Sesame fields...

(Baonghean) - She took me to the coastal area, Dien Trung commune (Dien Chau) on a hot day. I saw sesame fields in full bloom, stretching as far as the eye could see. Many had sweaty backs, and white hats were being worked hard to weed the sesame. I held her hand, looking at the pale purple sesame flowers swaying in the wind, my heart filled with homesickness...

Ms. Ho Thi Tuyet, hamlet 9, Dien Trung commune (Dien Chau) takes care of the sesame field.

When I was a child, at the end of summer, the sesame fields began to bloom. We children often played hide and seek in the pale purple sesame fields despite the scorching summer sun. When the fun ended, everyone's hands and feet were covered in sesame slime, and several buckets of water could not wash them clean. Mrs. Thi Ngo, who lived next door, looked at us and smiled, then waved her skinny hand to call us over: "The sesame plants are very brittle, if you are not careful, they will break. The people in our village live thanks to the sesame season, placing all their faith and hope in the sesame season. You children's education, food and clothing are partly thanks to this sesame field. So, remember not to play hide and seek in the sesame field anymore." Having said that, Mrs. Ngo washed each child's hands and feet one by one. Later, I learned why every time the people of my hometown waded into the sesame fields, especially when the sesame plants were in the season of flowering, seeding and harvesting, everyone wore a thin raincoat. Every season when the sesame was ripe, we children went to Mrs. Ngo’s house to help her pick the sesame fruits and clean the sesame seeds.

During harvest season, everyone’s yard is filled with sesame plants, the sesame seeds are yellow, as big as an adult’s finger, rectangular with serrated edges. The sesame seeds are spread out under the summer sun until the seeds are dry, then people in my hometown start to select the seeds into baskets, take handfuls and put them on a tray to rub to get the seeds. Sesame is very elaborate, because the seeds are small, so it must be done carefully to remove sand and shells. Therefore, after selecting the seeds, people winnow them over and over again, winnowing until they can put a handful of sesame seeds in the palm of their hand, and move their fingers back and forth without finding any sand, then store the sesame seeds in jars or sell them.

My hometown has the profession of going to sea, farming, and making salt. My family has no fields, only living off the sea. In the season of ripe sesame, Mrs. Ngo gives each family in our fishing village a small, fragrant, crushed butter. The first time I knew about sesame was also from Mrs. Ngo. Eating sesame in winter or summer is strangely delicious, you can eat it forever. In addition to the fragrant smell, sesame also has a fatty, nutty taste without being greasy, especially without any sand. I understand why sesame growers like Mrs. Ngo take the time to meticulously clean each seed.

Back then, my hometown often sold sesame seeds at the beginning of each new school year. Mrs. Ngo said that at that time, the money from selling sesame seeds was used to buy textbooks and make clothes for children and grandchildren entering the new school year. No one sold all the sesame seeds, they only sold enough for what they needed, and only sold them when they needed more. In my hometown, it was the same for every family. The sesame seeds were mainly used as food, given to relatives near and far, and only when they were in dire need did they sell them.

My mother often bought them to pound into small pieces for food. Every day after school, my sisters and I would go into the kitchen, pick up a bowl of cold rice, and sprinkle a spoonful of black sesame on top of the bowl of rice to eat deliciously. Pounding sesame was not easy at all, pounding with one hand and covering the mouth of the mortar with the other. At that time, there were no mills like today, so people in the countryside pounded sesame with stone mortars and wooden pestles. It took the whole night to pound a few kilos. The special thing was that when roasting and pounding sesame, everyone outside the gate could see that the sesame was being pounded inside the house. It was not the pounding sound of the pestle, but the fragrant smell of the roasted sesame that gave off a delicious aroma. The sesame seeds were delicious, but to eat delicious sesame, we had to pay attention to the "hand" who roasted the sesame. Because the seeds were so tiny, the person roasting the sesame had to know how to control the fire, if the fire was too big it would burn easily. Therefore, people in my hometown often reserved firewood to roast the sesame. Roasting a lot became a habit, just by smelling the aroma, they knew the sesame was cooked.

On this occasion, she took me to visit her hometown on the sunny and windy Dien Trung beach. Looking at the sesame fields stretching as far as the eye can see in the flowering and fruiting season, I felt a deep longing for my homeland. The Dien Trung sesame fields, as the afternoon progressed, had more and more white hats, the backs of their shirts were wet with sweat, everyone was engrossed in weeding the sesame. She and I kept following the fields until a woman in her 50s smiled brightly under her white hat and called her name: "You just got home?". "Oh, Aunt Tuyet!". She quickly boasted: "Thanks to these sesame fields, Aunt Tuyet's children all went to university and have stable jobs in Vung Tau!".

Her hometown is poor, but full of love. I saw it in her eyes when she pounded a whole jar of fragrant black sesame seeds and brought them to me. She said: "The sesame seeds from my hometown have just been picked, I spent the whole afternoon making them for you."

My mother came out of the kitchen and greeted us with a gentle smile. Her body was covered in rice flour. While wiping her sweat with a towel, she hurriedly invited us into the house, poured us some water, and chatted happily: "Mom is making sesame rice paper. Tomorrow, Dad is going to Vinh. Your sister-in-law loves this dish." Then she lovingly scolded her daughter: "Why didn't you call me before coming home? Dad went to the beach."

The first time my mother met me, it felt like we had known each other for a long time. She scooped up a basin of water, told me to wash my face, then handed me a glass of water. My mother said: "Black sesame water cooked with broad beans and rice, it's very good to drink. This kind of water is fine to drink when hungry." In this coastal area, everyone drinks sesame water. It's simple, take a handful of rice, some broad beans, some roasted sesame, put it in a thermos of boiled water, pour it in, and you have sesame "sweet soup" to drink all day. Lunch has vegetables, tubers, and fruits dipped in black sesame salt, which is strangely delicious. It's been a long time since I've had sesame salt and drank sesame water. My mother kept chattering about the village, the neighborhood, the sesame fields of this house growing well, the fields of that house having flowers, looking so happy made me happy too. Mom also boasted: "Last year's sesame season sold at a good price. Black sesame was 35 to 37 thousand VND/kg. Now, most people grow black sesame, the oil content is high so many people buy it. Many people buy it to resell, many people buy it to eat, as gifts, most of them sell sesame at home. When sesame season comes, the countryside is bustling beyond words, every family harvests sesame, selects sesame, dries sesame all over the yard...".

Then the day finally came to be with my mother, with my hometown. We arranged the sesame rice paper that my mother had baked and grilled herself, and the jars of sesame seeds that my mother had roasted and crushed to bring to the city for my sister-in-law, as gifts for my colleagues, joy filled my mother's eyes... We walked on the road that stretched out before our eyes, the vast sesame fields. I breathed in the breeze filled with the taste of my hometown and kept turning my head to look back at the endless sesame fields, seeing the shape of my hometown there...

Thu Huong