Mom and I left home so early that it was still dark. We wrapped our thin bodies in hand-me-down coats and hurried along the narrow dirt path.
I had just turned 10 years old, so mom let me carry the do ru bahk. It is a flotation device made of a basketball-sized hollowed gourd attached to a net. Mom carried the knives, the goggles and extra nets.
My mom was a "mermaid." That's what people called us in my home island of Kojedo, in South Korea. "Mermaid" in Korean is haenyo [ha-EN-yah], which means "sea woman." My mother was a free diver. She dove to collect sea food, such as abalone, sea urchin, octopus and sea weed. We ate some of it and sold the rest.
Mom's favorite diving place was at the edge of a cliff. We climbed down, holding onto boulders and dirt until we reached the water splashing the rocks. Mom took her jacket off and hurled the do ru bahk into the water. She knew she had to dive. If she didn't, my four siblings and I would have nothing to eat. She took a few deep breaths, adjusted her goggles, closed her eyes, and slowly submerged her body into the dark, icy water.
I started a small fire to keep me warm and then looked for Mom. The water was so clear I could see her silhouette. She swam toward a bunch of seaweed. She reached for it, but missed it. She tried again and again, unsuccessfully. He body shook. Was she feeling dizzy? My heart beat faster. What if she passed out while diving? I might have to jump into the chilling water and pull her out.
Mom swam back to the surface to catch a fresh breath of air. Icicles covered her hair. The do ru bahk was still floating where she had placed it. She wrapped her arms around it, resting her face on its smooth surface. Slowly, she breathed out. She made a long, whistling sound like all Haenyos do. She floated effortlessly while breathing deeply to recover her strength.
I asked, "Are you all right?" But before I finished my question, Mom dove into the ocean again.
This time, she swam toward a group of sea urchin and abalone. She reached to collect them, but when she pulled her hand back, she froze. She kicked hard with her legs. She broke the surface so quickly, she startled me.
She called, "Hide!"
Then she swung her arm hard toward the deep ocean, like throwing a small ball into the distance. I heard a deafening explosion and felt a shower of freezing seawater all over me.
"It's illegal, but some fishermen do it," Mom said.
We walked slowly back home. We did not carry as much food as we wanted to, but at least it was enough for the day.
"Some fishermen use explosives to collect many fish at once. Sometimes they drop a grenade accidentally in the ocean. That is what I found today. I was lucky I knew that I had to throw it quickly far away to be safe."
I was relieved that I did not have to dive until spring. I was still shaking from the grenade experience. Diving had become very dangerous. Was it time to change my job?
We arrived home and found my siblings awake and hungry. Mom served my brothers first, as she usually did. Then my sisters and I ate. Tomorrow mom will dive again. And we won't come back home until she collects something for us to eat.
Today, the haenyo tradition is fading. Korean women have safer job options.
Choon-ok Jade Harmon and Ana Maria Rodriguez are the authors of "The Iron Butterfly: Memoir of a Martial Arts Master."
Special thanks to Carolyn Le for her illustration. To see more of her work, visit carolynle.com.
For more Kids' Reading Room, visit latimes.com/kids
