by Nic Ang, the Happy Wanderer
In the 1970s, I remember my late mum taking us for evening walks after dinner. Yes, we were those mischievous kids who needed to be spoon-fed until we were about five! Our single-story bungalow in Malacca was filled with our playful antics, and we often ran wild.
Our home overlooked lush padi fields, with a dusty red laterite road winding its way toward the home of their owners. Our neighbours, so to speak. We loved to pick up the bright red laterite stones and toss them into the padi fields, much to Mum’s dismay.
“Don’t offend the spirits!” she would scold us. Did we heed her warnings? Only for a while!
The wide expanse of the padi fields in my neighbourhood were a breathtaking sight, especially when the green stalks swayed gently in the breeze. When the yellow stalks of mature padi appeared, the entire landscape was even prettier as it transformed into a “golden sea” of padi stalks. This magical change occurred twice a year, in June and December, and perfectly timed with our school holidays.
During the growing season, the fields would be a patchwork of green, with water pooled to nourish the plants in big squares as the farmers created mud bunds to keep the water in. We loved to wander along these raised paths, searching for tiny ponds to catch ikan betuk (anabas testidineus) and ikan keli (catfish) for our aquarium. During every water change of the aquarium, we’d carefully sprinkle anti-chlorine crystals to keep our fish happy and healthy.
Between planting and harvesting, the farmers would set traps for the long-legged brown watercock birds. They’d string nets across the fields, beating kompang drums to scare the birds into their traps. It was great fun watching how the birds were captured.
While we played in the muddy fields, we often sank deep into the soft earth, and that’s when the leeches would strike! We’d feel their slimy bodies latch onto our legs, causing us to scream in terror.
After rushing home, we’d sprinkle salt on them, watching as they slowly dropped off. In our youthful vengeance, we’d chop them into pieces, convinced that they wouldn’t return, despite what some said about their ability to regenerate! So, nothing solid to report from our “science experiment”!
Harvest time was a symphony of rhythmic thumping as farmers beat the padi stalks to loosen the grains. The harvested padi would form mounds, which became our “fortresses” as we playfully launched dried mud projectiles at one another. Those little missiles could pack a punch if we didn’t evade them in time!
As dusk approached, Mum would call us home, and we’d race back, our clothes and faces caked in mud, oblivious to any scrapes we might have gotten.
The dry season was also prime kite-flying time, perfectly aligning with our school holidays. One of us would hold the kite while the other managed the string, and if the wind was just right, we could spend hours watching our kite dance across the vast blue sky.
Strangely, we never worried about snakes lurking in the muddy or dry padi fields; the joy of our adventures overshadowed any fears. Looking back, I cherish those carefree days spent in the padi fields just outside my door. It’s wonderful to reminisce about those good old times as I pen these memories here.
WE