Hello love, the season of ripe rambutan

One morning, I woke up and opened the downstairs window to look at Mrs. Ba's orchard. Her rambutan orchard was ablaze with red, and I could see a thousand flickering flames on the green leaves. After a few days of blazing sunshine, the rambutan orchard had turned from lemon yellow to bright red. The rambutans were covered with soft, bright red thorns, like tiny hedgehogs waiting for someone to pick them.

I remember last year, Mrs. Ba's rambutan orchard suffered a crop failure due to unseasonal rains. The young, green fruits were covered in black thorns that gradually spread inward, then dried up and laid on the branches. Mrs. Ba's face was absent-minded, her eyes filled with tears, looking at the orchard, her heart felt as if someone was squeezing it.

Mr. Thanh, their son, kept a knife in his hand, his eyes filled with determination, demanding to cut down the rambutan tree to switch to another crop. Mrs. Ba knelt down at the base of the old rambutan tree, her trembling hands hugging the trunk, her voice choked: "It was this rambutan garden that helped me raise you to study to become an agricultural engineer, Thanh." The knife in his hand grew larger, he gradually put the knife down.

The rambutan garden is still there. Spring comes and it sprouts and grows again. As summer begins, the tiny clusters of flowers bloom like the sweet rays of the morning sun. The tree still stands proudly in the garden, its roots deep in the ground, absorbing the sweetness of the alluvial soil under the red basalt soil. When the flowers fade, it is the season of fruiting, from the tips of the branches, tiny young fruits form. Despite the hot sun of the South, the fruits have grown. This morning, the swaying clusters of fruit carry a sweet fragrance into the room, making my heart flutter.

On weekends, I have a day off at home. I really like to hang around to help Mrs. Three harvest rambutan. I like the feeling of enjoying the ripe red fruit right in the garden. I reached up and twisted a rambutan branch down, feeling the heavy bunches of fruit on the branch. The bright red rambutans lay still, waiting for the picker. Peeling off the rough skin, I saw the pure white rambutan pulp. I brought it up to take a bite, the sweet taste lingering on the tip of my tongue.

I lived in the South for many years before I realized I was wrong the first time I tasted rambutan. At that time, when I had just moved from the city to live in a small hamlet in Hung Thanh hamlet, next to Mrs. Ba's garden. When the rambutan season was in full swing, she gave me a basket of longan rambutan. At that time, I foolishly shook my head and refused, I asked her for a bunch of regular rambutan. The reason was simple: regular rambutans were big and beautiful. I thought it was the best type of rambutan. But when I ate it, it had a mild sour taste on the tip of my tongue, and the seeds were quite large. Only after living for a long time next to the rambutan garden did I realize that there were many different types of rambutan: longan rambutan, peeled rambutan... Each type had its own unique flavor.

Every rambutan harvest season, I see people bustling and busy in the garden. From early morning until evening, when people's faces are no longer visible, the whole garden is filled with laughter and calls to each other. The sound of cutting fruit clicks. Mrs. Dad carefully spreads a tarp under the tree. Above, Mr. Thanh cuts each bunch of rambutan from the branch, drops it onto the tarp like a slide, the rambutan will roll gently on the tarp and flow down. On the ground, women with sunburned hands carefully remove each bunch, arrange them in boxes lined with banana leaves.

Many traders are very meticulous, their eyes scrutinize each bunch of fruit. They always demand neatness, the fruit must be intact with leaves and branches, and there must not be any crushed fruit in the bunch, only then will it meet the standards for entering supermarkets and exporting abroad. Therefore, farmers must climb up high branches, tie a very large basket, hang it on the branch, and use a pole to cut each bunch. When the rambutan is full, use a rope to lower each basket to the ground.

I looked at the faces of the honest, simple farmers, covered in sweat. PrintMrs. Ba's eyes, there was joy and happiness. Although taking care of the whole crop was hard and arduous, she bent down many times and rubbed her back in pain. Today, the land has rewarded her with a bountiful harvest.

Nguyen Tham

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/dong-nai-cuoi-tuan/202507/chao-nhe-yeu-thuong-mua-chom-chom-chin-do-da92350/