A Season of Water and Life

In the heart of Tan Hung, Dong Thap Muoi, Long An, fields and canals swell under the embrace of the water, creating a shimmering expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. What might seem alarming to outsiders is a welcome sight for the locals.

—

The flood waters replenish the soil with rich silt, preparing the land for bountiful crops in the next season. With the water comes an abundance of fish and shrimp, treasures the community eagerly awaits.

Inter: New Rhythm

During this season, daily life takes on a new rhythm. Boats replace bicycles and motorbikes in a few places as the primary means of transport. Farmers, with decades of wisdom etched into their weathered faces, cast their nets and traps along the flooded fields and canals.

The waters teem with cá linh, a small freshwater fish, and shrimp, both plentiful during this time. Families may gather to prepare “lẩu cá linh bông điên điển” – a hotpot dish made from fresh fish and the yellow flowers of the wild điên điển plant, another seasonal gift.

But it’s not just about sustenance. The floating season is a time of unity and celebration. The rising waters pull people together. Neighbors help one another with their boats, families share the “river’s” bounty at mealtime, and the atmosphere is filled with cooperation and gratitude.
For visitors like me, the floating water season in Tan Hung is a magical, serene experience. It captures the essence of rural life in southern Vietnam, where the waters may flood the fields, but they bring life, sustenance, and a sense of harmony.
Camera in hand, I try to capture the floating water season’s essence. The soft click of my lens freezes moments in time.
As the day progresses, I follow a local fisherman. He casts his net with precision, the tools of his trade glinting in the sunlight.

In this moment, surrounded by the harmony of nature and community, I realize that the floating water season is not just a spectacle but a vital part of life in the Mekong Delta. It’s a time of unity and prosperity, of respecting the rhythm of the earth and water. I try to capture a story of him, a representant of people who live in balance with their environment.

Inter: Endless Waters

As I prepare to leave, I feel a quiet ache in my chest, knowing that the memories I’ve gathered here will remain long after the waters have receded. This land belong which to the Mekong Delta, has a way of embedding itself deep within you, its spirit flowing like the endless waters that sustain it. It is a world shaped by floods.

I think of the people I’ve met, such as Mr Nguyen Van Nguyen and his wife, Mr Nguyen Van Dung and his family, their faces etched with lines of quiet determination, hands worn from the labors. The seasons may change, but their spirit remains unwavering.

They don’t resist the floods; instead, they rise with them, letting the water shape their lives in ways that only those who have lived on its banks could understand.

Here, survival is not about conquering nature but living in harmony with it, about embracing the uncertainties that each season brings and finding beauty within the challenge. It’s a lesson I will carry with me, like a reminder that resilience is not found in resistance, but in the graceful bending, the quiet surrender to life’s ebbs and flows.

The photos I took will never fully capture this. How could they? They might freeze a moment in time, but they can’t convey the sound of water lapping gently against a boat. Yet, these images will tell a story. The story of a land that refuses to be tamed, of a people who meet the floods not with fear but with open arms, knowing that the water brings renewal.

Inter: New Cycle

Time feels slower here, with the water whispering ancient secrets. Part of me will remain in this place long after the photos fade and memories blur.

There’s something poetic about the floating water season here. The way it transforms the landscape, turning fields into shimmering lakes, casting everything in a soft, reflective light. It’s a fleeting beauty, one that lasts only a few short months before the water recedes and the land reemerges, fertile and ready for a new cycle of life. But in those months, there’s a quiet magic, a reminder of nature’s power and its ability to both give and take.

The water that floods the fields may seem destructive, but it leaves behind nourishment, allowing the crops to flourish once again.

This journey has been more than just traveling through a new place. It’s been about watching people move with the waters, not against them. I’ve seen how, when the floods come, they don’t resist, they flow with the rise, their lives shaped by the tides, not in spite of them.

There’s a quiet beauty in it all, in how strength comes not from fighting but from surrendering to the rhythm of nature. Her, in Tan Hung, Dong Thap Muoi, Long An with its endless stretch of water and life intertwined with it, has shown me that renewal comes after every flood.

Let the words I write flow as effortlessly as the water itself. Let them capture the deep connection the locals have with their world. I won’t just be documenting a season, I’ll be telling a love story between the land and its people, woven with threads of water, light, and time.

Ngoc Tran

— –

Box: A Season of Renewal  

In the Mekong Delta, the floating water season arrived like a whispered promise, soft and lingering, as if the world itself took a deep breath and exhaled in harmony with the rising tide. Each year, as late August rolls into November, the Mekong River rises, turning the landscape into a glistening waterway, a phenomenon locals fondly call “mùa nước nổi.”

The once familiar rice fields now vanished beneath a shimmering, endless expanse of water, glistening in the gentle light of dawn. The land, usually so solid and dependable, transformed into a living canvas, where rivers and fields danced together, creating a peaceful, otherworldly scene that only nature could paint.

It’s a season that reminds everyone of the delicate balance between life and nature in the Mekong Delta.

Beneath the surface, life teemed in ways that words could hardly capture. “Cá linh”, small and silver like drops of mercury, swirled through the submerged fields. They leap and sparkle, caught momentarily in the golden light before disappearing back into the water. Local farmers, with their weathered faces and strong hands, cast their nets in practiced silence, their boats gliding effortlessly across the flood waters.

This was not just fishing. It was like a reunion with nature’s bounty. The flood waters,  are an annual gift, a reminder that the land and the water are bound in an unspoken covenant.

The fields are dotted with water lilies and “điên điển flowers” , their vibrant hues standing out against the tranquil “sea”. The scent of wet earth and fresh fish mingled with the crisp evening air, creating a sense of peace that seemed to settle deep into the soul.

The floating season was a time of simplicity and survival, but also of abundance. As the waters rose and receded, life went on, gently, quietly, and yet with a richness that could only come from such intimate communion with nature.

The people of the Mekong understand this better than anyone. They have lived through countless floods, each one bringing its own set of challenges, but also its own blessings. They have learned to see the beauty in the rising waters, to find opportunity where others might see only adversity. It’s a perspective I admire, one that I will carry with me long after I leave this place.
NT