Gifts of nature

(GLO) - As I get older, my biological clock slows down, occasionally evoking memories of summers gone by. Those summers held gifts from nature that were readily available just by stepping outside the house.

Wild fig trees bear dense clusters of golden-yellow fruit. From a distance, the figs resemble shimmering yellow petals interspersed with the vibrant green of the leaves. Birds fly in, soaring and circling, competing to show off their songs among the fig bushes.

Following the sound of birds, we made our way there. Some of us tiptoed to pick ripe, deep yellow fruits and popped them into our mouths; others climbed the tree, reaching out to pick them one by one, eating some and putting them in our pockets, or dropping handfuls into a bamboo basket held out by a friend standing on the ground to catch them. The duoi fruit had a sweet and tangy taste, and its delicate aroma lingered in our mouths.

Illustrative image. Source: baogialai.com.vn

Some days, we would gather by the riverbank, climbing precariously on the branches of the mulberry or myrtle trees leaning over the water to enjoy the refreshing coolness of the trees' shade and the mingling of the water. Watching our reflections in the water, the sunlight sparkling through the leaves and branches, stirred a myriad of emotions.

It wasn't difficult at all; just by reaching out and parting the leaves, you could pick a bunch of ripe yellow mulberries or a bunch of dark purple starfruit. The slightly sour, subtly sweet taste of the mulberries; the tart, yet sweet taste of the starfruit staining your lips purple... even now, these flavors remain a lingering part of my childhood.

Not only were there ripe fruits, but following the grassy banks along the river, we also found nests of late-laying duck eggs. In the summer, when the Con River dries up and the rice fields turn green, it's also the time when the duck owners stop harvesting eggs. However, a few ducks still discreetly lay eggs in burrows, bushes, and clumps of reeds without the owners noticing.

And those eggs became a treat for us children. We'd all gather twigs to make a fire, wrap the eggs in mud, and bury them in the embers of the fire. We'd wait until the mud burned and cracked, and the eggs were cooked. With this method, the duck eggs were still incredibly delicious.

I still remember those summer days herding buffalo with my friends, immersing ourselves in the vastness of the sky and earth. When we reached the hills and fields, we assigned a few of us to watch over the herd, while the rest fanned out to find fruit. There were wild grapes (the fruit of the lantana flower), wild berries, wild guavas, and more...

Unable to climb the vines to pick them, we used sticks to gather them, making sure not a single one was missed. The vines, especially the wild ones, grew abundantly. In the intense summer sun, they grew even more, their sourness intensifying; chewing the first few fresh leaves sent shivers down our spines. We picked them, ate them together, and saved some to take home for our mother to make sour fish soup.

After a lot of physical activity, we would feel hungry in the afternoon. At that time, we would eat the wild berries to stave off hunger. Eating these fresh berries when hungry was also considered a very effective remedy for roundworm infestations. There were many other treats, growing wild everywhere, creating the distinctive flavors of our homeland that, no matter how we grew up, what we did, or where we went, we would never forget.

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/nhung-mon-qua-thien-nhien-post329605.html