시작하는 글｜갯새암, 내 마음속에 흐르는 샘
어린 시절의 작은 샘은 시간이 흘러도 어머니의 사랑과 함께 제 마음속에서 여전히 흐르고 있습니다.
시작하는 글
옛날 우리 동네엔 원님이 마시던 작은 샘이 있었는데, 우리는 그 샘을 ‘갯새암’이라고 불렀다.
한여름에도 얼마나 물이 차갑던지, 주전자에 그 물을 담으면 주전자 밖에 냉기가 서려 물방울이 똑똑 떨어지곤 했다. 여름날, 엄마는 종종 가지냉국이나 오이냉국을 해 먹을 갯새암의 차가운 물을 떠 오라고 하셨다.
갯새암은 우리 동네 동구 밖 거의 끝 집인 금순네 집 뒤, 물망골 입구에 있었다. 백경 언니네 포도밭에서부터 금순네 집으로 가는 길은 논두렁과 들판을 가로질러야 하는데, 외길이고 인가가 없어 조금 무서웠다. 또 어린 걸음걸이에 제법 먼 길이기도 했다.
동네 끝 외딴곳에 금순네와 철호네 두 집이 살고 있었는데, 갯새암은 금순네 집 담벼락 뒤 감나무와 살구나무가 그늘을 만들어 주는 그곳에 있었다.
갯새암 옆으로 물망골로 가는 들판이 이어져 있었다. 물망골로 가는 길목엔 혜경 언니네 콩밭도 있었고, 화자네 복숭아밭도 있었다. 또 우리 집 땅콩밭과 논도 그곳에 있었다.
이곳은 동네 사람들이 농사나 밭일을 하러 가는 길목이기도 해서 갯새암은 우리 온 동네 사람들의 샘터이기도 했다.
오후가 되면 저마다 나물이나 쌀을 들고 와서 갯새암가로 모여들곤 했다. 동네 아주머니들은 갯새암 주변에서 나물을 다듬고 쌀을 씻으며 이야기꽃을 피웠고, 동네 아저씨나 할아버지들은 들에서 돌아오는 길에 꼭 갯새암에 들러 시원한 물 한 바가지로 목을 축이곤 하셨다.
샘은 어린 내가 바가지로 물을 뜰 수 있을 만큼 안전했고, 혹시 실수로 샘에 빠져도 겨우 허리에 닿을 만큼 수심이 낮았다.
신기하게도 이 샘은 아무리 날이 가물어도 마르지 않고 끊임없이 물이 솟아났다. 작은 샘에서 흘러넘친 샘물은 또 하나의 작은 개울이 되어 흘러갔다.
우린 거기에서 물장난도 치고, 이끼 낀 돌 사이로 난 돌나물을 뜯으면서 놀기도 하였다. 갯새암에서 흘러내린 물은 도랑을 이루어 금순네 집 맞은편에서 언니들이 앉아 빨래를 하기도 했다.
여름날 저녁, 가끔 동네의 처녀들은 갯새암에 모여 등목을 하기도 했다. 물이 너무 차가워 샘물에 발만 씻어도 이가 딱딱 부딪칠 만큼 시원했다.
그래서 날씨가 너무 더워 헉헉대는 한여름 밤에는 서로 망을 봐 주며 등목을 하러 가곤 했다. 가끔 짓궂은 동네 오빠들이 몰래 숨어 볼 때도 있어, 우린 똘똘 뭉쳐 둘러앉아 원을 만들어 가려 주었다.
갯새암 바로 뒤가 물망골 가는 산길이라 무섭기도 했지만, 여러 명이 한꺼번에 움직여 재미있었다. 겁이 많은 나는 작은 고모의 손을 꼭 잡고 다녔었다.
갯새암은 어린 날 우리에겐 아주 좋은 놀이터이기도 했다. 가끔씩 들에서 돌아오는 동네 할아버지께서 지게에서 참외나 복숭아를 꺼내 샘가에서 놀던 우리에게 주실 때도 있었다.
그런 날이면 시원한 갯새암 물에 씻은 맛있는 과일을 샘가에 둘러앉아 다 같이 먹기도 했다. 고향을 떠나온 후 집이 그리울 때면 꼭 갯새암도 함께 떠올랐다. 그곳에서 친구들이랑 공기놀이를 하거나 땅따먹기를 하던 추억들이 그리움과 함께 밀려오곤 했다.
