When the sấu fruit falls, I remember my grandmother.

The weather was gradually turning to autumn. After the night's rain, the front yard was spotlessly clean, as if someone had just swept it. The ripe, yellow sấu fruits, I don't know when they fell, lay neatly in the corner of the yard, their slightly cracked corners revealing trickles of water—a sight that whetted my appetite. I sat on the porch, picking up a few sấu fruits, reminiscing about the old days.

Back then, when I was nine or ten years old, the sấu tree in front of our house was already big and laden with fruit. When autumn came, the sấu fruit ripened and turned yellow, falling all over the yard. My grandmother was usually the earliest riser in the house, so when we opened the door to greet her in the morning, the yard and gate had already been swept clean by her.

After breakfast, she brought out a bowl of ripe ambarella fruit, peeled and marinated with sugar, seasoning powder, and various other spices. The round slices of ambarella, soaked in the marinade, energized us every day.

On days when the sấu fruit fell in abundance, my grandmother would peel and clean it, then put it in a glass jar to soak in sugar. After just a few days, the sấu would absorb the sugar and could be mixed with a little filtered water to make a wonderful refreshing drink. Every time we came back from herding buffalo or cutting grass, she would reward us with a glass of sweet and cool sấu juice. After finishing the juice, we would chew on the crunchy sấu pulp, leaving a lingering aftertaste on our tongues.

My sisters and I had a peaceful childhood surrounded by the ripening of the sấu fruit. We grew up without even realizing it. My grandmother passed away at over 90 years old. When we built our new house, my father made sure to preserve the sấu tree so that it would remain lush and bear fruit until now.

In recent years, traders haven't come to buy sấu (a type of fruit), so during the harvest season, my father picks them and gives them to the neighbors, leaving only a few fruits on the tree to ripen. When autumn arrives, a gentle breeze is all it takes for the ripe sấu fruits to fall onto the yard with a soft patter.

Hearing the sound of ripe fruit falling in the yard reminds me of my grandmother, and of the peaceful childhood memories that have passed.

Source