Like a tree with roots
Many generations of people from Quang Nam have grown up with the writings of author Vo Quang through his novel, "Homeland." In it, not only is there a village by the Thu Bon River with beautiful childhood memories, but also a deep connection between people and nature. The jackfruit trees in the garden, the bamboo grove at the entrance, and the trellises around the house are present like family members, growing up alongside the people, witnessing the seasons of rain and sunshine, and the changes of life.
I still remember the passage from the chapter "Crossing the Rapids" that I studied in high school: "Along the mountainside, large trees growing amidst dense bushes looked from afar like old men waving their arms, urging their descendants forward." Perhaps in the writer's mind, as well as in the mind of the people of Quang Nam in general, those large trees were the embodiment of ancestors extending their arms to guide their descendants on the journey of reclaiming the land.
That's why the people of Quang Nam have long viewed trees with a very special affection. Trees, like humans, have a life. They have a childhood as young sprouts emerging from the ground. They have a youth as seasons of flowers and fruits. They have an old age as rough bark and rings that bear the marks of time.
But human life is short, while the life of a tree can last for hundreds, even thousands of years. Countless generations are born and die, but the roots of a tree remain deeply embedded in the earth, preserving the memories of a family, a lineage, a homeland. And more than that, within each piece of wood, each ancient root, lies the history, the blood, the bones, and the memories of an entire region.
In Tam Thang (Ban Thach ward), the more than 500-year-old banyan tree next to Thach Tan communal house and Ky Anh tunnel still stands as a witness to the war. Amidst the white sand dunes once ravaged by bombs and bullets, the tree has endured, becoming an "observation post" for guerrillas during many battles.
Or consider the banyan and fig trees in the villages along the Thu Bon and Vu Gia rivers, which were once secret meeting places for revolutionary cadres. Many secret tunnels were dug next to these large trees, their roots deeply embedded in the earth, silently sheltering those who were fighting for their homeland every day.
I remember the stories told by my mother-in-law, a simple woman from Quang Nam province who endured the years of bombing and shelling to survive, to hold her ground in the war zone, and to supply her husband who was fighting in the revolution. In her memory, there were always rows of casuarina trees.
The rows of casuarina trees whispered stories throughout the night about the women and mothers who were forced by the enemy to dig trenches: "If your husbands shoot us, you must dig trenches for us to hide in." These rows of casuarina trees endured bullets during the sweeps that established the "white zone" in Hoa Hai and Dien Ban. And it was these same rows of casuarina trees that sheltered countless mothers and sisters who carried food and ammunition to supply the revolution until the day of victory.
Preserving the spirit of the homeland
The people of Quang Nam love trees in a very natural and protective way. They understand that the trees have weathered countless storms and scorching sun alongside them.
In this region, who hasn't witnessed the lush green trees battered after a storm? Leaves blanket the roads, branches are severed, roots are uprooted... But when the storm passes, the people of Quang Nam carefully prop up each tree, trimming broken branches and leaves, so that in the following seasons the trees can continue to grow, providing shade.
Perhaps that's why, amidst today's urbanization, the people of Quang Nam still cherish the old trees, the ancient gardens, and the mangrove forests along the riverbanks. It's easy to understand why: roads can be rebuilt, houses can be newly constructed, but when an ancient tree falls, hundreds of years of memories rooted in the earth are lost.
That sentiment is clearly demonstrated in the story of relocating three ancient banyan trees at the Nai Nam village communal house (Hoa Cuong ward) more than twenty years ago. When the communal house's foundation was raised to prevent flooding, the question that concerned both the authorities and the people was how to preserve the banyan trees that had been associated with the communal house for generations?
"Genius" Nguyen Cam Luy undertook a task he had never done before: relocating living banyan trees intact. He studied the soil, water sources, and found ways to preserve the soil and root system so that the trees could continue to live in their new location.
Upon hearing the news that the "miracle worker" would be lifting the temple and moving the tree, a large crowd of people flocked to watch. One particularly interesting and touching detail that many still remember is that as the massive tree trunk was being moved meter by meter in the temple courtyard, the sparrow nests remained intact on the high branches of the banyan tree.
The Da Nang authorities at the time and "miracle worker" Nguyen Cam Luy not only preserved the trees but also chose to preserve the life that had taken root in them. There are values that lie not just in a single tree, but in the layers of time, the lives of the people, and the stories beneath its shade.
People from Quang Nam cherish trees because in every tree in their homeland there is a part of their childhood, a part of their history, and a part of their roots. And as long as those trees remain, the soul of Quang Nam will still have a place to find refuge.
Source: https://baodanang.vn/con-cay-con-hon-xu-quang-3342950.html
