Dilkusha and the 400-year-old ginkgo tree in the 1920s / From an exhibit at the Seoul Museum of History in 2018

Once again, it is ginkgo season in Korea, and there are various websites touting the best places in Seoul – and across the country – to see this iconic tree in the beauty of its stunning autumn colors. Considering there are more than 102,700 ginkgo trees in Seoul, it should not be that difficult to find the perfect one for an Instagram picture.

However, not everyone appreciates the beauty of the trees. For many people, the tree is viewed as a foul-smelling nuisance. Its pungent, rotting nuts litter the sidewalk and bicycle paths, causing a hazard for both pedestrian and cyclist. Every year, crews from the Seoul City Government endeavor to remove the nuts before they can rot and befoul the fresh autumn air, but unfortunately, they are not able to get them all, leaving some neighborhoods plagued by their distinct stench.

In the past, the trees enjoyed a more positive image. They were planted near schools in hopes their presence would cultivate better and more talented students. According to one early long-time resident in Seoul, these trees were also planted in sacred spaces.

In 1903, the Korean Review, a magazine published in Seoul by Homer Hulbert, noted that there was a neighborhood in Seoul named after an enormous ginkgo tree that had since died. He also explained that both sexes of the tree had to be in the immediate vicinity or there would be no fruit – a blessing by today's standards. Hulbert seemed compelled to add:

"The Koreans say [the male and female trees] must be within view of each other, though the reflection in a pond is sufficient. The Koreans cherish the peculiar notion that if a piece be cut from a male tree be inserted in the wound and fastened with grafting wax the tree will ever after be fertile, even though there be no male tree in the vicinity."

He also included a supernatural aspect to his account. According to him, the superstitious believed that the tree's flowers only opened at night, making it rare for anyone to witness their bloom. If someone did happen to see a flower, it was said to be a sure sign of their impending death.

Dilkusha (part of the Seoul Museum of History), has a very interesting story surrounding its ancient ginkgo tree.

In the 1920s, when Albert and Mary Taylor built their house Dilkusha (Palace of Heart's Delight) on a hill in Eunchong-dong next to an ancient ginkgo tree, they were hampered by not only bad roads, but also local superstitions.

For hundreds of years, the local residents had associated the tree with great powers of fertility, and women, hoping to have sons, would offer small sacrifices at a crude altar at the base of the tree. Miraculously, many of these offerings of coins and food would disappear – seemingly accepted by the guardian spirits. In truth, they were accepted by guardian spirits – the ever present cheeky magpies who were viewed as messengers of good tidings and were never to be frightened away.

The 660-year-old ginkgo tree at Silleoksa in Yeoju / In April 2020. Robert Neff Collection

The magpies nested in the tree and surveyed the surrounding countryside, offering advice in their harsh cries. They took the food as their sustenance and the coins as adornments to their nests.

When the villagers learned the Taylors were going to build a house next to the sacred tree, they rose up in protest. Carts carrying building supplies were knocked over, and an angry crowd gathered demanding to know what the foreigners were doing. Even a mudang (shaman) was summoned, and she promptly cursed the Taylors and their house.

In her book, Chain of Amber, Mary recalled:

"‘The Spirit of the Place will be revenged. You will wither. Many evils will befall your family and your house will be consumed by fire!' [The shaman] shrieked hysterically in her cracked voice, her snake-like fingers making cabalistic signs."

The shaman and the protesters were chased off by the Japanese authorities, and the house was finally completed. Yet, there was no peace.

Mary's sister, Una, was having breakfast at a small table beneath the tree when she suddenly heard a loud crack. She looked up and saw a huge branch falling toward her. It was only her lightning reflexes that saved her from the mudang's curse.

But the guardian spirits were not through with her. She was soon stricken with scarlet fever and then a bout of malaria. It was decided that a change of scenery and climate would do her good and so she was sent to California in hopes she would recover her health.

If we are to believe in the supernatural, Albert Taylor became the next victim of the vengeful spirits. He was suddenly robbed of his health by "some mysterious disease" (later it was diagnosed as sprue). Soon he and Mary joined Una in California.

The 400-year-old ginkgo tree in Yangsu-ri in Gyeonggi Province in September 2018 / Robert Neff Collection

With the offending foreigners gone, the spirits took their final step to cleanse the land: In July 1926, lightning struck Dilkusha, setting it on fire and gutting the house completely.

But the Taylors would not be scared away. In the summer of 1930, the house was rebuilt, and a small five-level pagoda was purchased and placed beneath the tree. Albert may have purchased it for its aesthetic beauty, but Mary saw it in a different light.

"Perhaps it will dispel the curse the [shaman] put on us when we first built here. And, now that the spirits have seen their words come true and the house destroyed by fire, they will find it in their hearts to forgive us."

The ginkgo tree at Dilkusha in February 2021 / Robert Neff Collection

Whether it was the pagoda, the forgiveness by the spirits, or the addition of a lightning rod on the roof, the evil surrounding the house seemed to dissipate.

In the spring of 1935, Mary sat beneath the tree and wrote about the serenity she now enjoyed:

"The mists are blue in the valley, the hill tops across are golden, struggling to green in the early spring. Behind me is the great wall of our garden, under me, the stone ‘Pagan altar's' step, + above me the great limbs of the tree, the birds "of night + day", whirl from the tree, the visiting dogs of all colours play, racing madly round on the damp turf, + my black retriever surveys them, like a lordly host, lying at my feet. He is always wild with excitement, chatters his teeth with joy when he seems me come creeping out to join the game."

If there are guardian spirits, they have done their job well. Both Dilkusha and the ancient ginkgo tree still stand, no longer alone, but now quiet remnants of the past, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of modern Seoul.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.