Verdant Village can be described as a small and simple community located at the outskirts and nearby a forest. From the village, those who wanted or had matters at Jasper Town, the next and closest another community, would have to travel from half an hour to an hour, depending whether they walk or hitch a ride. Compared to the life in the city, most people from these village and town have not yet seen or are rarely aware of motorcycles, cars, or buses as the mode of travel being used by the city people. These rural areas live a simpler and quaint days unlike in the urbanized cities.
Every year, these two community celebrates festivities in accordance to the four different seasons. They are mostly paying tributes to deities and blessings of nature and focuses on enhancing relationships to people in the community.
In the spring, those family who are involved in farming and raising cattle will always be busy. Such as our family, the Sawyers. For this season, the farmers in our village will participate in a ritual, praying to the deities for a blessed beginning of the year and bountiful harvest. This will commence the start of an event called Egg Hunting, which are mostly targeted for the younger folks, from children to young lads and lasses. The older generation were usually the ones who hid the “eggs” within the village and let the kids explore and collect them. These “eggs” can be then exchange for prizes and the one who gathered the most number will receive a special reward.
After breakfast, both mother and father went to our fields while Rick and I went at the back of our house and tended to our animals. Minutes away behind from our house, a span of almost three hectares was a wide open green field where we let our goats graze and sometimes even the chickens who digs and looks for worms. Most who raise cattle also led their animals at this area to graze. Rick and I often conversed with those who also keep watch their animals. This is where we met our friends as most of the families assigned their children these tasks.
After feeding and letting the animals graze in near distance, I cautiously start a conversation with my brother.
“Brother, will it still be father to participate in the ritual during the festival?” I asked while almost done cleaning the chicken coop and goat pen.
“Yes. Father said that it will finally be my turn after I completed my studies.” He nodded, confirming my question as he watches our flock while chewing a piece of plant stalk.
“I see… Then will you take part in the contest?” I further inquired, not completely satisfied with the answer I got.
“No way. I’m not that young anymore.” He scoffed, throwing away the stalk he’d been chewing on as he stood up and patted his clothes.
“Besides,” he continued. “I’ll be joining with our father during the ritual so that I can see and learn what will I have to do when I’ll take over next year.”
Upon hearing this, I was able surmised that Rick is seventeen this year. Usually, those who will inherit or succeed in the family must be eighteen years old to be qualified. With this piece of information, I’ve realized that I have been back twelve years ago, during when I’m fifteen years old.
It seems I returned way back long. But why twelve years ago? Is there something big and major that happened this year? My mind swirled with new questions.
I remained silent as I’m putting away the cleaning materials after I’m done. Rick told me to go back first as he kept watch to our animals. Mother said that we should wait for her before we go together in helping out to the festival preparations.
At our house, I swept the floor while waiting, my focus on contemplating the significance of this year. Does this year have particular meaning? Or maybe I’m just thinking too much and this was just coincidental. There’s also the possibility that there’s no reason at all, and I might just be back at a random time period.
As I wiped the sweat at my forehead, my eyes began to roam at our simple wooden house. Being able to live here once again with all of my family rushed up nostalgic feelings and memories within me. Memories that have long swept up at deeper recess of my mind when I started living at a new place, at the town.
Where my foolish heart and life had started to focus on a certain someone.
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Rick had gotten back just in time when our mother pick us up. The three of us went up to the village plaza that is located at the centermost part of our area. During the ordinary days, the plaza was brimming with people walking and doing errands or work. In the afternoon, many children come out from their homes to play and folks are seen relaxed and would mingle with others as most already are done with their work or chores.
Today, however, you could see pieces of long wood being place in the center, each seemed taller than the average height of most people in the village. Each wood was placed evenly spaced with one another, forming a huge bonfire-like structure. People are filling up the spaces inside with bushes of hay and small dried woods, making its image more presentable and awe-inspiring to the observers.
Mother took me with her while Rick helped out on the physical labor. For the womenfolk, they were assigned and mostly responsible in making the decorations and painting the “eggs” that will be used in the contest. I helped out in painting the small oval-shaped objects, taking my time like a painter who put colors in his blank canvass as I listened to the chatters of the females around me.
“That husband of mine keeps forgetting fixing up our darned door. I always tell him about it but he keeps delaying it.” A woman with a slightly plump figure complained, her hands weaving up colorful flowers that will be used as one of the decorations.
“Oh no. Wouldn’t you feel less safe at night? What if a wild animal suddenly knocked it down? Goodness, that would be worrisome.” Another woman with her hair tied up in a high bun replied while painting an egg with green and white color.
“Exactly! That’s what I also tell my husband!” the plump woman agreed while rolling her eyes.
“Oh, by the way, have you heard?” another woman began, pausing the movement of her hands that were arranging flowers.
“Heard what?” several asked.
“Apparently, some of the men had encountered a seemingly huge wild beast as they were about to enter the forest. My older brother was one of them.” The woman shared.
“Their group was about to hunt some wild game but suddenly a huge creature had passed by a few meters away in front of them. They can’t barely saw what exactly it is as it moved very fast. Then they heard howling and scary growling noises to the direction it went. They decided to cancel the hunt that day.” She finished up.
My mother frowned like the rest of the women upon hearing this story. Then she spoke up, “Wouldn’t that be a huge concern to the village? Especially we’re having a festival a few days away.”
“Indeed. It could pose a problem during egg hunt. My lord, our children will be running about that day! What if something happens?” exclaimed by one of the women, worry marring her features.
“We should let our children avoid being near the forest in the meantime and let our men check around it for a while to make sure when it will be safe to go to that area again.” An elder woman suggested. The other women nodded their agreement.
“I should keep an eye longer to my three boys, then.” A woman with curly hair sighed.
“Oh my, Mrs. Mason. Your boys were indeed a bit of a curious bunch. You must be having a hard time looking after them.” A woman with a sympathetic voice said to the curly haired female who she referred to as Mrs. Mason.
“Don’t I know it, Ma’am.” She agreed with a resigned tone. “One time, those boys decided to climb up to one of those huge trees at the outskirt of the forest. And without any adult supervising them! Imagine how scared my husband was when he was able to find them while one of them almost slipped up while climbing.” Mrs. Mason continued, her exasperation evident in her voice.
It was during this time I was painting on my fourth egg that I stopped as I heard her narrative. Something was wriggling in my memories, as if there was something in my past life that happened and it was related to this bout of events. However, I can’t seem to recall it fully, like it was already at tip of my tongue, but unable to spill it out.
“But you know, if we could give it another thought,” a young woman with a dark complexion suddenly voiced out.
“It just means that spring is already here. Unlike the bleakness of winter, we can finally see plenty of plants blooming to life, and of animals, especially birds and rabbits roaming around the woods. It could tell us that we could finally start planting our crops.” She said with a bright voice.
“The spring is finally bestowing us her blessing.” Somebody also remarked.
I agree. I internally nodded. Just like what spring symbolizes, I was also bestowed a chance to live again, to be alive once more.
And for this life, I vowed it will be the markings of new beginnings and choices.