그런 날이면 시원한 갯새암 물에 씻은 맛있는 과일을 샘가에 둘러앉아 다 같이 먹기도 했다.
고향을 떠나온 후 집이 그리울 때면 꼭 갯새암도 함께 떠올랐다. 그곳에서 친구들이랑 공기놀이를 하거나 땅따먹기를 하던 추억들이 그리움과 함께 밀려오곤 했다.
세월이 흐르면서 고향도 개발이라는 이름 아래 많은 것이 변해 갔다. 금순이네 집도 철호네 집도 모두 사라지고 갯새암 주변의 논밭도 하나둘 아파트로 바뀌었다. 다행히 우리가 뛰어놀던 동산만은 공원으로 남아 있어 그나마 옛 모습을 조금은 간직하고 있었다.
고향에 갈 때마다 갯새암을 찾아가 보았지만 아파트가 들어서면서 내가 기억하던 갯새암은 더 이상 그곳에 없었다. 어린 시절의 한 조각이 사라진 것 같은 허전함에 한동안 그 자리를 떠나지 못했던 기억이 있다.
마을의 모습도 많이 달라졌다. 오래된 집들은 새집으로 바뀌었고 새로운 사람들이 많이 이사를 왔다. 예전 모습을 간직한 집은 이제 몇 채 남지 않았다.
우리 집도 기와집 대신 붉은 벽돌집으로 바뀌었고 마당을 둘러싸고 있던 탱자나무 울타리도 모두 없어졌다. 하지만 어머니가 계신 그곳은 여전히 내게 고향이었다.
어머니는 마당에 늘 채소를 심으셨고 담장 옆에는 석류나무와 대추나무가 자라고 있었다. 대문 대신 심어 놓은 덩굴장미는 해마다 아름다운 꽃을 피웠고 여름이면 포도넝쿨이 자라 장미와 함께 예쁜 아치를 만들었다.
고향에 갈 때마다 우리는 그 장미 아치 아래를 지나 집으로 들어가곤 했다.
그러던 어느 날, 아파트가 들어선 마을 뒤편에 작은 공원이 조성되었다. 그리고 놀랍게도 그 공원 안에는 내가 그토록 그리워하던 갯새암이 다시 모습을 드러내고 있었다.
금순이네 집 뒤에서 솟아나던 샘물을 복원해 놓은 것이었다. 갯새암의 유래를 적어 놓은 비석도 세워져 있었고, 예전 모습 그대로 맑은 샘물이 끊임없이 솟아나고 있었다.
어린 시절 그토록 차갑고 시원했던 그 물맛은 여전했다. 오랜 시간이 흘렀지만 갯새암은 변함없이 사람들의 목을 축여 주고 있었다.
공원에는 운동기구와 아이들이 뛰어놀 수 있는 놀이터가 만들어졌고, 한쪽에는 커다란 나무 그늘 아래 정자도 두 채 세워져 있었다.
어머니는 지금도 갯새암에서 물을 길어 페트병에 담아 손수레에 싣고 고구마밭으로 가져가신다. 텃밭에서 가꾼 채소를 갯새암 물에 씻어 집으로 가져오시기도 한다.
밭일을 마친 동네 어르신들도 갯새암에 들러 시원한 물을 한 모금 마시고 정자에 둘러앉아 이야기를 나누곤 한다. 어린 시절 마을 사람들의 쉼터였던 갯새암은 지금도 변함없이 사람들을 품어 주고 있다.
우리도 고향에 갈 때면 자연스럽게 갯새암을 찾는다. 정자에 앉아 잠시 쉬다 보면 반가운 동네 사람들을 만나 이야기를 나누기도 하고, 오랜 친구를 우연히 만나 어린 시절 추억을 함께 떠올리기도 한다.
새로운 사람들이 많이 들어와 예전 마을의 모습은 많이 달라졌지만, 갯새암만큼은 여전히 고향의 시간을 이어 주고 있었다.
