In the countryside, winter is cold and dry. The market is deserted on the dike, the thatched roofs are fluttering in the wind. On the eve of harvest, the wharf is lonely, the village beach is sad. The cold wind passes through the communal house, the temple, the old, moldy tree trunks hear the wind whistling through the leaves, the last flowers of the season fall.
The iron barge from the riverbank followed the dirt road back to the village.
People along the river work hard in the far and near wharfs, the fields and the dikes, regardless of the sun or rain, to meet the harvest season, but they are still poor. Poverty does not depend on the family name and cannot be calculated by the years and seasons, but must be calculated by the generations of villagers. The villagers still click their tongues and think what a deep curse.
Because: This part of the Day River is favorable. Like other villages, the owners of this area grow corn, sugarcane and other crops. Besides working on the land, people in some villages also have side jobs, which are molasses, scrap collection and purchasing, transporting and trading agricultural and forestry products, which the villagers call "going against the flow". In other villages, people live on one job, but this village has many jobs but is poor.
Let's talk more about the "reverse" trips of the villagers. Trucks traveling the old Northwest route often had to pass through Dong Mai ferry. Sticking to the fields or buying scrap metal sometimes slowed down and was not enough to attract those who like to wander and restless, so they "jumped" into the truck cabin to explore new lands.
There was a family that initially only had one person to go and listen to the goods and then tried to make a shipment, surprisingly the profit was equal to a ton of corn. So they took the risk to continue on the next trips and invited their relatives to join them in the business. Gradually, seeing the profit, they became addicted and could not bear not to go. Partly because they missed the roads, partly because only by going against the flow could they see the money and dare to hope for a bowl of food, a bowl of rice.
The story in the village was hard to hide, the women saw that and did not want to be outdone, they abandoned their baskets and fields and followed their husbands "backwards". They were afraid, the money scattered along the way would be gone, not to mention that their children might also be scattered, then their house would be ruined. Some women were bold enough to think it over and then proactively chose the long journey rather than cling to the village land. The goods that were carried by the trucks to Mai Linh street and then followed the traders to the province were not lacking in anything. There were also many villagers who sent their sons-in-law or daughters-in-law to work in foreign lands, but the good thing was that no matter how successful or miserable they were, they still found a way to return to the village. Brothers and relatives clung to each other, again working hard in the fields, often passionately calling out "Who has chicken or duck feathers to sell" throughout the neighboring villages.
So this land has up to 3 secondary occupations. The "going against the flow" occupation comes last but develops the fastest, sticking with the villagers when the long-standing occupations fade away and gradually disappear.
That's why people in the area, people from the front and back, when commenting on the village from the past, always have the intention of comparison, many compliments and sometimes even jealousy.
That: The common flow that people on this riverbank are more beautiful than other banks. There are also some sighs saying "Can beauty be polished to be eaten? When we are full and well-dressed, we will know". Until when, no one dares to affirm, only knowing that village girls are beautiful even when not showing off, beautiful and charming even when going back and forth to work hard, beautiful and also good-natured so they are loved and respected. People on every bank want to be the son-in-law of Mai Linh ferry regardless of the poor land.
Mai Linh ferry looked into the village of Nhan Hue, Nhan Son, Y Son, the sugarcane was up to the top, the rain gave the sugarcane long stalks, the sun gave the sugarcane sweet iron. The sugarcane leaves were as sharp as knives, but they could not stop the village girls from cutting and tying them up on oxcarts to pull them back to the village. The village did not have a paved road, the oxcarts pulled for generations had made the stones on the road worn out, smooth, bumpy in the trash, and black humus. The elm trees had silver trunks, the wild pineapple trees had long leaves, chickens in the bushes and snakes in the bushes. The children passing by looked into the tree holes with fear. But every season, when the elm trees were full of yellow, the borozoo fruit with extremely delicious fatty flesh, or the cow's udder fruit with white stem sap like milk, astringent but delicious, or sometimes the yellow silk threads spread on the hedges, reaching out to roll them up... the children forgot everything. They were fascinated by the hedges with the little gift that nature gave them.
Those are the alleys, the fences, the borders of our land and other people's houses. Children grow up running along the riverbank, running all over the village with trees and herding cows, playing with cows as close as friends, and when they grow up, both boys and girls are proficient with the ox cart, carrying sugarcane, corn, lime all the way to Tram and Sai mountains to sell, and carrying bricks and tiles all the way to Chuc and Got to build new houses, build a nest for young couples to become husband and wife.
