Golden bamboo in all directions

This season, the South is not cold, but the mornings still make you miss your hometown, miss many childhood moments, leisurely strolling under the old bamboo trees, leisurely picking up small toothpicks that have fallen from the bamboo bushes, splitting them in half, and making them into stylish toothpicks to put on your hair. You remember, your pretty little house is hidden under the cool yellow bamboo trees, every afternoon after school, your father often assigned you to sweep the long alley, all the way to the riverbank. On those cold, desolate afternoons, a skinny little girl leisurely swept the gate, occasionally sitting down, picking up grass, flowers and leaves to put in her hair. Bamboo leaves fell all over a small alley, you would collect them, light a fire and burn them to clean them up.

For years, the old bamboo groves still bent and creaked throughout the four seasons. Occasionally, when there was work to be done, my father would take out his machete and cut down the largest and oldest tree to make a stake or weave a basket to hold things in the house. After pulling a tree out of the dense bamboo grove, my father sat down and breathed heavily. The small bamboo trees were woven together, thorny and tangled.

Your hometown used to be a place where a lot of bamboo was planted. From the beginning of the village to the end of the village, the bamboo was clustered together, both green and yellow. There were bamboo paths connecting each other, covered in one color, forming a beautiful arc shape. After a tiring day of working in the fields, just walking under the rows of bamboo, the farmer's soul became strangely relaxed and happy. Bamboo has always been a symbol of the Vietnamese people, appearing in many poems and literature. "Bamboo protects the village, protects the country, protects the thatched roofs, protects the ripe rice fields...", because it is praised like that, bamboo has long been favored and utilized for the benefits of handicrafts, making poles, and all kinds of woven baskets.

You remember the image of your skinny grandfather, sitting on the porch, diligently weaving bamboo baskets for your grandmother to sell. Those skinny hands were strong, no matter how many times you squeezed and pushed them into the basket, your grandfather could do it all. The baskets your grandfather wove, everyone fought to buy, many people had to order and wait. Once in a while, you would come home and tease him, "Are your sales still good these days, grandma?" The gentle smile on your grandmother's old face warmed your heart. You don't know how many more seasons you will be near your grandmother, but those hands, those eyes, that voice, that gentle smile, you will definitely never forget.

After many years of leaving the countryside to study, the village is still green with the hope of bamboo. But after a while, you hear the news that the appearance of the countryside is changing, with instructions from the higher-ups to cut down some bamboo rows so that the roads can be clear and concreted cleanly. When you hear the news, you are both happy and sad. Happy because you know that the appearance of the countryside will change, there will be many projects, works, and new roads and schools built. The young generation can happily go to school on the big roads. But also a little sad because from now on, returning to the countryside, many rows of old bamboo will only be childhood memories of you and your friends in the neighborhood. Grandma will be sad when her old hands, which used to be diligently weaving, are now free and have nothing to do. People will also tend to buy more plastic products, think about the environment and the direction of sustainable environmental development, far away and wonderful.

This morning, sitting at the computer, your eyes are caught by a long row of yellow bamboo, an area of ​​the Northern Delta, an old mother is carrying a shoulder pole to the field, her long shadow falls in the sunlight. Suddenly you are moved to tears... remembering the long rows of bamboo in your hometown, remembering your grandmother, remembering the dry afternoons of your childhood... so passionate, so nostalgic.

Swiss

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/dong-nai-cuoi-tuan/202503/tre-vang-muon-loi-24763bd/