Remembering the fish in the rice paddies on rainy days

I returned to my hometown during days of torrential rain, from morning till night. Sitting by the window watching the rain fall, my memories drifted back to my childhood. On those rainy days, we children would excitedly try to catch the tiny fish in the rice paddies, splashing around and competing to catch them.

In my memories, the rainy days and floods in our poor village always brought us children immeasurable joy. Because when the floodwaters rose, from the distant fields, hundreds of fish would follow the current and flood into the yard, into the tree roots, and into the bushes.

Back then, just hearing the gentle patter of rain on the tin roof would make my brother and me restless. My mother would give a wry smile when she saw us looking up at the sky, hoping for heavier rain and deeper flooding. In our innocent childhood, we'd cheer with joy when we saw the floodwaters overflowing into the yard. My father would quickly grab a bamboo basket and a few fish traps, and take us out to catch fish in the rice paddies.

Illustration: Tra My

The small freshwater fish were tiny, some as long as a handspan, others as small as a finger, their bodies slender, some with shimmering silver scales. They had names, but I could never seem to remember them; I'd forget them as soon as my father finished his lecture. Carried by the silt, they moved through the murky water, occasionally surfacing to gasp for air before disappearing again. We children waded in, our eyes glued to the fish as they wriggled. Laughter echoed throughout the damp yard on that gloomy afternoon.

My father, with his experience and skill, would thrust the bamboo basket forcefully into the shallow water where he suspected the freshwater fish were hiding. Sometimes, just one thrust would bring out a dozen fish wriggling and darting about. We cheered with joy and excitement at the sight of the freshwater fish in the basket.

The rain stopped, the water receded, and the freshwater fish were trapped in small puddles, under trees, and in ditches. This was the perfect time for us to catch them. We searched for them one by one, like we were searching for treasure. Every time we found a live freshwater fish in a shallow puddle, I would shout with joy. My small hands carefully scooped up the fish, feeling the cool, slippery skin of its skin against my palms.

My mother often cooked the freshwater fish she caught in sour soup. Looking at the small fish, you might think they'd be fishy, ​​but they were sweet and tender, without any fishy taste. The sour soup itself was simple, with tamarind, star fruit, a few fresh green water spinach leaves, and some coriander, creating a simple yet wholesome dish. The moment the whole family gathered around the steaming pot of soup, with the rain still falling outside, always touched my heart whenever I remembered it. That was the happiest time during the rainy days in my hometown.

Sometimes we would put small fish in a large basin and keep them there for a few days. The fish would swim around in the water, occasionally surfacing to eat the small pieces of rice we gave them. Some were too small, so we would release them back into the fields, letting them enjoy a little more of life. Watching those tiny fish swim in the clear water, I understood that freedom is the most precious thing.

Now, sitting and listening to the rain falling on the roof, I recall those days of floods as a distant dream. The fields have been transformed into industrial zones and factories. Occasionally, floods still come, but it seems no children are as excited to experience the simple joys we had in our youth.

Even though I've reached adulthood and been away from my hometown for over twenty years, the image of those shimmering silver fish swimming endlessly in my heart remains. They carry with them my childhood, my love for my beloved homeland, and the sweet raindrops of my native land. Every time it rains, I feel as if I can hear the joyful laughter of the children of yesteryear, and imagine seeing my father standing in the floodwaters, holding a bamboo basket, smiling as he watches his innocent children catching fish…

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202508/nho-ca-dong-ngay-mua-052046c/