In honor of Duan Wu: Silver River.
May. 28th, 2009 09:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jolantruMy mother insisted I learn how to wrap rice dumplings and so I did, starting from a very young age, when I observed her nimble fingers deftly folding the fronds into a cone and then into a pyramidal shape. When I was a teenager, I ended up joining the women in the kitchen, breathing in the steam, the fragrance of fronds soaked in hot water and listening to the chatter.
That was long ago, back on Terra, before I made the decision to join the Explorers. Now onboard a ship, heading for the new colony on Mars, I found myself thinking about the old traditions that kept my mother and her grandmother going. The festival for the rice dumplings, Duan Wu, was approaching. Most of my childhood memories were lunar-based. Fifth day of the fifth lunar month. Right in the middle of summer, when it was hot and dry.
The legend spoke about a patriot who threw himself into a river as a protest. The people, in order to save his body, threw rice parcels into the water so that the fish would not eat his flesh. I used to think that the legend was a little gruesome and a little tragic. Of course, food was featured in many of the myths and legends. Rice dumplings. Tang yuan. Mooncakes. Sweetmeats.
Well, the only river I knew now was Yin He, the Milky Way. Yin He. Silver River. The old language was so evocative, rich in texture. I did not think throwing rice dumplings into space would work.
Before Duan Wu itself, I made sure I had all the ingredients ready in the main mess hall kitchen. Even the dried leaves, bundled and stored in one of the cabinets. A couple of my colleagues came and watched me as I poured hot water into a large tub and soaked the leaves in. As the leaves became more supple, fresh, I prepared the rice and the savory filling. I loved the chestnuts the most - sweet nuggets.
I made thirty rice dumplings, little pyramids of rice and filling. Enough for the ship's crew and the scientists. Rice dumplings were also gifts and my mother would give away clusters to close relatives and friends. I sat in the kitchen, immersed in the aromatic steam. I was home.
Later, as I stood next to the viewing window, watching the stars streaming past in the Milky Way, I thought of silver rivers and the gentle conversations in a kitchen, fading away as if in sepia.
That was long ago, back on Terra, before I made the decision to join the Explorers. Now onboard a ship, heading for the new colony on Mars, I found myself thinking about the old traditions that kept my mother and her grandmother going. The festival for the rice dumplings, Duan Wu, was approaching. Most of my childhood memories were lunar-based. Fifth day of the fifth lunar month. Right in the middle of summer, when it was hot and dry.
The legend spoke about a patriot who threw himself into a river as a protest. The people, in order to save his body, threw rice parcels into the water so that the fish would not eat his flesh. I used to think that the legend was a little gruesome and a little tragic. Of course, food was featured in many of the myths and legends. Rice dumplings. Tang yuan. Mooncakes. Sweetmeats.
Well, the only river I knew now was Yin He, the Milky Way. Yin He. Silver River. The old language was so evocative, rich in texture. I did not think throwing rice dumplings into space would work.
Before Duan Wu itself, I made sure I had all the ingredients ready in the main mess hall kitchen. Even the dried leaves, bundled and stored in one of the cabinets. A couple of my colleagues came and watched me as I poured hot water into a large tub and soaked the leaves in. As the leaves became more supple, fresh, I prepared the rice and the savory filling. I loved the chestnuts the most - sweet nuggets.
I made thirty rice dumplings, little pyramids of rice and filling. Enough for the ship's crew and the scientists. Rice dumplings were also gifts and my mother would give away clusters to close relatives and friends. I sat in the kitchen, immersed in the aromatic steam. I was home.
Later, as I stood next to the viewing window, watching the stars streaming past in the Milky Way, I thought of silver rivers and the gentle conversations in a kitchen, fading away as if in sepia.
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Date: 2009-05-28 01:58 pm (UTC)