Peanut season

(Baonghean) - I call the sandy alluvial plain along the gentle little river a haven for the soul, a place that always evokes in me a familiar and peaceful feeling from my childhood days. There, my mother planted cassava, corn, sweet potatoes, beans, and many other crops... And now, my hometown is in peanut season, a season that any child like me back then eagerly awaited...

June is a time of intense, scorching sun. Adding to that, the burning, hot winds from Laos have become a nightmare for farmers working outdoors like my parents. The peanut plants' leaves have begun to turn a mottled yellow. My mother said that if there's a heavy rain in a few days, the peanuts underground will sprout immediately, so harvesting can't be delayed because of the sun and wind. Fortunately, the alluvial plain is shaded by rows of green bamboo growing close to the bank, so pulling up the peanuts on these extremely hot days is somewhat less strenuous.

Peanut harvesting in Dien Thinh commune (Dien Chau district). Photo: Canh Yen

The only way to cross to the alluvial plain was by boat. My father's dark brown bamboo boat had carried peanuts across the river for countless seasons. After he reached the other side, he tied the boat's canopy to a bamboo stalk, and without a word, the whole family quickly got to work. My mother and I skillfully pulled up each cluster of peanuts laden with kernels. My father followed behind, tying them neatly into bundles. Every now and then, he would call my mother and me ashore to rest, drink a cup of herbal tea, crack a few jokes, and then, in a flash, resume our nimble hands, each doing our part. Somewhere, in the lush green canopy of bamboo, sparrows chirped cheerfully, as if encouraging the spirit of my whole family to work...

After a diligent afternoon, my family finished harvesting a peanut field of about one sao (approximately 1000 square meters). As the sun set behind the hills, while my mother lingered in the field picking up the fallen, overripe peanuts, my father and I quickly loaded the peanuts onto the boat. Once the boat was full, my father sat at the front rowing, and my mother sat beside him, fanning herself with her conical hat and singing familiar, melodious folk songs. My father listened intently, praising her, "She harvests peanuts so quickly, and she sings the best in the village!" My mother blushed, covering her flushed face with her hat. At that moment, for some reason, I suddenly felt a strange warmth and excitement in my heart.

Perhaps it's thanks to the fertile alluvial soil that the peanuts in the riverside floodplain are so firm and plump. After drying the peanuts, my mother didn't sell them but carefully stored them in earthenware jars in the corner of the house. Then, on the full moon day or during ancestral commemoration ceremonies, she would take them out to make peanut candy and sticky rice. Occasionally, when relatives from the city came to visit, she would quickly fill bags with peanuts as gifts. On rainy days when going to the market was inconvenient, she would huddle in the kitchen grinding peanuts with salt for cooking. Because of their rich, nutty flavor and distinctive aroma, peanuts are used in many delicious everyday dishes. Having a jar of peanuts readily available in the house was quite convenient!

As I grew older, my parents grew older too. One day, returning home to visit, feeling sorry for my parents' hard work, I advised them to stop cultivating crops on the riverside alluvial plain. Hearing this, my father calmly said, "Save your salary for other important things. Although we are old, we still have more than enough strength to till the soil and sow peanuts and corn." My mother added, "Don't worry, we know our limits. Besides, it keeps us busy; we can't stand being idle." After hearing this, my eyes welled up with tears. Day after day, my parents continued to diligently tend to and water the peanut plants along the riverbank, as if searching for a simple joy...

My busy work in the city prevented me from staying home for long. I was so eager to return, only to have to leave again in a hurry. As the train pulled away, I quickly glanced out the small window, feeling a pang of sadness and uncertainty. I had to leave behind the unfinished harvest seasons...

Phan Duc Loc