The season of star apples returns in memory

The ancient fig tree has stood silently at the entrance of my village communal house for generations. No one in the village remembers exactly when it was planted, but we only know that since the time my grandfather was a boy running around in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, the fig tree has stood there, majestic and silent.

Every year, around the end of June and the beginning of July (lunar calendar), my village enters the star fruit season. The round canopy of the tree covers a corner of the communal house yard. Each round, golden star fruit is like a small gem hidden behind a layer of green leaves. The whole village seems to be soaked in a sweet fragrance, signaling that Autumn is gently knocking on the door. Every morning, following my mother to the field, passing by that star fruit tree, I look to see if any fruit has fallen yet. The special fragrance of the star fruit, once smelled, is hard to forget.

Thi is not a popular fruit during holidays and Tet, nor is it a delicacy that makes people crave. But for the people of my hometown, Thi is a part of memories, an irreplaceable part of childhood. It is the smell of peaceful days, the sound of birds chirping in the morning, the sound of wooden clogs of grandmother going to the market early, the fairy tale that mother often tells before bedtime: "Thi, Thi fell on my bag, I let her smell it but she didn't eat it". Perhaps because of that story, my friends and I loved Thi so much, the fragrant fruit, as if distilling all our childhood memories into each sniff and cherish.

On hot summer afternoons, we kids would gather at the banyan tree at the village entrance to play jump rope, play shuttlecock, shoot marbles, etc. The old banyan tree stood there like a cool green canopy, embracing our childhood in its shady arms. One day, a storm came, and its canopy spread out to block the wind for the entire communal house yard. When the storm passed, the leaves covered the ground, dry branches broke and fell, and young and ripe fruits were scattered everywhere. The women and mothers picked up the leaves to dry and cook, and brought the ripe banyan tree to put inside the house to make it fragrant. As for us, we hugged our arms full of green banyan trees, chattering and playing tug-of-war, having a great time.

As a habit, every time the star fruit season is in full swing, my mother puts a small plate on the coffee table, as if displaying a corner of Autumn in the house. The round, golden star fruit is carefully selected by my mother, set aside to be displayed for a few days to make it fragrant. The scent of the star fruit spreads gently into the air, permeating every corner, even into the peaceful afternoon naps. Every time guests come over, my mother pours a cup of hot lotus tea, the scent of the tea blends with the scent of the star fruit to create a gentle fragrance, like a rustic harmony of the countryside. I still remember the image of my grandmother sitting by the window, holding a small cloth bag with a star fruit inside. Occasionally, she would bring the bag close to her nose, sniff lightly and then smile, a peaceful smile as if all her youth and memories of the past were returning in that sweet star fruit scent.

The old fig tree has aged over the years, its trunk rough and shiny black, silently like a silent witness of many seasons passing by. I also grow up with each ripening season. When I was a child, the fig tree was a toy to me, a tiny but fragrant gift. When I grew up a little, the fig tree was the scent of memories, the remaining gentleness amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Every year when I have the opportunity to return to my hometown, passing by the fig tree at the head of the communal house, my heart suddenly becomes quiet. The fig tree is still standing there, the foliage is still lush, the fruit is still golden as before, the only difference is that there is no longer the chirping laughter of the children from years ago.

In the middle of the bustling city, I still occasionally come across a few small stalls on the roadside selling ripe star apples. I often stop to buy a few, not to eat, but to keep something familiar. That scent, though lingering, is enough to pull me back to a corner of the village, where there is an old star apple tree, a mossy communal house yard, and clear, carefree days.

People often say that there are scents that follow us throughout our lives. For me, it is the scent of ripe star apples, a familiar scent that makes my heart ache every autumn. Star apple season, the season of simple yet profound things. And to me, there is nothing as rustic yet poignant as the ripe yellow star apple, quietly emitting its scent, reminding me of the peaceful old days that never fade.

Ha Linh

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/202508/mua-thi-ve-trong-noi-nho-ea21ed3/