The scavenging season

My village on this side of the river only had rice and potatoes, but on the other side, Nam Binh, there was sugarcane, sweet potatoes, and watermelons. Each side had its own harvest, and whenever either side had a harvest, we mischievous kids would grab a small sack and set off.

Crossing the fields, crossing a river, everyone's faces were flushed red, then tanned dark after each day under the sun. On the other side, the potato harvesters had trimmed the leaves, turned over the rows of potatoes, and picked all the large tubers. Waiting until the farmer had finished harvesting and neatly packed everything into sacks, we rushed down to pick up whatever was left.

It was truly a competition to see who was quicker and sharper-eyed in finding the round potatoes that were partially protruding from the field or still buried in the soil. But no matter how well hidden the potatoes were, they could hardly escape the keen eyes of the children. Before long, each child would have a small sack full of potatoes.

With this bag of potatoes, when we get home, Mom will select the large ones to cook a delicious pot of potato stew. She'll give the smaller ones to the chickens and ducks, and of course, she'll pay the children a small amount of wages at the end of each season.

After the potato harvest, we would go gleaning rice, sugarcane, and watermelons. This work was less strenuous and more enjoyable. Occasionally, generous landowners would cut us a bunch of rice, sometimes give us a few large sugarcane stalks, a few small watermelons, and call us over to their sugar-making shed to spread some fresh sugar on our rice crackers… making everyone's faces light up.

Time passed, and the children who used to gather potatoes grew up, each going their separate ways, some in the South, others in the North, each burdened with the worries and anxieties of life. My best friend is now married and living in Hai Duong . Our children, both in the city and in the countryside, spend their time at school, surrounded by books, and then glued to televisions and phones. They don't know what it feels like to have their feet touch mud or their bare hands digging in the soil to find cassava or potatoes.

Over time, life has changed a lot. From a poor and struggling village, my hometown has transformed into a town. The poverty of the past is a distant memory. Even so, for someone born and raised in the village, the longing for the old days remains as poignant as the vastness of the rice fields!