For generations, people in my village have passed down the saying that when the reeds bloom, the rainy season is over and there will be no more floods. But this year, even though the reeds have bloomed white all over the dike, the storms haven't stopped. The wind and rain raged, water poured down from upstream, and the whole village was submerged. The water level is almost as high as the historic flood of 2020.
My village is situated near a river and fields, right at the foot of the mountains. The river flows gently, and the vast fields lie peacefully at the foot of the majestic, verdant mountains. I've traveled to many places, but I've never seen anything as beautiful as my hometown. During the flood season, my village is the first to receive the water. Water from the upstream rushes down, the river churning with a muddy, murky color that the locals call "silver water." The water overflows the dike, flooding the fields and then the village in the blink of an eye. Villagers hurriedly move their belongings and possessions to higher ground, and life quickly shifts to a state of coping with the flood. For several days, the rain pours down, the water is murky, the entire village field is covered in silver water, and people's hearts are filled with anxiety. Then, when the rain stops, the water settles, the silt settles, and the water gradually becomes clear. The sun tries to pierce through the thick clouds, casting shimmering golden rays. The sky clears, the clouds are white, and the mountains are greener. The village fields are like a giant, crystal-clear mirror, reflecting the sky, clouds, and mountains in vivid detail. At that time, I found my village beautiful, a majestic yet incredibly poetic beauty.
My villagers accept living with all circumstances and find joy in overcoming difficulties. My father said that, actually, floods help to clear the fields of rats and insects, saving on traps for the next season. The fields and gardens also receive more silt, making the plants grow lush and healthy. When the sun comes out and the soil dries, the silt blankets the garden in a silvery hue, even the blades of grass and leaves are covered in silver. My father tilled the land, making furrows to begin planting winter vegetables. My mother carefully used rice husks to mulch the ginger and onion beds that had been submerged in water. The husks kept the roots warm and absorbed water from the soil. I thought she was just trying to salvage the situation, but after days of being submerged in the silvery water, the ginger and onion beds have now sprouted again, thriving as if they didn't want to disappoint her diligent care. And so, after the floods, the land will sprout new seeds of joy. The floods will eventually pass, and the villagers will rekindle the green shoots of hope on this land.
After the flood season, the village fields transform, entering the winter-spring season with lush green rice seedlings growing on fertile mud, the home gardens will be full of vibrant winter vegetables and fruits, and the fields will be bursting with colorful flowers welcoming the Lunar New Year. Like me, standing before the vast, waterlogged fields, I still find my homeland incredibly beautiful, with picturesque scenery and the fields reflecting the mountains.
Source: https://thanhnien.vn/nhan-dam-dong-in-bong-nui-185241214191345374.htm
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