The Quat Mo in childhood

On a hot day, sitting in a sultry motel room, I suddenly miss and love the fan in my childhood in Tho Ha ancient village. That rustic, rustic fan brought my brothers and sisters to a good night’s sleep on a hot summer day during their childhood years. I still remember vividly, every time a areca tree bloomed, my grandfather would pick up the huge fallen areca nut into the house to cut it squarely, then use a large rock to press it down for a few days for the areca palm. into a flat sheet. Then, he used a knife to cut the mound into the shape of a fan. Every time the areca leaves fell off, my grandfather would pick them up and make them into Quat Mo in Tho Ha ancient village. The big one for grandparents and parents to use, especially for my brothers and sisters, was carefully cut by my grandfather for smaller fans to fit the tiny hands of the grandchildren. Thanks to his skillful hands, my whole family has Quat Mo swings to cool down the heat during the summer.

In the summer afternoons, when the weather is hot and bustling with the sound of ticks, my grandfather’s Quat Mo is maximized. During the meals around the round basket, everyone ate while fanning, fanning the areca leaves that he “crafted” in Tho Ha ancient village. On hot afternoons that I couldn’t sleep, he sat on the cot while sipping a bowl of fresh tea while waving his fan to dispel the heat so I could sleep. On moonlit nights, the whole family gathers around a bamboo cot placed in the middle of the yard. Quat Mo of my grandfather and my parents kept bringing the wind back. My brother and I lay on the cot, being fanned by our grandfather, listening to stories about the old days, and then falling asleep at random times. Ten years have passed, the life of poverty has also receded, modern electrical cooling devices have been born. People still grow areca to get the fruit, but who else picks up the fallen areca leaves to make fans of areca?

My grandfather is no more. Every time I go back to my hometown in Tho Ha ancient village, looking at the areca leaves lying quietly at the end of the garden, I remember my grandfather, the idyllic Quat Mo wing that transported my brothers and sisters’ childhoods through the hot summers. Those Quat Mo wings, forever unable to fade…

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