It has been a long time since farmers have experienced such a heart-warming rice harvest. It's not just about a bountiful harvest, but about regaining hope. The rice grains today are not simply grains of rice, but the culmination of a journey of rebirth. Six months ago, they relied on government relief rice and the compassionate donations of people from all over the country. Those meals were filled with sharing, but also steeped in worries about the future.
The season has arrived. A golden season on the low-lying rice fields.
From the small road leading into the village, the scent of ripening rice wafts on the wind, enveloping every step. The rumble of combine harvesters echoes across the fields, replacing the sickle-like sounds of yesteryear. The machines move in a continuous stream, cutting the rice, threshing the grains, bagging, and releasing the straw. All of this is accomplished in a single rhythmic operation. The straw is neatly bundled. The sacks are filled with rice.
A farmer sat on the edge of the field, lighting a cigarette and watching the sacks of rice being loaded onto the truck, his eyes revealing his joy.
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I overheard some farmers standing on the edge of the rice field discussing new rice varieties, using organic fertilizers to prevent soil degradation, and how to produce cleaner rice that fetches a higher price. Their conversations, which used to revolve around sunshine and rain, now include techniques, markets, and export rice prices. They're no longer burdened with heavy loads; instead, they stand tall, observing, working and planning for the next season.
Nature, after all the hardships, also knows how to gently compensate. Standing in the middle of the field, breathing in the earthy scent of the alluvial soil carried on the wind, I felt an unusual joy in my heart. It turns out that, after all, what remains is not just the granaries full of rice, the bowls of fragrant rice, but the enduring vitality of the people on this land of the uprising.
Today, Hoa Thinh boasts more than just golden rice fields swaying in the wind. In the low-lying areas once known only for the smell of fresh mud and rice stubble, lotuses have begun to bloom. Lotus ponds open up in the middle of the fields, lush green and tranquil. The afternoon breeze carries both the fragrance of ripening rice and the delicate scent of lotuses, two seemingly different scents that blend together in a surprisingly harmonious way.
The cooperative director stood with Uncle Nam by the lotus field, laughing as they discussed ways to attract tourists to take photos during the flowering season, enjoy a simple meal in the countryside, and sell more lotus tea and lotus seed powder. Along with the country's modernization, the countryside is also changing. This change isn't noisy; it's as subtle as the scent of lotus in the wind, but enough to make people believe that tomorrow will be brighter.
The evening descends slowly. The bustling scene in the fields is etched in my mind's eye. This year's golden harvest is therefore different. It's not just the season of rice. It's the season of hope being sown again. The season of return, like a promise kept.
Minh Minh
Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-xa-hoi/202605/mua-vang-tro-lai-60e4f41/
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