Keeping a flame burning for a hundred years.

December. A series of intense cold spells followed one another. Gloomy, waterlogged gray clouds slowly drifted towards the distant mountains, leaving behind a chilling frost.

I've traveled to many places, but only the vast stretches of silver reeds intertwined with the gray-blue mountain slopes truly capture the soul of Northwest Vietnam. The silver reeds sway playfully, unconcerned by the biting frost that forms shimmering chains like pearls, falling softly onto the lush green leaves. These reeds grow only in the highlands, nestled among the gray rocks, much like the Hmong people who live only in the mountains, shrouded in mist. The biting cold makes those far away yearn to return, to sit beside a blazing hearth with glowing embers and a roaring fire, just enough to dispel the swirling frost.

I sensed the Tet atmosphere from the house by the roadside. In the spacious yard, a large, overflowing rainwater basin shimmered. Beneath the gnarled, ancient peach tree, branches were densely covered with plump, pinkish flower buds that had begun to burst forth. On the porch, a sleek black Mong Coc dog sat squatting, intently watching the road, displaying the diligent loyalty of a guard dog.

I heard that the black, short-tailed dogs – hence called Mong Coc – of the H'Mong people are very intelligent, trained to hunt in the forest, guard houses and gardens, and are considered a member of the family. The Mong Coc dog, with its indifferent expression, watched a group of students returning for Tet holiday, happily and noisily scooping water from a reservoir to wash their hands and feet, and also to bathe a black pig that would soon be roasted golden brown by the glowing charcoal fire in the yard.

New Year's dance and song of the H'Mông people.

The Hmong celebrate Tet (Lunar New Year) when the harvest is complete, and the rice and corn are stored warmly in the granaries. At that time, the months are long and the days are spacious, the fields lie idle, waiting for the rain to bring water for planting the new crop. Young men, carrying their flutes, travel across the high mountains searching for lovers. The women and girls leisurely embroider clothes, waiting for spring. And the elderly sit comfortably by the sun.

One must be very lucky to encounter an elderly woman, nearly a hundred years old, sitting warming her hands by a blazing, warm charcoal stove. Her hunched back resembled a question mark, bearing the imprint of a century's passage. The flickering flames illuminated her kind and beautiful face, its wrinkles subtly visible beneath a brightly embroidered scarf. Few knew that this warm, glowing fire had been burning in the stove for over a hundred years.

In the kitchen of a Hmong family, the fire is never extinguished. The hearth itself serves as the warmest bed for the elderly. So, who keeps the fire burning in the family? None other than the elders. When entering a Hmong kitchen, the most familiar image is that of an elderly person hunched over a blazing hearth. This is a symbol of eternal life, of centuries of enduring existence on the high mountain peaks shrouded in mist and frost.

I sat for a long time gazing at the large, half-burnt log, its glowing red embers bordered by pristine white ashes, imagining how this log could keep the whole house warm on scorching summer days or freezing winter nights. Only then did I truly understand how H'Mông women managed to endure the bitterly cold, frosty winter nights of the high mountains thanks to the warmth of the fire in their kitchens.

The Hmong New Year lasts for a month, meaning each family celebrates for one day, waiting for relatives and friends from other mountains to come and visit. The more people who come to visit, the more joy the family will have, and the better the harvest in the new year will be. Nowadays, the Hmong follow the advice of the Party and Government to celebrate the New Year for a shorter period, as they still have to go to the fields to work, so the Hmong New Year only lasts three days.

The invitation to stay for Tet (Lunar New Year) is filled with the warm, pungent smell of the fire, the slightly smoky aroma of smoked pork hanging on the kitchen rack, and the sweet, rich fragrance of corn wine. Bowls of corn wine by the blazing stove, hotter than the fire itself, are passed from hand to hand, as if to say, "the sun rises from your cheeks." On Tet day, H'Mong women will sit by the fire, pouring wine for their guests and for themselves.

Emerging from the cloud-shrouded mountain slope, I carried with me the promise, "Cheo lu! Cheo lu!" - in Hmong, meaning "return" - as intoxicating as corn wine by the warm fire. I secretly vowed that one day I would return to that cozy kitchen, filled with the fragrant aroma of corn wine heated by the fire.

Phan Mai Huong

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-xa-hoi/van-hoa/202602/tram-nam-giu-mot-ngon-lua-e0e330c/