傅雅儒
T
here is a secret place in my family which is far but always famil-iar to me and close at heart. It is not a vast place, but to me it is an unlimited paradise. It is Grandpa’s farm. Whenever I recall playing hide-and-seek with my sister during our childhood on Grandpa’s farm, it always puts a smile my face. Whenever I went to that farm, I always felt proud of my Grandpa when I saw his fields of bumper crops grow so vibrantly. In spite of the fact that time has changed everyone over the years, Grandpa’s farm still has a lasting impact on our family. The scenery might differ from what it was in the past, but the beautiful memories of that magical place that we hold in our hearts remain the same and will stay with me forever.Q
ishan, Kaohsiung, has long been considered a place with an abun-dance of bananas, one of Taiwan’s most famous fruits. Among farmers who grow this amazing fruit, Grandpa ranked among the top ex-perts. Right after Taiwan’s Retrocession in 1945, Taiwan’s banana export business to Japan was tremendously prosperous. Many banana farmers made a killing back then, including Grandpa. Although he lived hand to mouth, he was still able to afford to send his eight children to school. Even though his banana business became a great success, in such a competitive environment, knowing how to grow bananas better than others was Grand-pa’s lifelong concern. According to my father, he did not like to go home after school since the house was full of the fragrance of isoamyl acetate from the tons of bananas. However, it was that smell which accompanied my father all the time and it was the smell he missed the most.H
owever, in the 1970s, the number of bananas Taiwan exported to Japan sharply decreased. What’s worse, Taiwan’s bananas were gradually replaced by those from the Philippines which were much cheaper. Unfortunately, this caused many farmers to give up growing bana-nas, since they thought that bananas would never again be economically worthwhile to raise. Nonetheless, the thought of giving up his lifelong live-lihood never entered Grandpa’s mind. As a diligent and persevering Hakka person, Grandpa held fast to his farm, even though the odds were against him. Grandpa believed his farm would continue to help him make both ends meet and support his whole family. Although the price of bananas was no longer profitable and his children had grown up and were able to make their own living, Grandpa still stayed on his farm, for he believed it had become an inseparable part of his life. With unchanged concern and affection, Grandpa tenderly pruned, weeded and fertilized his field as though he were taking care of his own kids.F
inally when Grandpa turned ninety, his body told him it was time to retire. Even so, Grandpa insisted on going to the farm at least twice a week to see the empty field. Although there were no more bananas, he still had his memories. Though he was eventually sent to a nursing home, he always talked about how beautiful his bananas were and how prosperous the export business was. Having developed Alzheimer’s disease, it seemed that many memories gradually slipped from his mind. Nonetheless, he never forgot his days planting bananas and he loved to tell the story over and over again to anyone whether he knew the person or not. Whenever Grandpa re-told how he grew his bananas, I could feel his sense of pride. I knew it was more than just bananas, though; it was the gratitude Grandpa had for the land that he remembered more clearly than anything.A
fter Grandpa passed away, I once went back to his farm but found that the bananas trees were all cut down. As I looked around the fallow farm, it was hard to imagine how prosperous it once was just as Grandpa always proudly described it. Not only can Grandpa’s banana trees no longer be seen, but other farms that used to be full of bananas where I played games with my sister when we were kids are nowhere to be found as well. However, my heart still races when I stepped on that respectable land.It seemed that every inch of this land was cultivated and nourished by Grandpa’s hands. With the passing of time, whenever I think of Grandpa, I recall him speaking Hakka and can picture the look of pride on his face as he looked in his younger, glorious days. As far as I am concerned, it is a great pity that I did not have many opportunities to talk to Grandpa due to the language barrier between us. However, I do appreciate the times I heard Grandpa retell that same old story over and over again which, even to this day, I can still clearly recall in my mind and have never forgotten.. Time slips by, yet the memories I have of Grandpa’s secret place will always re-main with me.
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Papaya Post 木瓜月報 2017.03-2017.04
(頁 34-38)