어쩌면 사람의 기억도 샘물과 닮았는지도 모른다. 시간이 흘러도 마음속 깊은 곳에서는 마르지 않고 조용히 흘러가다가 어느 날 문득 우리를 다시 어린 시절로 데려다 놓는다.
내게 갯새암은 단순한 샘물이 아니다.
어머니의 사랑이 흐르는 곳이며, 어린 시절의 웃음이 머물러 있는 곳이고, 지금도 고향을 떠올리면 가장 먼저 생각나는 마음속의 고향이다.
그래서 오늘도 내 마음속에는 변함없이 갯새암이 흐르고 있다.
Opening Story | Gaetsaeam, the Spring That Lives Within My Heart
Though the years have changed my hometown, one spring still flows quietly within me—carrying the love of my mother and the memories of my childhood.
Opening Story
Long ago, our village was home to a small spring that, according to local legend, had once provided water for the village magistrate. We simply called it Gaetsaeam.
Even in the middle of the hottest summer, its water remained astonishingly cold. Whenever we filled a kettle with water from the spring, tiny drops of condensation gathered on its surface and slowly trickled down. During the summer months, my mother often asked me to fetch its cool water so she could prepare chilled cucumber soup or eggplant soup for our family.
Gaetsaeam lay behind Geumsun's house, one of the last homes at the eastern edge of our village, near the entrance to a valley called Mulmanggol. To reach it from Baekgyeong's vineyard, I had to walk along narrow ridges dividing the rice paddies. The path stretched across open fields with hardly a house in sight. To a small child, the lonely trail felt both frightening and surprisingly long.
Only two families lived in that quiet corner of the village—Geumsun's family and Cheolho's family. Behind Geumsun's stone wall, shaded by an old persimmon tree and an apricot tree, the little spring quietly bubbled from the earth.
Beyond the spring lay the fields leading toward Mulmanggol. Along the way stood Hyegyeong's soybean field, Hwaja's peach orchard, and our own peanut field and rice paddies. Since nearly everyone passed this road on their way to work, Gaetsaeam naturally became the spring that belonged to the whole village.
Every afternoon people gathered around the spring carrying baskets of wild greens or bowls of rice. The village women washed vegetables, rinsed rice, and chatted beneath the cool shade of the trees. Farmers returning from the fields always stopped for a ladle of icy water before heading home. One drink from Gaetsaeam seemed to wash away the fatigue of an entire day's labor.
The spring itself was gentle enough for a child. I could scoop water by myself with a small dipper, and even if someone accidentally slipped into it, the water barely reached the waist.
What amazed us most was that Gaetsaeam never ran dry. Even during the harshest drought, fresh water continued to rise endlessly from beneath the ground. Overflowing from the spring, the water formed a narrow stream where we splashed, played, and picked tiny herbs growing between moss-covered stones. Farther downstream, older girls often sat beside the water washing clothes while talking and laughing together.
Summer evenings brought another familiar scene. Young women from the village gathered at Gaetsaeam to cool themselves with its icy water. It was so cold that even dipping your feet into it made your teeth chatter.
On unbearably hot nights, they quietly came together, taking turns watching the path while the others washed. Sometimes mischievous boys hid nearby hoping to steal a glance, so everyone huddled closely together, forming a circle to shield one another. Just behind the spring began the mountain trail leading into Mulmanggol. It could be frightening after sunset, but walking together somehow turned fear into excitement.
I was always the timid one. Whenever we went there, I never let go of my youngest aunt's hand.
Gaetsaeam was more than a spring. To us children, it was our favorite playground.
Sometimes an elderly farmer would return from the fields with a wooden carrier on his back. Before heading home, he would stop by the spring, pull out sweet melons or peaches from his load, and hand them to us as we played nearby.
Those were unforgettable afternoons. We washed the fruit in the icy spring water and sat together along the edge of the stream, sharing every bite beneath the shade of the trees. Looking back now, I realize it was never simply the sweetness of the fruit that stayed in my memory. It was the kindness that people naturally shared with one another.
After leaving my hometown and building a life elsewhere, there were times when homesickness quietly found its way into my heart. Whenever it did, Gaetsaeam always returned with it. I remembered playing jacks with my friends, drawing lines in the dirt for games, and laughing until the sun disappeared behind the hills. Those memories have remained one of the warmest corners of my childhood.
