{
  "txid": "90c1dd64da8cd9232accb3427a186281ae39d53bb86d55a36cb358e655a78115",
  "block_height": 954913,
  "time": null,
  "app": "treechat",
  "type": "post",
  "map_content": "A Midsummer Night's Dream\r\n\u3161\r\nThe old name of my hometown, Hongcheon, was *Beolryeokcheon*, which translates to \"a wide, sprawling river.\" Back then, most homes were simple thatched-roof houses, though a few had been updated with slate roofs thanks to the Saemaul (New Village) Movement.\r\nIn the peak of summer, once the scorching midday sun began to soften around four or five in the afternoon, the village children would gather in the wide front yard of Boknam\u2019s house, drawn together by an unwritten rule. Wearing our black rubber shoes and clutching nickel-silver pots, we would lightly hop over the embankment at the edge of the village. There, the Hwayang River would unfold before us, looking grand and endlessly wide.\r\nThe name Hwayang River means \"bright and radiant,\" and it truly lived up to it. The river was lined with countless stretches of fine white sand and smooth, clean stones that shimmered brilliantly under the summer sun. Back then, the water was pristine\u2014pure first-class quality. Tragically, outsiders later dredged the riverbed, and today, due to pollution and eutrophication, it has become a barren place, choked with thick moss and the murky scent of red tide.\r\nBut back in those days, we would roll our pants up to our knees, hold our nickel-silver pots in one hand, and flip over rocks with the other to gather handfuls of river snails. After an hour or two of picking the dark snails scattered across the wide underwater boulders, our backs would start to ache. That was our cue. We would compare our catches, chatter happily, and cross the river together, lightly climbing back over the embankment to return to the village.\r\nThe next step was preparing the snails. I dumped our catch into a small bowl, rubbing them together vigorously\u2014like washing rice\u2014to clean off any debris, and rinsed them several times with fresh, cool well water. For the final rinse, I left them submerged in clean water and tucked the bowl away in a quiet corner of the backyard. While they sat there for about thirty minutes, we would hang out on the *daecheong-maru* (the open wooden porch between the rooms). The girls would play *gonggi* (jackstones) while the boys played in the dirt.\r\nAs dusk fell, it was time for the backyard \"cooking ritual.\" A mischievous neighborhood boy would grab a box of UN-supply matches\u2014I still vividly remember the illustration on the box: a young man running away from a horned goat. He would strike a match against the Fujika kerosene stove, which always smelled strongly of oil, and light the wick. Soon, the water in the pot would come to a rolling boil.\r\nMeanwhile, the snails in the backyard, sensing the clean water, had begun to peek out of their shells, stretching their bodies as if waking up to a new life. But our mischievous chef wasn't about to miss his chance. He brought the pot of boiling water over and poured it over them in an instant. In that single, dramatic moment, the fate of the snails was sealed.\r\nThe savory *doenjang* (traditional soybean paste) was dissolved into the pot and placed back onto the stove. Soon, a rich, comforting aroma wafted through the air, signaling that tonight\u2019s rustic delicacy was finally complete. The master of the tile-roofed house cleared off the *pyeongsang*\u2014a wide wooden raised platform\u2014in the middle of the spacious yard and laid out safety pins and sewing needles for everyone.\r\nFinally, the star of the night\u2014the steaming snails in a classic yellow nickel-silver pot\u2014was placed in the center of the table. We all climbed up and huddled around the platform, using our pins to deftly twist the snails out of their shells and popping them into our mouths. Even the dark green, slightly bitter bit at the very end of the spiral tasted delicious to our hungry palates.\r\nUnder the soft twilight of the evening, we chattered endlessly, our fingers busy and our mouths full. As the midsummer night deepened, the round, laughing faces of the children slowly dissolved into the gathering darkness, inch by inch, fading beautifully into the frozen tapestry of time.\r\n(Fin)",
  "media_type": "text/markdown",
  "filename": "|",
  "author": "14aqJ2hMtENYJVCJaekcrqi12fiZJzoWGK",
  "display_name": "Donisiya",
  "channel": null,
  "parent_txid": null,
  "ref_txid": null,
  "tags": null,
  "reply_count": 0,
  "like_count": 0,
  "timestamp": "2026-06-24T07:03:58.000Z",
  "media_url": null,
  "aip_verified": false,
  "thread_root_tx": null,
  "engagement_score": 0,
  "token_ref": null,
  "token_type": null,
  "kind": null,
  "lat": null,
  "lng": null,
  "category": null,
  "locked_sats": "0",
  "pow_bits": 0,
  "has_access": true,
  "attachments": [],
  "ui_name": "Donisiya",
  "ui_display_name": "Donisiya",
  "ui_handle": "Donisiya",
  "ui_display_raw": "Donisiya",
  "ui_signer": "14aqJ2\u2026oWGK",
  "ref_ui_name": "unknown",
  "ref_ui_signer": "unknown"
}