Peace after the storm and flood

After the storm, everything was in disarray. Banana trees had fallen, their leaves torn into long strands by the wind. Someone's corrugated iron roof had blown across the well's floor, creaking occasionally... There was nothing neat and tidy left after the storm, except for my father's back. His frail, weary back was trying to clean up the mess of sticky mud.

For days, the wind had been howling. There hadn't been a proper meal cooked in the kitchen at the back of the house. We huddled in the most secure room, our sustenance consisting of a packet of raw instant noodles broken into small pieces, along with a bottle of water. Never before had we longed for a warm, comforting meal so much – a simple meal with just a few dishes, shared by all the family members.

Today the wind has stopped, and the water has receded. We went out to the garden to clean up what was left. Dad cleaned the water tank. My sisters and I swept up the mud and debris that had been swept in after the flood. Mom propped up a banana tree and cut off a young, unspoiled banana blossom. Her voice called out, "So today we'll have banana blossom salad!" The sounds of cooking echoed from the kitchen, and the aroma of hot rice wafted up through the tiled roof, filling our throats. Everyone smiled excitedly, the first smiles after the storm.

The country mother cleans up the garden after the storm.

My mother's banana blossom salad is simple, yet it becomes a delicacy at mealtimes after a storm. She thinly slices the banana blossoms, immediately placing each slice into a bowl of lemon juice to prevent them from turning black. She soaks them for about 10 minutes, occasionally stirring, then rinses them clean and drains them. While waiting, she searches for peanuts in an earthenware jar on the stove beam and puts them in a pan. The peanuts are roasted until golden brown and fragrant, then cooled and shelled. After finishing tidying the garden, my sisters and I help her sift and crush the peanuts into halves or thirds. The dressing for the salad is made with fish sauce, chili, garlic, and sugar to taste. The drained banana blossoms are placed in a large bowl, mixed with the dressing, and a squeeze of lemon juice is added for the salad's characteristic sourness. Finally, the peanuts are sprinkled on top to complete the dish.

Hot, freshly cooked rice was brought into the room untouched by the flood, along with a bowl of banana blossom salad. The post-storm meal, mingled with sweat and smiles, warmed us from the lingering drizzle outside. As we ate our rice with a few strands of banana blossom salad, tears welled up in our eyes. We appreciated what we had even more, and we told ourselves to pull ourselves together and begin rebuilding tomorrow from the ruins outside.

After the storm, peace returned with the playful banter of parents tidying up the garden, occasionally punctuated by the cheerful singing as they repaired the fallen fence. It was the soft laughter of children innocently playing in the puddles in the yard, or the friendly inquiries of neighbors. It was the steaming meal with leftover "homegrown" food, simple yet full of warmth and family love. The kitchen, warm with the aroma of home-cooked meals, served as proof that peace had returned to every home after the storm. Though the turmoil still lingered in my heart, I knew that tomorrow had arrived, bringing with it sunshine that would dry away the hardships of the past.

ORIGINAL

Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/binh-yen-sau-bao-lu-post822546.html