Summer nights...

I returned to my hometown on the very day the power went out. The sweltering summer heat enveloped the tranquil space. The mournful bamboo still echoed with its noisy melodies. My father scooped up several buckets of water and poured it onto the yard to cool it down, then lifted the main door and brought it out to the yard, spreading a mat for the whole family to lie on. Four grown men fit snugly on the old mat, looking up at the passing time, listening to the summer silently flowing by. Suddenly, I felt incredibly happy, transported back to my childhood, to the time when I was five and my youngest brother, three, nestled comfortably in our arms on those summer nights when the power went out.

In the early 1990s, my hometown was plagued by constant power outages every summer. My parents, having lived through decades without electricity, were accustomed to the harsh heat, but we children were still unaccustomed to it, always feeling uncomfortable. Even though I always took a refreshing shower before meals, I would still feel hot and sweaty afterward. After a while, I would go to the well in the yard, pull up a bucket, and bathe again. The summer heat in my hometown was incredibly terrible; you have to see it firsthand to truly understand. We thought the heat would lessen at night as the sun set, but instead, the hot, dry winds from Laos intensified, making the heat even more intense. My hometown suffered the harshness of this natural disaster.

My parents used all their strength, along with bamboo and palm leaf fans, to fan the two of us. They had to both cool us down and chase away the mosquitoes, lest they bite our arms and legs, leaving us red and itchy. When their arms ached from fanning, they would lie down on the mat to rest. The whole family would lie there, gazing up at the pitch-black sky, dotted with tiny, twinkling stars. My father pointed out the Milky Way, the Evening Star, the Morning Star... My world at that time was so beautiful, so magical, as I absorbed knowledge from my parents. They gently told me fairy tales, like a precious treasure.

My house was next to a field, behind it a hill covered with eucalyptus trees. My parents' voices mingled with the croaking of frogs and toads. Especially the loud, annoying croaking of the toads sometimes frightened me. The crickets chirped, I didn't know if they were nibbling on tender grass or drinking dew. Every now and then I'd hear my parents discussing which mangoes to pick the next day before the birds ate them, which would be a waste. Then they'd plan which rice fields were ripe first, borrowing or exchanging labor with this family or that family.

Summer nights in the countryside were more joyful with the sound of the footsteps of neighbors coming to visit. Dad would quickly set up an extra bamboo bed for them to sit on. Mom would busily go into the kitchen, light the fire, and boil a pot of sweet potatoes, soft and fragrant. Or sometimes, she would boil a huge pot of corn. The sweet potatoes and corn we grew ourselves were always clean, delicious, and fragrant. The cool, sweet corn water was used to make fragrant tea while we chatted about neighborly affection. The aunts and uncles laughed and talked merrily, sharing stories about their homes, families, and fields. They talked about sending their children to the town to get an education, to secure a better life and escape the life of farming. That image remains deeply etched in my mind whenever I remember the old days, about the neighborly affection of my hometown.

There were summer nights that offered no rest. After dinner, we'd dive straight into work. This was especially true when the rice harvested in the afternoon was brought in, waiting for the threshing machine to finish threshing so we could dry the rice and straw in the sun the next day. "Farmer's life is hard like that, my children. Study hard so you don't have to suffer like your parents," my father would often remind my brother and me while we worked. The whole family worked until late at night before finally getting to rest.

Lying in the middle of this summer night, in the old courtyard, everything has changed so much, but for me, my soul remains in childhood. I told my parents that I felt immeasurably happy, even though the moment was fleeting, it was all wonderful. A moment of endless peace, of the sweet love of family and homeland that my parents have given me.

Source: https://baolamdong.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202506/nhung-dem-mua-ha-2943725/