In the rural areas of Southern Vietnam in the past, people used to gather fallen branches or coconut fronds, cut them into sections, and dry them for firewood. Since the dried firewood piled up easily became damp, people often used long wooden planks or old bamboo poles as supports at both ends to secure the firewood and prevent it from falling over. The firewood piles in the yard were usually over 1.5 meters high, while the height and width of the firewood piles inside the kitchen varied depending on the height of the stove.
I vividly remember my grandmother diligently gathering and collecting every branch and bundle of dried coconut leaves. Back then, my grandmother's village was lush with trees, cool year-round, and normally, just gathering dry branches from the garden was enough firewood for cooking. Whenever they cleared the garden to plant fruit trees or make furniture, the unused branches would be piled up in the yard, left to fall, then chopped and stacked – and that was it.
There are many types of firewood such as Terminalia catappa, Terminalia catappa, coconut fronds, coconut leaves, coconut shells, and for something a bit more luxurious, mangrove trees like Avicennia marina... Each type of tree has a different ability to catch fire; those that catch fire quickly burn out and turn to ash, while those that catch fire slowly burn more intensely and for longer, even after the fire dies down and they turn into charcoal, which can still be used for grilling dried food, fish, meat, or boiling water for tea.
Large logs of firewood in the yard of a country house.
Gathering firewood neatly and attractively, with all kinds of wood, was a laborious process for my grandparents and parents back then. My paternal grandparents' house had a large courtyard, and every afternoon when the weather was clear and breezy, my mother would brew a pot of hot tea and place it on a table in the courtyard so the whole family could gather there to chop and stack firewood.
My father and grandfather sawed several large logs, splitting them into smaller, more compact pieces for easy burning in the clay stove. My mother sat beside them, chopping coconut fronds, which were either pulled down or had fallen naturally and piled up in the yard. She stripped off all the coconut leaves, gathering them into large bundles and storing them in the attic, while the fronds were chopped into short sections. My grandmother arranged the fronds in diagonal layers to create gaps between the pieces of wood, allowing them to dry quickly. Only when the wood was completely dry did she stack it on top.
That's how people in the countryside are, especially the adults. Whether their families are poor or well-off, they still maintain the tradition of saving for when they are hungry, and planning for rainy days even when it's sunny. Our grandparents and parents always reminded us of this principle. Every item is utilized and used appropriately, without waste. Firewood is no exception; even if there's plenty, if dry firewood isn't stockpiled, there won't be enough to start a fire for cooking during the rainy season.
The woman is stacking firewood to dry before piling it up.
In the kitchen of a rural house, the pile of firewood symbolizes that foresight. The pile of firewood is never empty; after a day or two, more is sought to replenish it, keeping it always full. The pile of firewood represents the diligence and hard work of people in the countryside, especially women. Looking at how the firewood is stacked reveals the character of the person who made it. Neatly arranged piles, with each type of wood stacked separately, demonstrate the skill and meticulousness of the homeowner.
The piles of firewood left outside were also covered with rubber sheets in case of sudden rain. Whenever dark clouds gathered, the first thing my grandmother would tell her grandchildren was to gather the firewood and cover it. At those times, we would be playing hide-and-seek in the yard and would run to help her.
The long log of firewood by my grandparents' porch holds so many memories for us. Every day after school, when the sky was clear and cool, we would go there to play hide-and-seek. Tư would often tease the little one, and three-year-old Út would chase Tư around the log of firewood, looking both adorable and funny. Our cheerful laughter echoed across the yard.
Thanks to the large wood-burning stove, my mother could easily pull out the necessary firewood for dinner, and the hot rice and soup would be cooked quickly. The whole family would sit under the star apple tree in front of the house, gathering together to enjoy a warm and harmonious meal. Whenever there was a party or gathering, the wood-burning stove became even more important, and more firewood would be brought home to ensure enough to cook a large quantity of dishes.
In the days leading up to Tet (Lunar New Year), my family would gather some sturdy firewood to use for cooking the rice cakes. On the last afternoon of the year, my grandmother and mother would finish wrapping the baskets of rice cakes, my grandfather and father would boil water in the yard to cook them, and we would run out to gather firewood, helping my grandmother cook the cakes.
Beside the pot of fragrant sticky rice cakes, my father added more firewood to bake them, while my mother brought out the clay stove to simmer coconut jam. On the thin mat in the earthen courtyard in front of the house, we rested our heads on Grandma's laps, and she stroked our heads while telling us stories.
I looked up at the moonless, starless sky of New Year's Eve; the air was thick with mist, but the warm glow of the fire still burned brightly, along with the love of my grandparents and parents, warming the entire sky of my childhood, a memory that will not easily fade from my mind.
Text and photos: Nha Uyen
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