Welcome the flood!

Crossing the Hau River in the afternoon, I was moved to realize that the flood season was approaching the delta. Several branches of water hyacinths, carried by the water from upstream, covered the reddish-brown alluvial soil with a green carpet. As children, we were no strangers to the flood season. In our childhood minds, the flood was like a friend, naturally arriving, then receding after several months of submerging the fields.

In the 1990s, the flood season came and went according to a nearly fixed schedule. Around the 5th day of the 5th lunar month, my villagers called it the time when the water "turned" from clear to murky. At that time, every household would make rice pancakes to celebrate the "half-year" Tet (Vietnamese New Year). People in my village would also start remembering the fishing gear stored in the attic or behind the house, because the fishing season was approaching.

My father hurried out to the garden to choose some old, thick bamboo stalks to cut down. He said he was cutting them in advance so that they would be ready to use when needed to build a bridge. Because our house was far out in the fields, nearly a hundred meters from the main road, we needed a bamboo bridge for transportation. At that time, almost every house in that poor village relied on a bamboo bridge for convenience. After cutting down the bamboo, my father took out his old fishing net and mended any torn parts. During the months when the fields were flooded, the fishing net was the family's only means of livelihood...

In the sixth lunar month, water would flood the fields, creating a shimmering white expanse in the distant plains. At that time, families who still had crops to harvest would rush to finish their crops before the flood. My father would also take out his small boat to coat it with cement, preparing it for fishing during the upcoming months of wandering. For him, the boat was a memento left behind by his great-grandfather, so he had to take great care of it.

"In July, the water overflows the banks." Small fish like the snakehead, catfish, and tilapia appeared in the market. My mother bought a few fish traps for my brothers and me to catch butterfly catfish and striped catfish. At this time, the two of us with buzz cuts began our "livelihood." Unfortunately, we only caught enough fish each day to make stew, and we were bitten by fire ants, leaving us with sores...

Then, in the eighth lunar month, the water rose very quickly. In the morning, the water was only waist-deep for the children. By noon, it had reached chest height. My father had already built a bamboo bridge to create a path. Every few days, he would raise the bridge a few inches higher. My siblings and I also had a place to play. The banana trees on the edge of the hill would die if the water reached their base. We lowered them to make rafts. On the rafts, we celebrated the Mid-Autumn Festival with homemade lanterns made from empty cans.

That August flood was also the time when freshwater fish were abundant. My father would go fishing for small fish. While he was at it, he'd pick some water spinach shoots that crawled along the water's surface, and a few clusters of Sesbania flowers for my mother to make sour soup. That simple evening meal under the humble thatched roof warmed our hearts in our childhood. Back then, we thought everything was unchanging, unaware that time can never be turned back...

Gradually, we grew up, and then we became preoccupied with searching for our future. The old corner of our village faded into the past. The poor hamlet with its dozen or so dilapidated houses in the middle of the fields was no more, giving way to a new, more modern residential area. And the flood season never returned. Just as my mother no longer toiled in her simple kitchen, meticulously preparing the evening meal of those years!

Even now, I still find myself yearning for the flood season in the upstream areas. Each time I return to the flood season, images of the past come alive again. There, I catch glimpses of the joyful laughter of children bathing in the fields at midday. There, I also remember my brothers and I carrying buckets to check our fish traps every morning and evening...

THANH TIEN

Source: https://baoangiang.com.vn/don-lu--a423238.html