February's Wistfulness - Quang Binh Electronic Newspaper

(QBĐT) - January gradually comes to an end, leaving behind the echoes of Tet in every home. The colors and scents of yellow apricot and peach blossoms also fade. The second lunar month arrives, bringing with it subtle changes in the earth and sky. This is the time when nature transforms. Spring has had to work hard to pick up the remaining cold, to make way for warmer sunshine.

In the old days, every February, my grandmother took us to the garden. Although our garden was not large, it had all kinds of traditional fruits. As she walked, she recited the proverb , “January is cold, February is cold…”. We held her hand and asked her what cold was.

She chewed betel and explained that January is the time when the weather still receives strong northeast monsoons, the cold makes the flowers fall off, leaving only the calyx, so it is called cold calyx. February is cold and humid, with drizzle, plants and trees sprout a lot, so it is called cold bud. She pointed to the old barringtonia tree in the corner of the garden with purple buds, the young grapefruit trees with clusters of pure white flowers, sweetly fragrant, mixing into the air a pure scent, and the clusters of purple-spotted xoan flowers by the fence.

She looked up at the sky, wishing for favorable weather. She looked out at the Gianh River flowing gently, then hummed a folk song to the tune of the Tho Ngoa village's hat-making troupe: "January is the season of spring rain/February is the season of sweet love buds/Don't gamble and be lazy/Come back and plant beans and eggplants with me". We didn't understand the meaning of her melody so we just kept quiet. Only later did we understand that the four folk songs were borrowed from other folk songs, talking about the agricultural calendar and the old customs of the second lunar month in the past. They were the thoughts of the "madams" because the "men" were still addicted to playing and neglected farming: "December is the month to plant potatoes, January is the month to plant beans, February is the month to plant eggplants". Yet somewhere there was still: "January is the month for partying, February is the month for gambling, March is the month for festivals...".

Growing up a little, we students had other thoughts about February. Those were the afternoons off from school, we walked hand in hand on the banks of the Gianh River, admiring the traces of the first days of spring that had not yet faded. The sky in February was clear and high, with thin white clouds drifting lazily on a pale blue background. The wind blew up from the sea, carrying a bit of cold, blending with the warmth of the spring sunshine that was gradually becoming clearer on each wave. The Gianh River was blue, quietly carrying small boats, where fishermen returned from their first trips to sea in the year, bringing with them the first catch of herring, shining silver in the sunlight.

Along the riverbanks, the banks are green with young leaves. On the small paths, rows of old elm trees sprout, their leaves tender in the wind. Wild pineapples bloom with scattered flowers, exuding a sweet fragrance in each southerly breeze. Occasionally, a few bushes of sim and mua start to sprout, promising a season of purple flowers for the summer. The sounds of birds chirping and starlings chirping on the old bamboo canopies blend with the hard-working life of the people. In February, Gianh River still has a gentle, graceful spring, just like the souls of the people here, quiet, persistent but full of vitality.

After catching crabs and clams to our heart’s content, we climbed up the tall mangrove trees growing close together along the river. At the end of February, the mangroves began to bloom, the flowers were purple and white. Boys picked flowers and put them in girls’ hair, love also blossomed from here. Now, with long hair flying, February returns to Gianh River, the mangroves are no longer there. Gianh River wharf is no longer wild, replaced by high-rise buildings. My friend once again sang a melancholy song: “In February, purple and white mangrove flowers/If we love each other, we should not be afraid of rich or poor.”

February is also the month when the image of grandmother, mother, and father appears in the spring days. Grandmother sits on the front porch, leisurely chewing betel, her skillful hands making cakes for the Cold Food Festival. Mother bends over and works hard beside the vegetable beds, singing a few old folk songs: "February, plant beans for them to climb/Plant chili peppers by the well, the fruits will follow home". Father takes his children to the field, holding their hands to teach them how to weed and fertilize.

In February, the rice fields of the old days were green, the young rice fields tilted to the wind, kissing them dreamily. Suddenly one day, the rice was blooming in February. Father came back from visiting the fields, put down his hoe, and sighed. Mother clicked her tongue and looked up at the sky, worried. Grandmother hugged her grandchild and sang a lullaby sadly: "When you're hungry, eat taro and sweet potatoes/Don't be happy when you see the rice blooming in February". Alas , in the time of unstable agriculture, everyone was afraid that the rice would bloom in February, which was the period of strong activity of the northeast monsoon winds, causing the rice to "hold the ears and stand in the flowers", resulting in a bad harvest, so it was better to eat taro and sweet potatoes than see the rice blooming.

February, thinking back to the past to celebrate today, but also to worry about tomorrow. Rivers, fields, mounds, many places have been leveled, streets, shops are crowded. The water in the fields is no longer clear, yesterday's land may have turned into a cold concrete road. Folk songs sometimes only exist in dreams.

February is still the same, still the drizzle flying across the eaves, still the green of the grass, still the bustling countryside market. But people have changed, no longer leisurely chatting on the market porch, no longer singing folk songs in the gentle midday sun. The hurried pace of life drags everything into the vortex of time. In the past, people hoped for favorable weather for a bountiful harvest. Now, people worry about the hustle and bustle of wealth, the endless cycles of life. February is still the same, but people's lives have changed.

Do Thanh Dong

Source: https://www.baoquangbinh.vn/van-hoa/202503/bang-khuang-thang-hai-2224985/