On the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, North Koreans celebrate Chuseok, a three-day harvest festival.

An estimated 30 million Koreans from both sides of the border mark the occasion by visiting relatives’ graves before coming together to share food – a key part of this ancient tradition that was all but abandoned by the North in the 1990s, as the country suffered a devastating famine.

However, according to recent defectors, the situation in the North has improved dramatically. They say while food shortages still occur, Chuseok is now considered by many to be the most important holiday of the year – with food once again playing a central role.

According to Kim, a defector who left the North in April last year, the day is a time of celebration. “During the bad times, when you’re constantly worrying about yoursurvival, you can forget about the daily humdrum and enjoy yourself, and eat to your fill,” he says.

Public holidays are frequent in North Korea – with one held almost every month as part of the regime’s propaganda agenda. People often take the day off work to participate in local celebrations. Those who do not take part risk falling under the suspicion of the authorities.

A painful time

North Korean refugees pay their respects to ancestors during a ceremony to mark the forthcoming Chuseok holiday. Photograph: Ahn Young-joon/AP

Chuseok traditions follow a similar pattern North and South of the border, and for some defectors it is a time to reminisce about the lives they left behind.

The Korean war ended in 1953 in an armistice, not a peace agreement. The two countries have technically remained at war ever since, and many of the North Koreans who fled have been permanently separated from their loved ones since, forced to build a new life after the border was effectively sealed.

“There are stores selling fruit everywhere in Seoul, but in North Korea it was a rare treat that we could only enjoy on Chuseok. I remember how it was so expensive that I would worry while working in the markets that my children would eat all the fruit,” says Park, another defector now living in the South.

Jang, a former child beggar, says she used to wish it was Chuseok every day when she lived in the North. Now she lives in the South it is a more painful and reflective time. “Unlike the Koreans living here, I can’t go back to the hometown and I can’t visit my parents’ grave, and that makes me feel guilty,” she says.

The celebrations also serve as a reminder of how tough life used to be. “I remember lying in empty crop fields with my other orphan friends on the night of Chuseok, sharing memories with them,” she says.

For the orphans, most fruit was a luxury. One friend of Jang’s recalled the first time they ever ate a banana, a gift from an aunt. Another friend reminisced about eating an apple, core and all, leaving only the stem.

Chuseok, widely known as Korean thanksgiving, was also a time of hospitality, Jang recalls. “During the day, the most delicious smells came from every corner of mountains – unlike any other day of the year. Elders drank and looked happy too,” she says.

“When it was time for lunch, people started to gather at the tombs of their ancestors. Some even invited us to join them. They would wrap pancakes, eggs, rice cakes, fish, and other dishes… these were the kinds of people who ordinarily chased us beggars away – but on Chuseok, they became charitable.”

A version of this article first appeared on New Focus International. Surnames have been held to protect identities