Remember the evening smoke

No matter which rural area we visit, we can always see a familiar sight: the blue smoke rising from kitchen roofs in the evening. The smell and the gentle wisp of smoke, for me, carry the very essence of the countryside. Every time I think of it, my heart overflows with emotion, filled with nostalgia for my home and the memories of my childhood.

The hazy smoke of evening cooking is not just a "specialty" of wood-burning or straw-burning stoves; it's also a part of the soul of the countryside, evoking memories of a pure and innocent time. In the late afternoons, when the sunlight has faded, smoke begins to rise from the village kitchens. The smoke drifts languidly over the gourd and pumpkin vines in the garden, swirling around the palm and coconut trees, before dissipating into the twilight. Adults are busy lighting fires and cooking rice. We children run and play, inhaling the pungent smell of smoke mixed with the aroma of freshly cooked rice and simmering vegetable soup. The mingled scents of smoke don't sting the eyes, but instead warm the heart.

My childhood was intertwined with the small, thatched-roof kitchen. There, my mother would light the fire daily with dry straw and rotten wood. She would sit by the stove, fanning the flames while picking vegetables and recounting stories of the past. The warm firelight illuminated her sun-tanned face, her eyes reflecting a gentle glow. Sometimes, she would blow on the fire with a bamboo pipe, creating a low, muffled "whoosh" sound that blended with the wind in the garden. I sat beside her, silently listening to the crackling of the embers, feeling an unusual sense of peace.

It was in that simple setting that I grew up, learning my first life lessons from my mother: respecting elders, being considerate, and appreciating every grain of rice, every drop of sweat from her hard work. At every meal by the fire, my mother always reminded me: "Rice is a precious gift from heaven; don't waste it." Those simple words have stayed with me throughout my journey of growing up.

The hazy smoke of the evening still reminds me of the rainy seasons. Whenever it rained heavily, the whole family would gather in the warm kitchen, my mother boiling a pot of sweet potatoes or corn. The smoke from the kitchen rose, the heat spreading, dispelling the cold outside, and suddenly I felt happiness was so simple: a warm kitchen, a home with my parents, laughter spreading amidst the aroma of home-cooked meals.

Growing up and moving far away, the smoke from the evening kitchen became something I longed to find. In the city, without those thatched-roof kitchens, I suddenly felt a void in my memories. When I finished work late and saw the brightly lit high-rise buildings, I yearned for the feeling of watching the smoke from my hometown kitchen slowly rise, like a reminder: "It's time to go home."

Once, during a business trip to the countryside of Song Ray, Dong Nai province, as the car turned onto a small road, I suddenly caught sight of a wisp of smoke drifting across a grove of bamboo. For some reason, my nose stung. So many memories flooded back, everything seemed as if it had happened just yesterday. It was such a simple thing, yet it was enough to stir my emotions for the entire afternoon.

The hazy smoke of the evening, seemingly faint and fragile, is actually what anchors the soul of each person. It is a witness to peaceful days spent at home, an embodiment of love, family bonds, and simple yet profound traditional values.

In the midst of the hustle and bustle of modern life, where everything changes at a dizzying pace, simple things like the smoke rising in the evening still quietly exist, sheltering and reminding me of my roots. Whenever I feel weary, I have a place to return to – not a distant place, but the old kitchen, the evening smoke, the warm embrace of my parents, the fragrant home-cooked meals. That simple thing, for me, holds a whole sky of cherished memories.

Starting September 7, 2020, Dong Nai Newspaper online launched the "Simple Things" column.

This will be a new "playground" for all readers across the country, offering simple yet meaningful perspectives that resonate with many and perfectly embody the column's motto: "simple things."

Please send your articles to: baodientudno@gmail.com; Tel: 0909.132.761

The editorial office will pay royalties to authors whose articles are published, in accordance with regulations.

Details can be found here.

BBT

Tra Binh

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/dieu-gian-di/202508/nho-khoi-lam-chieu-113306f/