The sound of cows mooing throughout the village, the golden bumps, sometimes scratched by the pulling of the shoulder, the cows hurt, the people felt sorry.
During harvest season, cows chew on the delicious sugarcane tops, working twice or three times as hard as people. Because not only do they transport sugarcane back to the village, they also go around pulling the sugarcane to collect molasses. The molasses smells fragrant throughout the village, the villagers are so busy that few people enjoy this fragrance, but they miss it. The sweet, strong, lingering nostalgia, permeates the rare tiled houses in the village.
Poor hometown in memories, in the luggage of villagers flying to the white clouds from this place.
How can people from other villages be so clever in choosing, choosing jobs that pay well for a living, but what is the fate of this villager that he is always stuck with difficult jobs. Another job is that of collecting scrap. The men in the village are busy with yard work and river work, while the women and girls are busy going to the market on their free days. Not only on August 3, when they are free from crop work, do they go to the market, but also on feast days and full moon days. Everyone looks forward to the duck season, every family eats fresh ducks with a pair of quacks, so the women and women who collect scraps can also buy a bunch of feathers. The buyers wonder, the children who sell duck feathers have asked many times:
- Why don't you buy chicken feathers?
- If the collector doesn't buy, what can you do?
Some people say, "Because chicken feathers cannot be made into wool, people don't buy them." Sellers and buyers are always regretting it. It must be said that the youngest people who used to regret chicken feathers in the past now have gray hair.
The dike roads and village roads wear out the heels of mothers and sisters. Even though people exchange old sandals for new ones, few dare to take a pair to wear. No sandals can endure such long walks, only the feet are diligently walking to collect and save every penny to bring home to support old mothers and young children.
There are some villages like this one where the wedding gifts for their children are as simple as a new shoulder pole and a few pairs of plastic sandals. Children sneak into the bride's room to see her cry, and the mother-in-law also has tears in her eyes. The burden is so light, but the burden of being a daughter-in-law is so heavy.
Mai Linh Bridge was built on the old ferry dock, which was already old. At the foot of the bridge, the old river has now dried up. The old fields still have corn and sugarcane, but not much, and seasonal vegetable patches, but the village by the river has changed.
Molasses has been gone for a long time, people in the countryside and the city have been eating refined sugar for a long time and have forgotten the simple, thirsty sweetness of lumpy molasses. When children grow up and go to school or work in companies, few of them like to go down to the pasture to graze cows. And for a long time, girls in the village are no longer good at driving ox carts. Molasses has been gone since then.
The "chicken feathers and duck feathers" profession is also fading. Some people in the village still maintain their relationships, so they become wholesale agents for plastic sandal vendors. Only the "going against the flow" profession still exists. Forest products arriving at Mai Linh street are shipped to the lowlands. No one says this is a wholesale market, but the owners have enough conditions from capital to a freight platform. The villagers have been "going against the flow" for several generations, some families have had 4 generations attached to the road.
Dong Mai commune has become Dong Mai ward. The old bridge was big, now it seems small, overloaded with the traffic of people, vehicles and goods. People in several communes and districts wait every day for news about "Is Mai Linh bridge" jammed? Under the bridge is the river, beside the bridge is the Day dike, national highway, inter-district, inter-commune, inter-village roads winding in old and new ways, purple and yellow flowers are planted according to the wishes of the village owners.
No sound of the river flowing, the wind blowing from the river was different. Looking towards the riverbed, I saw trees, and the lush green of the large and small ornamental plants of the plant breeding company.
This part of the river where the old Mai Linh ferry used to be, where the bridge crossed, seems to have become less poor. If there was a curse, it has been solved. The houses along the river are beautiful, there are even villas, cars in the yard… However, the flow has dried up, there was a time long ago, a very long time ago, the flow has gone downstream.
Mai Linh is my maternal hometown. The place where I see the most beautiful dike, where the sugarcane and corn fields stretch out to the eyes of children. Molasses when cooked has a more magical aroma than any candy I have ever seen. That sweet taste is imprinted in my heart, so that when I am most bitter, I still remember and hold on to it.
The riverbank, where I learned about the lush green sorrel leaves next to the purple-pink flowers. Only later did I learn that three-leaf clover and four-leaf clover are sorrel leaves, a type of grass called happiness.
I have been the one who has and kept the sweetness of the soul of the countryside, who has picked and owned the leaves and flowers of happiness. I have been there, received and returned every time, it seems, that is enough richness for a person's luggage.
Source: https://daidoanket.vn/bai-song-co-va-toi-10293808.html
Comment (0)