The season of the chay fruit evokes fond memories.

There's a fruit tree that evokes fond memories for us children, even now, as our hair has turned gray. It's the chay tree, a plant that grew in our garden. In late spring, the chay tree would bloom and bear fruit as the hot winds swept across Central Vietnam. The chay fruits grew larger before our innocent eyes.

At midday, under the sunny sun, we left the house and gathered under the cool shade of the chay tree to play marbles, hopscotch, and other traditional games. The sunlight shimmered through the leaves. After playing to our heart's content, we all looked up at the chay fruit hidden behind the canopy of leaves. One of us ran into the kitchen and used a pestle to pound salt and chili in a bowl, the sound like a hen laying eggs. A few others climbed the tree to pick the fruit and brought it down, placing it next to the bowl of salt and chili on a hastily torn banana leaf in the corner of the garden.

Ripe chayote fruit has a mild sourness and a sweet aftertaste.

They huddled together, reaching out to pick up a chayote, dipping it in salt and chili, and then biting into small pieces. The sourness of the green chayote made their faces contort, but they still laughed and chatted happily. The spiciness of the chili made them gasp, but it didn't diminish their initial excitement.

In late summer, the chayote fruits gradually turn yellow, a truly captivating sight. Ripe chayote attracts birds. Birds roam everywhere, perching on the branches to peck at the chayote and chirping to each other. Chayote falls with a clattering sound beside the gnarled tree trunk, weathered by time. Chicks chirp and run to their mother, vying to peck at the yellow chayote on the brown ground. We children eagerly climb the tree to pick chayote and enjoy them together. The ripe fruits are no longer sour like when they were green. The sourness is mild, yet subtly sweet, like the fragrant sugarcane vinegar my grandmother kept in the corner of the kitchen. Eating ripe chayote requires slowly biting off small pieces and chewing gently to fully appreciate the flavor of the countryside.

The morning sun shone on the village road, guiding the children's steps to school. Their schoolbags were filled with ripe chayote fruit, freshly picked from the garden. We shared the chayote, eating it as we skipped to class… Every summer, I fondly recall those sour chayote fruits, filled with fond memories of the past.

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