Autumn through the village fields

QTO - After 3 years of studying far away from home, returning to the village late at night, it was pitch black, honestly I couldn't see the road into the village clearly, but something from my mind helped me realize that this was my birthplace.

It seemed to be the scent of autumn grass, as the car passed over the dirt roadside, a fragrance that I had not smelled for a long time. The sound of frogs croaking after the afternoon rain, and the chirping of insects like a choir opening in the deep night. Late that night, I sat by the window, looked up at the sky outside and saw a crescent moon, like my soul when I was a child.

Memories of childhood are hard to fade for those who grew up in a village. A child's observation is always limited and it is wrapped up in a certain space. Therefore, the village is my first world , where there is everything for me to grow up both physically and mentally. Later, when I was past the age of innocence, stepping out a little more, I realized that the old observations were not wrong, the homeland is always beautiful when we know enough.

Village fields after the summer-autumn rice harvest - Photo: HCD

The rice fields grow enough rice for the villagers twice a year, and if there is no crop failure, there is still a surplus to sell to supplement their living expenses. Along the rice fields, the villagers can go fishing around at night. In the morning, they go fishing again, and are sure to catch a few snakehead fish or perch to eat.

During harvest time, in the low-lying fields that have not yet dried, there are sometimes nests of fish. Those who are good at catching fish also know how to dig up the swampy fields to pull up eels and catfish that like to live and hide in the mud.

Along the rice fields, there are occasionally round holes eroded by water (called mole holes). If you put your hand in, you can dig out some dams to fry in fragrant oil. The richness of the rice fields makes people think that living in the village, you only need to be diligent and hard-working to have food. That is not an exaggeration.

Anyone returning from a long journey, passing through the fields, cannot help but be excited, especially when a gentle breeze makes the rice waves sway like a natural melody. And in the sky, white clouds drift lazily in the blue sky, a few kites soar far away that it is hard to tell which child is holding which string.

Oh the fields of childhood, through many seasons still have the same rhythms even though the prosperity outside has swept away many people to change. The children who used to fly kites together to catch fish suddenly returned one day, taking their children to the fields to show them how to fly kites, and sometimes they themselves had forgotten.

Every village has fields full of flowers and butterflies for those who like to daydream. Along the grassy slopes on both sides of the road, from late spring, the white chrysanthemums bloom and last until autumn, walking through them is like walking in a valley of gentle flowers. On the green grass, there are also yellow daisies. The two colors of the flowers also match the colors of the small butterflies, sometimes flying and then landing, opening and closing their wings, blinking gently like stars in the daytime. The flowers and grass in the fields mostly have no fragrance, but their simplicity and modesty are sometimes strangely attractive.

The countryside also blessed people with wild but useful grasses. Following the path in the middle of the field, one can pick a bunch of pennywort to cook shrimp soup to cool the stomach on a summer day. Clumps of sour tamarind with purple flowers, and the leaves can be picked to cook with anchovy soup, extremely delicious.

Children playing in the fields all day long never felt hungry because they could always find something in the bushes to put in their mouths. There were ripe, red raspberries that melted in their mouths, sour, bitter gourd seeds, crunchy, astringent dog's milk fruit (some places called dog's nipples)... all wild fruits that did not belong to anyone.

Children’s games often ended when they saw a woman carrying a basket of bamboo poles in the distance, or cycling on a road through the village fields. Her figure was always hidden among the undulating waves of grass.

"Ah, Mom, you're back from the market!" One child shouted and ran out into the field to greet her...

Hoang Cong Danh

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/van-hoa/202510/mua-thu-qua-canh-dong-lang-57e602c/