Another fragrant year for dad's orchard

A few clouds floated lethargically above the sky on a vernal Sunday in spring. I was sitting by the window when the balmy breeze blew in. I felt dull and sluggish as I worked to reorient myself. Suddenly, I inadvertently grabbed a freshly-pick waxberry on a plate to my mouth. I took a small bite; the flesh texture of tenderness in my mouth and the sweet-tart flavour instantly woke up my body and lifted my spirits. Food is inextricably associated with flavour and is fundamentally about nostalgia and memory. These distinctive seasonal flavours hitherto have etched on my mind, offering a window into knowing my father's world into the bargain.

I live in a hamlet on the banks of the Jiulong River in southern Fujian, China, about 30 km from central Xiamen, which features various fruits. Waxberry is especially plentiful and is a medicinal and culinary fruit that has been growing wild since ancient times.

My father, a fruit grower, has worked his own waxberries orchard a whole life. He plants the fruit tree and picks and sells their fruitage to earn a living. He carefully nurtures orchard plants like treating his kids. As the seasons flow into one another, he had to lay the groundwork for the ripeness of fruitage. In the springtime, some patches were so dense with weeds that waxberry plants struggled to survive. My father must work on hoeing the ground and clearing weeds. Sometimes, he would tear and scar his hands on the brambly bush without wearing protective equipment. At first glance, he is fearless. Scratch under the surface, and you will see that he doesn't know how to attend to his needs and comfort himself. Even though he sees that it's vital to wear proper protective gear, he is too stick-in-the-muds to change. I am no fan of his lifestyle. Most things are better in moderation, and there is a downside to every human trait.

An upcoming harvest, whether great or not, is in the clutches of the weather. Sometimes, the lack of rain would cause the orchard-dried soil to struggle with the heat wave, followed by shrivelling trees. On such a distressful day, my father had to rack his brain to irrigate by digging small channels that allowed hard-to-reach spots to receive water. He's been toiling on orchard work, rain or shine. He has never abdicated his responsibility to be a father or a husband.

I could imagine as a novice at the graft was a tall order in his started cultivation work. Two factors could explain my opinion. The first reason is that my father is uneducated and acquires knowledge little more than his prosperous years of cultivation experience. He grew up at a time of scarcity when China hadn't pursued the policy of reform and opening up. Life was a struggle during that period, not to mention providing good education. How he obtains knowledge or gains information pales compared to the modern young generation. The second reason is that he is not a chatty person and has made few friends, and finding a professional to teach him isn't easy.Through such petty things in learning, he gropes his way to raising a family.

In a nutshell, my father leads a life of hardship and toil. The stress on his pocketbooks prompts him to skimp on living expenses, but he is generously devoted to his family. He downplays and grumbles little about his hard work. At any rate, he believes sweating will reward his family with a better quality of life, and he never escapes the pressures of life as a man. He always owes success to his input, which will not come to nought.

The early summer sunlight glowed through these trees in full fruitage overhung the hillside. I can say it's a time of pain-pleasure, for he reaps what he sows, notwithstanding hard toiling. In my eyes, the flavour of waxberry is a towering figure of a gruelling and diligent father.