Probably for that reason, instead of returning to Hanoi early to start work, I deliberately stayed in the countryside to help my parents with the early spring plowing. Suddenly I remembered the distant early spring days of my childhood, when the child I was at that time followed my parents to the fields to plant rice during the harvest season.
In the 80s of the last decade, farming in my hometown was mostly very primitive, without much equipment or plows and transplanters like now. Farmers have to work harder. For that reason, Tet holidays also become rushed to keep up with the season.
Typically in my house, following just 3 days of Tet, on the 4th day of Tet, my sister and I have to say goodbye to spring, to take advantage of the few days left from school to follow my mother to the fields to plant rice. Even though it was so hard, our children really enjoyed it because of the feeling of being part of the vibrant atmosphere of the village when family members enthusiastically took their cows and buffaloes to the fields to plow and harrow, carrying the burden of manure.
It feels like all the streets of the village were bustling with the sound of footsteps. Playful laughter mixed with the rumbling sound of spring music emitted from speakers hanging on electric poles sounded extremely exciting.
Go plant rice in early spring. Photo author provides
I often wake up in the middle of a dream following my mother’s soft call, looking across the river to see a few scattered fields that have begun to be covered with a lush green color like thin chiffon of young seedlings. Even though it’s almost January, the weather in my hometown this year is still very cold, the persistent cold carries the wind into the house, making everyone cower. One day it was sunny around noon, but as the followingnoon wore on, it became colder and colder.
Besides, due to difficult circumstances, wearing warm clothing also becomes a luxury. Sometimes a person had to wear 5-6 layers of clothes, because most of the clothes at that time were made from fabric and there were no luxurious life jackets or felt jackets like there are now. At that time, we children were still used to wearing torn shirts and patched shirts inside, then using healthy shirts to wear on the outside.
Until now, I still cannot forget the t-shirt to avoid the cold back then. Even though it’s called a cold shirt, when you put it on, it still feels as cold as ice. You have to wait a little time to get used to it and it’s still warm, although it can’t compare to the warm cold shirts like back then.
Probably for that reason, the most precious item at that time was still the cotton shirt, but being passed down from generation to generation, still caused the shirt to gradually lose its warmth, unable to withstand it. cold in the fields.
So in “the difficult times emerge the wise”, at that time, mothers in my hometown often wore a leaf-woven shirt or wrapped a “plastic bag” shirt outside, with a dried banana strip tied around the waist to protect from the wind. The people in my hometown remained so quiet and persevered through so many planting seasons.
My family doesn’t have much land, only more than three acres of rice fields. In fact, the family only needs three acres of land, because even if they were given more land, they wouldn’t have enough strength to do it. My sisters and I often wear a straw hat on our heads, carry some rice balls and hot tea, and then trot along with our parents to the fields.
Along the way, people met each other on the edge of the field, smiling gently even though their lips were numb. Always like that, when walking next to the fields, my eyes linger for a long time on the diligent backs and countless hands despite the cold weather, quickly planting each seedling clump into the still bubbling mud. The yellow foam of a newly harrowed field. This is the traditional way of plowing.
On the water-soaked fields, sparkling with a silvery white color along with the spring breeze, the sound of laughter and chatter made us feel like the planting season was like a festival filled with joy. While the men took advantage of shoveling and spreading seedlings combined with spreading fertilizer, the women meticulously held each seedling stalk and planted it in the field.
Planting rice seems like a lot of work, but it turns out to be full of joy. Even more joyful is that everyone is willing to share and help each other when their fields are completed. Sometimes many people know each other, but because they are busy, they only see each other a few times a year during the harvest season, but they are still willing to help each other without worrying regarding anything.
Everyone kept plowing until their backs were drenched in sweat, their bodies were tired and sore, and at that time the voices of each other going to shore to rest were loud. Uncles, you will take the opportunity to gather around a cigarette and sip a cup of fragrant tea.
The author’s father packed banh chung and took it to the fields. Photo author provides
Meanwhile, ladies and gentlemen will sit comfortably and enjoy the pieces of cake, candy wrappers, and jam strips left over during Tet, taking the opportunity to pack them up and take them with them. My family is no exception. Every time the planting season comes, my parents diligently pack more banh chung, banh tet, and fill a basket with some candies and jams so that everyone who goes to the fields to plant has something to eat. Even though my father doesn’t like eating Banh Chung, he still took the opportunity to pack extra so that he might bring something to eat when he went to transplant during Tet.
My father wrapped banh chung very skillfully with fragrant sticky rice mixed with fragrant green bean filling, mixed with fatty pork belly. My father wrapped it so skillfully and tightly that even though Tet was almost a week away, the sticky rice grains were still sticky and fragrant, making everyone who ate them praise them for their deliciousness. In the cold spring breeze, people sat next to each other excitedly talking and laughing, telling each other many happy and sad stories during Tet and even early spring promises.
In the middle of such peaceful followingnoons, I often sit on the lush green grass, looking at the bright pink sunlight, thinking regarding the rice plants that will be lush in the future, blooming and laden with golden seeds. Looming on the other side in the fields, I heard melodious songs in the wind.
A Cheo song, a Quan Ho song, or a Kieu song makes the spring atmosphere even more overwhelming and exciting. The melodious singing seemed to urge people to quickly finish their work so they might attend the village festival. The festivals are so joyful with so many love songs in the fluttering spring rain and bright red rice flowers blooming in the sky.
Then when the Tet holiday is over, I have to return to the city and continue my busy life, but in my backpack I always carry a few pounds of rice my mother saved from previous seasons. Sometimes, when I hold a bowl of sticky rice, I miss my parents and look forward to the hard days of sowing rice seedlings in early spring. Spring sowed the fields of my village with so much hope for a good green crop.
Dan Viet electronic newspaper opens the column “Telling village stories” from March 4, 2020. This column is for all professional and amateur authors who have love for the countryside and want to share their true stories with readers.
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