Riverbank, Grass and Me

In the countryside, winter is cold and dry. The market dike is deserted, the thatched roofs are rustling in the wind. On the eve of harvest, the wharf is deserted, the village beach is sad. The cold wind passes through the communal house, the temple, the old, moldy tree trunks whistle through the leaves, the last flowers of the season fall.

The iron barge from the river wharf 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 generations of villagers. The villagers still click their tongues and wonder what a deep curse it is.

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 with 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 to the Northwest in the past 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 the restless wanderers, 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 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 left their baskets and fields to follow their husbands "going against the grain". They were afraid, the money scattered along the way would be gone, not to mention that their children would also be scattered, then their homes would be ruined. Some brave women thought it over and then proactively chose the long journey rather than cling to the village land. Goods were carried by trucks to Mai Linh street and then followed traders to the province, without any shortage. 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, toiling with the fields, or 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 grain" occupation came last but developed the fastest, sticking with the villagers when the long-standing occupations faded away and gradually disappeared.

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 river wharf are more beautiful than other wharfs. There are also some sighs saying "Can beauty be used to eat? When we are full and well-dressed, we will know". Until when, no one dares to confirm, only knowing that village girls are beautiful even when they are not showing off, beautiful and charming even when they are working hard, beautiful and also good-natured so they are loved and respected. People on every wharf want to be the son-in-law of Mai Linh ferry wharf regardless of the poverty of that land.

Mai Linh ferry looked into the village of Nhan Hue, Nhan Son, Y Son, the sugarcane was so good that it was full to the brim. The rain gave the sugarcane long stalks, the sun gave the sugarcane sweet and iron. The sugarcane leaves were as sharp as knives, but they could not stop the village girls from chopping 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 rubbish, 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 each season when the elm fruit was full of yellow, the borozhu fruit with its extremely delicious flesh, or the cow udder fruit with its milky white stem sap was acrid but delicious, or sometimes the yellow dodder vines spread on the hedges, reaching out to wrap 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, to build a nest for young couples to become husband and wife.

The sound of cows mooing echoed throughout the village, their golden humps sometimes scratched by the pulling of their shoulders, making the cows hurt and people feel sorry.

During harvest time, cows chewed on the delicious sugarcane tops, working twice or three times harder than humans. Not only did they transport sugarcane back to the village, they also went around pulling the sugarcane to collect molasses. The molasses smelled fragrant throughout the village, and the villagers were so busy that few people could enjoy the scent, but they missed it. The sweet, strong, lingering nostalgia permeated 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 is always tied to difficult jobs. Another job is that of buying 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 quails, 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 paths 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. What sandals can endure such long walks, only the feet walk tirelessly 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. Below 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.

The molasses trade has been over for a long time. The people in the countryside and the city have been eating refined sugar for a long time and have forgotten the raw, thirsty sweetness of the molasses. When the children grow up and go to school or work in companies, few of them like to go down to the pasture to graze the cows. And for a long time, the girls in the village have not been good at driving ox carts anymore. The molasses trade has been lost ever since.

The "chicken and duck feather" trade is also fading. Some villagers still maintain their relationships, so they become wholesale agents for plastic sandal vendors. Only the "going against the current" trade is still there. 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 platform to transport goods. The villagers have been "going against the current" for several generations, some families have had up to 4 generations attached to the road.

Dong Mai commune has become Dong Mai ward. The old bridge, once large, now seems to be small, overloaded with the traffic of people, vehicles and goods. People in several communes and districts wait every day for news of "Is Mai Linh bridge" blocked? Under the bridge is the river, beside the bridge is the Day dike, national highways, 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, one could see trees, and the lush green of the large and small ornamental plants of the seed company.

This stretch of river where the old Mai Linh ferry used to be, where the bridge crossed, seems to have become less poor. The curse, if there ever was one, has been lifted. 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 saw the most beautiful dike, where the sugarcane and corn fields stretched out to the eyes of children. Molasses when cooked had a more magical aroma than any candy I had ever tasted. That sweet taste was imprinted in my mind, so that when I was at my most bitter, I still remembered and held 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 the three-leaf clover and four-leaf clover are sorrel leaves, a type of grass named happiness.

I have been the one who has and kept the sweetness of the countryside, who has picked and owned the leaves and flowers of happiness. I have been there, received and returned to each time, it seems, that is enough richness for a person's luggage.

Source: https://daidoanket.vn/bai-song-co-va-toi-10293808.html