meal with dried radish greens, harvested from the house’s surroundings and leftovers from winter kimchi making (kimjang). She would soak a handful of dried vegetables from the laundry line, then cook them with grain. Once again, her portion consisted of the scorched greens at the bottom of the pot.
At times, out of sympathy for her, we would try eating what my mother ate, knowing that she did all the strenuous housework and yet had only leftover greens with no grain to sustain her. We swallowed it down simply because we were hungry and fighting to survive. It was hardly food fit for human consumption. Later, in my late childhood, we acquired a dog, and my mother sometimes gave her own food to the dog because she couldn’t eat it. Even the dog refused the blackish-red scorched potatoes or vegetables because they tasted bitter.
As the saying goes, ‘a sun will shine into a mouse hole.’ My mother would prepare special dishes on official holidays with the small sum of money she had been saving. While it was never enough for our large family, it felt like a grand feast to us. She would cook dishes with 500 grams to 1 kilogram of pork, 1 kilogram of pollack, and an abundance of wild greens. Yet, the majority of these dishes were still made with potatoes.
Over the past three-plus years in South Korea, I’ve had the opportunity to try various cuisines, including Japanese, Chinese, and Western dishes. None of them were familiar to me from North Korea, but when it comes to the number of potato-based dishes, North Korea surpasses them all.
