Black gold in my maternal hometown

(NLĐO) - My childhood was closely associated with the small path along the undulating hillside leading up to my maternal grandparents' coffee plantation.

Back then, almost every day my grandparents went to the fields, I would follow them like a tail, never leaving their side. The slopes were steep and treacherous; each time I climbed, my legs felt like they were about to fall off, my calves aching as if someone had tied heavy rocks to them.

Coffee flowers are in full bloom.

Then, on those misty March mornings when the coffee blossoms were in full bloom, following my grandfather around the coffee plantation, I was mesmerized by the pristine white color of the tiny flowers clustered on the slender coffee branches. The sweet fragrance of the coffee blossoms wafted on the wind, intoxicating and alluring. Swarms of bees swooped down to collect nectar from the flowers, their buzzing echoing throughout the area.

Bees swarm down to suck nectar from the flowers.

In my hometown, coffee farming is the main source of income. Therefore, the people here cherish coffee plants very much; they call it "black gold."

During harvest season, around 3-4 a.m., everyone is busy waking up to prepare their tools for picking tomatoes, including ladders, baskets, sacks, and tarpaulins. Everywhere you hear dogs barking, tractors running back and forth, and people calling out to each other as they go to harvest the "black gold," creating a bustling atmosphere.

The people in my hometown cherish coffee plants very much; they call them "black gold."

Upon arriving at the field, after quickly spreading out the tarp and setting up the ladder, nimble hands swiftly twisted the heavy clusters of ripe red seeds, allowing them to gently fall onto the tarp placed under the eggplant plant.

From one tree to another, they pick fruit from the branches and gather fallen fruit from the ground, ensuring that not a single rare "black gold" seed is buried underground. The work is arduous and tiring, but everyone's face is beaming with immense joy and happiness.

With nimble hands, they twist the heavy clusters of ripe red coffee beans, gently dropping them onto a tarp placed under the coffee tree.

Years passed, and I returned to visit my grandmother. The same old slope remained, but the old path had been leveled into a wide road. I stood on the hillside, gazing at the coffee hills bursting with color and fragrant aroma, and silently thought to myself: How I love Dak Lak , the land of the magnificent coffee festival, the place that nurtured and embraced my childhood amidst the sweet "black gold" plantations.

I love Dak Lak, the land of the magnificent coffee festival, the place that nurtured and embraced my childhood.

(Entry for the "Impressions on Vietnamese Coffee and Tea" contest 2026, part of the 4th "Celebrating Vietnamese Coffee and Tea" program organized by Nguoi Lao Dong Newspaper).

Source: https://nld.com.vn/vang-den-noi-que-ngoai-19626032121271699.htm