Years passed, and our village changed under the name of development.
The homes of Geumsun's family and Cheolho's family disappeared. The rice fields and vegetable gardens surrounding the spring vanished one by one, replaced by rows of apartment buildings. Only the small hill where we had once climbed and played survived, transformed into a neighborhood park. Somehow, seeing that familiar hill still standing brought me a small measure of comfort.
Whenever I returned to my hometown after years away, I always found myself walking toward the place where Gaetsaeam had once been.
But after the apartments were built, the spring itself had disappeared.
Each time I stood there, I felt an emptiness that words could hardly express, as though a precious piece of my childhood had quietly slipped away.
The village itself had changed as well.
Most of the old houses had either been renovated or replaced by newly built homes. Many newcomers had settled there, and the peaceful rural landscape I had once known had almost faded from sight. Only a handful of old houses still carried traces of the village I remembered.
Our own home had changed, too. The traditional tile-roofed house with its spacious yard had been replaced by a modest red-brick home. The thorny hedges that once surrounded the yard had long since disappeared.
Yet to me, it was still home.
Because my mother was still there.
As long as she lived within those walls, no matter how much the house had changed, it remained the same hometown that had always welcomed me back.
Every season, vegetables filled the yard—carefully planted and lovingly tended by my mother. Along the stone wall grew pomegranate trees and jujube trees, stretching upward as though quietly competing with one another.
Instead of building a tall gate, my mother planted climbing roses that gradually formed a living entrance. Beside them she planted grapevines. By early summer the roses blossomed into brilliant colors, and by midsummer heavy clusters of grapes hung overhead, creating a beautiful archway leading into the yard.
Whenever we visited, we always passed beneath that arch of roses before stepping inside.
Then, one year, something unexpected happened.
A new park was built behind the place where Baekgyeong's family had once lived. It was created by the city after the apartment complex was completed. And there, to my great surprise, Gaetsaeam returned.
The underground spring that had once flowed behind Geumsun's house had been carefully restored within the park. Beside it stood a stone monument telling the story of Gaetsaeam, while fresh water bubbled endlessly from a small spring built in the shape of the old village well.
I can still remember how overjoyed I felt the first time I saw it.
The water was just as cold and refreshing as it had been in my childhood. Once again, it quenched the thirst of everyone who stopped there, just as it had done for generations before.
The little park was designed with the spring at its heart. On one side stood exercise equipment and a playground where children laughed and played. On the other side were two quiet pavilions beneath the shade of great old trees.
My mother often filled plastic bottles with water from Gaetsaeam, placed them on her small handcart, and carried them to the sweet potato field at the edge of the village. Sometimes she washed freshly picked vegetables from her garden in the spring before returning home.
The elderly women of the village would also stop by after working in their fields. They drank the cool water, rested beneath the pavilion, and exchanged stories with their neighbors.
The spring that had once been the gathering place of my childhood had quietly become the village's living room once again.
Whenever we visited my hometown, it eventually became our own tradition as well. After walking through the village, we always found ourselves returning to Gaetsaeam.
We would sit together beneath the pavilion, talking without any hurry. Every now and then, a familiar face would appear—an old friend, an older sister, or a neighbor who had never left the village. Although more than half of the residents were now newcomers, those unexpected reunions always brought back the warmth of the past.
Each visit reminded me that memories never truly disappear. Sometimes they simply wait quietly until we find our way back to them.
I often think how fortunate I am that the spring of my childhood found its way back to us.
Whenever I think of my hometown, I picture two things that have never left my heart.
My mother...
And Gaetsaeam.
One gave me life.
The other preserved the memories that continue to nourish it.
Even now, I believe they still flow together—quietly, faithfully, and endlessly—within the landscape of my heart.
From the Author
Every village has a place that lives on in memory long after the landscape has changed. For me, that place is Gaetsaeam. This small spring is more than a childhood landmark; it is where the love of my mother, the kindness of my neighbors, and the innocence of my early years continue to flow together. I hope that, somewhere in these pages, readers will rediscover a spring of their own.
Next Chapter
Chapter 1 — My Childhood
The story continues with the small country village where my earliest memories were born, and the family who shaped the person I would become.
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