Lingering memories of the lotus season

In late May, the sun began to blaze intensely, scorching hot. After a long journey back home, looking down from the dike, I suddenly felt a refreshing coolness at the shimmering green of the lotus pond adjacent to the vast, sprawling rice fields. The scent of rice and lotus wafted on the breeze, evoking a whole region of sweet childhood memories.

Illustrative image.

I remember when I was in elementary school in the village, my grandfather was in charge of looking after the lotus pond for the cooperative. I loved going with him to the pond on afternoons after school. There was a small hut there, with a floor made of bamboo poles and a thatched roof, where he could rest and drink tea on sunny days. Every time we went, I'd bring along a few friends from the neighborhood to play all sorts of mischievous games. Back then, lotuses were mainly grown for their seeds and tubers, and fish were raised in the pond. Only on the 15th and 1st of the lunar month were the flowers sold to people for incense offerings and Buddhist rituals. I loved the early summer mornings, when the dew still dampened the grass, and my grandfather and I would follow the small path lined with wildflowers down to the lotus pond. In the gentle sunlight that spread across the pond, the tiny lotus buds would reach high, softly unfurling their vibrant pink petals amidst the lush green lotus leaves that rippled like waves. The cooperative members were gently picking the lotus blossoms, arranging them in small boats. The boats docked, and the freshly picked lotus blossoms, still clinging to their delicate petals, were bundled into bunches of ten, accompanied by a few young leaves, wrapped in a thin, tender leaf to keep them fresh longer. Flower vendors were waiting on the shore, ready to transport the lotuses to the town market for sale. The lotuses in my village, grown in the riverside pond, were enriched by fertile alluvial soil year after year, resulting in thick petals, vibrant colors, and a sweet, rich fragrance, making them very popular with customers. I loved the afternoons when the wind from the lotus pond blew strongly, carrying cool, refreshing moisture and the fragrant scent of lotuses. While my grandfather went around the pond cutting grass for the fish or pulling out diseased lotus plants with rotten roots, my friends and I would lie in our tent reading fairy tales. When we got bored, we would go catch crabs and snails, or pick weeds, play soccer, and fly kites in the grassy area next to the lotus pond. Once, while we were playing, a sudden downpour began. Each of us plucked a lotus leaf to use as an umbrella, then happily shouted and danced in the rain, making my grandfather have to run out and herd us all back into the tent. Once, he caught some snakehead fish as thick as knife handles. The old man and his grandsons gathered the scattered straw around the pond, grilled the fish, and arranged it on a "platter" made of fresh lotus leaves to enjoy together. Such memories multiply with each lotus season.

Then we grew up, leaving our small riverside village for new lands. My grandfather followed his ancestors to a distant land. The old scenery and people have changed a lot. Only the lotus pond beside the rice fields still offers its vibrant pink blossoms every summer. Many times, amidst the hustle and bustle of city life, I long to return to my hometown. Standing on the dike, gazing at the vast green of the lotus pond, taking a deep breath of the fragrant lotus and rice scents, the earthy smell of my homeland, I feel a flood of cherished childhood memories come rushing back.

Lam Hong

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