The smell of straw

(Baonghean) - I was born in the village! My hometown has rice fields stretching as far as the eye can see with the scent of new rice and the sweet smell of straw after each harvest. The rice harvest season is the time that the villagers look forward to after many days of hard work in the fields.

In my memory, the harvest scene is always strangely vivid. It is the drying yards full of golden rice, the children are assigned to look after the house and “go to the rice” while the adults go to harvest. Every few hours, the rice yard has to “go” once to “pick” the rice quickly. The tiny feet walk across the rice fields, quickly to avoid the scorching sun above the head and the burning heat under the feet.

Harvest days in my mind are endless straw fields. Everywhere I see straw carpets, yellowing the paths. Straw is hanging on the fences. Straw spills over the dry, cracked rice fields. Straw rustles underfoot, tangling with bicycle wheels.

Oh my! The most memorable are the scorching hot noons when we put on our hats and went out to turn the straw. Under the scorching sun, hands holding sickles, forks or carrying poles quickly turned each golden straw into a flurry. The sweet smell of fresh straw in the morning now gave way to a pungent, suffocating smell. But perhaps the most difficult were the afternoon storms. Children and adults were all in a panic, from raking the rice to gathering the straw, everyone was “running as fast as their legs could carry them”. But one day the storm came so quickly that we didn’t have time to react, so the rice and straw were all soaked.

In those days in my hometown, straw was almost completely utilized. It was the main source of fuel used for daily cooking, and was a source of food stored for cattle for nearly a year later. The worse straw was used as bedding for domestic animals.

After each harvest, there would be a batch of rice and straw. In the hot sun, the rice and straw only needed to dry for a day to "prepare". The rice was put into the barn or basket, and the straw was piled around a sturdy bamboo pole in front or behind the garden. When the rice in the field gradually thinned, the straw stalks also grew taller. Dad had to roll each armful of straw tightly, and stretch his legs to lift the straw up. When he was done, Dad put on the straw's head an old, faded hat, which looked both funny and pitiful!

Children in those days loved straw. They competed to climb up the straw and then slide down, tumbled on the straw, and threw straw at each other. Their favorite game was to hide in the straw and play tag, looking for each other until their eyes were red and they had to ask for it, but their laughter never stopped. In the afternoons of the last days of the harvest season, the whole group would go out to the fields to collect the remaining straw, light a fire, sit around, and enjoy the smoke from the burning fields.

Illustration: Nam Phong

And there is one thing that not only children but also adults eagerly wait for, which is the new rice offering ceremony. That is, when the farm work is finished, mothers and sisters measure out cans of newly milled rice, put them into the pot, wash them, cover the lid carefully and start the fire. In those days, the material used as fuel to cook rice was nothing other than new straw. Each handful of straw was slowly put into the stove with a hard-to-ignite stick, which also served to push the coals to one side or the back. In no time, the pot of rice was boiling, mother lifted the lid, used a pair of chopsticks to stir it briefly so that the rice would not stand on the pot, then turned down the heat to simmer the pot. When the water in the pot had dried up, the rice grains had expanded, giving off a fragrant aroma, the pair of chopsticks tossed them evenly one more time. Then finally, mother piled ashes under the pot to dry the rice and cook it quickly.

The new rice offering tray, in addition to rice, also has wine and meat. The new rice offering custom in my hometown is not based on a predetermined date, but usually when the harvest season is over, every family prepares the offering and ceremony right at that time. It is the farmer's thanks to the earth, sky, and universe for favorable weather, favorable wind, and bountiful harvest. It is also the sincerity and gratitude to ancestors and grandparents for blessing their children and grandchildren with good health and business.

Just like that, the fields went through harvest seasons, I grew up, many people from the village grew up. Happiness gathered from seemingly small things, will follow me throughout my life!

Nguyen Hoe