Cashew season in the border

We arrived at the border commune of Ia Mo (Chu Prong district) on a day in early April. The border sunshine poured down on the hillsides, spreading gold on the red dirt roads leading to the villages. In the distance were peaceful houses nestled under the canopy of cashew trees, with ripe fruits hanging from the gables and towering high in the distance.

The author next to the red ripe cashew trees. Photo: NTD

Cashew season in the highlands begins from February to May and ends when the first rains of the season begin to fall. Somewhere on the hillsides and gardens, cashews are in full season, the fruits are heavy on the branches, dyeing a part of the hills yellow and red.

I still remember the name of the cashew fruit that I used to call the cashew fruit when I was a child, but now few people call it that name. Nowadays, few people eat cashew fruit either. Of course, cashew nuts are nutritious and can be processed into many products. However, the colorful, juicy cashew fruits are always a memorable scent, associated with the old memories of many people. The taste of ripe cashews rushes to the nose, the salty and spicy salt and pepper permeates the mouth.

Just like the smell of ripe cashew fruit, those who like it will be attached to it, those who don't like it will ignore it. The first bite, the cashew fruit has a sweet taste, the second time it turns bitter in the throat. Yet it is that strange, pungent aroma that remains forever in the childhood memories of many people.

This season, the wind is running along the hillside but does not forget to carry the dry sunlight and the sweet scent of ripe cashew fruit, wafting far and wide. Every season of cashew coming to this land is as quiet and passionate as ever! Still the dark green cashew trees, still the clusters of flowers sprouting from the leaf axils, tiny white and fragrant, gentle purple attracting honey bees, until the fruits ripen in April.

The flower cluster has now borne fruit, plump and fragrant. After months of being exposed to wind and dew, the cashews are now full of life. Then, when a gentle breeze blows by, each ripe fruit falls to the base of the tree, lying silently on the carpet of dry leaves, waiting for someone to pick them up.

Cashew season comes to the people of the border region with the simple colors of the sky and earth, the sweet aroma of the fruit and old memories that seem to have been forgotten somewhere. As for the children, the cashew season is also the days of wandering on the red dusty village roads, picking each ripe cashew fruit, then roasting the first fragrant cashew nuts of the year. The roasted cashew nuts, the shell is burnt, lightly hit with a small stone, the white, fatty and rich core appears. That simple pleasure has been attached to the children's childhood years in the windy highlands.

The season begins with the smell, with the scent of time creeping in. If you want to know how old you have been, just close your eyes and listen to the scent flowing through your memory. The smell of the fruit here is clear when mothers and grandmothers carry their baskets when the sky is still misty. After a long day of bending down to pick each fruit, their sunburned hands gradually become tired, but everyone's face shines with joy about a "double victory" harvest.

Visiting the wooden house, I saw 6 ripe cashew trees around the house. Ms. H'Len, with a bright smile, was busily picking up each fallen cashew fruit. Her hands quickly gathered the fruits into a basket. Listening to her confide, my heart was filled with joy: "This year, the cashews are very fruitful, the fruits are abundant, the seeds are firm, and the price is higher than usual."

In the afternoon, in the wooden house yard, the sunlight casts long shadows of cashew trees on the red soil. Loads of cashews are ready to be carried to the end of the road, where traders are waiting to buy. Cashews from these small gardens will be transported by trucks to all regions, carrying the sun and wind, the hardships and hopes of the gentle, honest people at the border.

... The afternoon gradually fell, the last rays of the day poured down on the treetops, dyeing the cashew garden a brilliant yellow. I sat quietly under the old cashew tree, listening to the whispering wind, and suddenly felt my heart sink.

There are seasons of nostalgia that pass through one’s life like that, even if it is just a brief visit. I remember the sparkling smiles under the tree canopy, the vast border afternoons, the fragrant smell of ripe fruit, like a part of the memory that awakens in me full of affection and longing.

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/mua-dieu-noi-bien-vien-post317209.html