Remember the fish season in the countryside

The sun had just risen above the tops of the cajuput trees at the end of the village, but the sun was already extremely harsh. For the entire week, the sky had been cloudless, with sunshine from early morning to late afternoon. The village bamboo groves, which are drought-resistant, still seemed to be struggling to withstand the scorching summer sun. On sunny days like these, everyone rushed to the fields early and paused when they felt like their backs were being pricked by thousands of tiny needles every time they bent down to fertilize or weed the rice. That was when the farmers left the fields, took a break under the bamboo grove at the beginning of the village, and chatted before returning home.

However, when the adults returned, we children began to “march” to the village fields, looking for the remaining deep water or small ponds that had almost dried up to catch fish. When we dipped our bare feet into the fields, the feeling of hot water was also the time when fish had to crawl into small holes dug by crabs along the banks to avoid the heat. Just put your hand into the hole, and there would definitely be fish. The scene at this time was very noisy, the whole field bank was bustling with sounds in the harsh sunlight, the sound of baskets, basins, and fish tanks… being dragged across the water surface clanging; the happy exclamation of “wow” of someone who was lucky enough to catch a huge snakehead fish; but occasionally a child would scream loudly when grabbing a long water snake that was avoiding the heat in the cave, quickly pulling it out and throwing it up high, causing the children nearby to scatter. The laughter and chatter overwhelmed the hot sun. The basket of fish began to darken, the sun had also softened, the buffalo and cows were herded out to the field by their parents, the children washed their hands and feet, continued to play marbles, and watched over the cows. The basket of fish was temporarily placed in a shady place, occasionally not forgetting to sprinkle a few handfuls of water and put some branches and leaves on top, and it was fine. When the sunset slowly fell over the fields, the flock of storks leisurely spread their wings to find their warm nest, the cool wind blew at the foot of the rice fields, rolled up the bamboo fence at the beginning of the village, making the branches and leaves rustle and sing, the herd of cows leisurely returned to the village, followed by the children with basins, baskets of fish and shrimp, calling each other to go home.

After a while, I returned to my hometown after a long time of wandering in a foreign land. The houses are more spacious but the village fields are still the same, only the scene of buffalo herds and children's games from years ago is not seen. Nowadays, the young generation in my hometown after graduating from high school is looking for ways to export labor to Korea, Japan... and is no longer interested in the hard work in the afternoon fields and stubble. Occasionally, on the road I used to travel, a few young couples ride motorbikes past, leaving the scent of perfume wafting over the vast village fields. I have to linger, waiting for the space to be truly quiet, to enjoy the silence of the familiar afternoon in my hometown alone, memories flooding my mind, to warm the heart of the expatriate on the day of return, to cherish every moment of returning home, to relive every difficult moment that has passed. And above all, to leave behind a sky full of nostalgia for the homeland fields.

ANH MAO LAKE

Source: https://baokhanhhoa.vn/van-hoa/202407/nho-mua-ca-can-dong-que-6d13432/