A ray of August sunshine…

(Baonghean) - Early in the morning, freshly boiled bamboo shoots, still hot, are laid out on trays, waiting for the first rays of sunlight. At home, my mother also often dries bamboo shoots, making several batches every year. She dries them from the end of July into August. She cooks all sorts of delicious dishes with bamboo shoots for her husband and children: pickled bamboo shoots, bamboo shoots braised with fish, bamboo shoots cooked with duck – all incredibly sweet. Neighbors find it delicious, so every year they ask my mother to save some for them. After sharing with the neighbors, there are still many bamboo shoots growing, and my mother immediately remembers the bamboo shoot soup from Tet (Vietnamese New Year). So she waits for the sunny days to diligently boil and dry them again. But August is very unpredictable, with rain and sunshine. In just one night, the weather changes completely, becoming clear and cool. The batch of bamboo shoots my mother made might have to be thrown away. Now, sitting in a faraway place, I suddenly remember the rain in my mother's space. It was cramped, sticky, and chaotic. So I want to bring August out to dry for my mother…

Rainy days in the countryside are often bleak and melancholic. The golden haystacks, once vibrant, turn dark and sticky after a downpour. Chickens run around, unable to find shelter, their feathers soaked. Farmers, bent over from working in the fields, endure the downpour until dusk falls. It's time to light the fire and cook rice, but the firewood is soaking wet. My mother tends the fire until her eyes sting, yet the rice still smells strongly of smoke. On sunny days, the firewood seems to rejoice, and the burnt rice grains are surprisingly fragrant and crisp. Clothes, washed days ago, remain damp and musty, as if waiting for the sun to return, their fabrics fluttering and smelling of the sky. Puddles in front of the house glisten in the morning light. The rain leaves behind a new lease of life for the plants, fresh air, and makes the road from home to the market seem shorter. Everyone is still bewildered; it's only August, yet autumn has already arrived. In the morning, standing in front of the mirror to comb my hair, I feel the wind blowing through the window, touching my skin with a cool breeze. Even my hair feels refreshed. How strange. The season has arrived…

Illustration: Hong Toai

The August sun is gentle and has a touch of the capricious charm of a young woman in her twenties. Everywhere you touch, you feel a strangely fragrant and soft sensation. Four generations in the house gaze at the August sun with a multitude of different emotions. Grandma said, "With such beautiful sunshine, why don't you wash and dry the blankets and pillows, children?" Indeed, the sun must chase away the musty smell that intrudes into Grandma's dreams every night. It must also dry the sadness lingering in her cloudy, horizon-colored eyes. Old age is a time to reminisce about old faces. Memories fade with age, inexplicably transforming into fleeting illusions of clouds. Whenever Grandma sits silently like a tree, Mom often tells the grandchildren to go play somewhere else and not disturb her. Meanwhile, Mom is busy with the sun, her hands and feet constantly moving. She dries batches of bamboo shoots, then corn, then sacks of rice that are still slightly damp. The drying yard looks like the colorful skirt of a Hmong girl. If this scene were captured by an artist, it would surely become a beautiful painting of the homeland. The children, however, are not interested in the colors. They were busy attaching kites, tying strings, and searching for wind direction. They connected the beautiful August afternoons, like fairytale dreams, with their kites. August was gentle under the multifaceted sunlight…

Vu Thi Huyen Trang