Every summer, Seoul turns a deep green, growing dense and lush under humid skies.
But this year, one tree was visibly suffering.
“Green leaves were falling to the ground, which shouldn’t happen at that time of year,” recalls Jung, who lives near the streetside ginkgo in Buam-dong, a largely residential neighbourhood in the north of Seoul.
The tree is beloved by locals, who believe it has occupied its spot for more than 100 years. So Jung couldn’t ignore what she was seeing. With each passing day, her curiosity turned to concern.
A rotting carpet of familiar fan-shaped leaves soon surrounded the tree, a sight so alarming Jung and her neighbours formed a crew of amateur detectives to solve the mystery: what was ailing their hardy ginkgo?
The whodunnit engrossed Buam-dong and piqued the country’s interest, making national headlines. But the attention unsettled Jung, who spearheaded the campaign but has since requested anonymity – we are using a pseudonym.
“Imagine a grandfather who silently embraces you every day, listens to you, and has always been strong and full of life,” she says. “Suddenly, he begins to die.
“How heartbreaking would that be?”
So began one community’s fight to save a cherished symbol of their neighbourhood. Their unlikely enemy, who they believe plotted a surreptitious attack, was a museum built to honour a pioneering, nature-loving Korean artist.
