Our journey started with a specific craving from my mother a fresh homegrown vegetables. Living near people who tend their own gardens is a huge blessing and our first stop was a short walk to our wonderful neighbor's house. They generously shared some of their harvest with us a true testament to the spirit of bayanihan (communal unity). It’s always heartening to see how people in our community help each other, especially when it comes to sharing the literal vegetables of their labor.
While my mom was busy with this essential task of foraging, I had the pleasant duty of supervising my younger sibling and small cousins. Their playground? The area near the goats! It was a chaotic, giggling scene of children chasing and observing the livestock, pure rural fun that kept them happily occupied and kept me focused on their safety. The simple joy they found in watching the animals reminded me of my own childhood spent in similar surroundings.
Once the vegetable "haul" was secured fresh and green, promising a delicious meal we continued our trek to the small, precious spring not too far from our house. The walk itself is a pleasant, roughly 20-minutes . It’s a route filled with familiar sights: old mango trees, houses half-hidden by lush foliage, and the sound of rustling leaves.
This route, however also brought back a distinct memory. I remember this spring right after the powerful earthquake hit our area a while back. Back then, the seismic activity seemed to have pressurized the underground sources, causing the flow to be incredibly strong a vibrant, rushing torrent of water. It was almost overwhelming in its power.
Upon reaching it this time, after several months, the volume had significantly diminished. It was much shallower now and the flow was gentle. This sight was tinged with a little sadness, a visual reminder of the changes in our local ecosystem, perhaps due to less rainfall or shifting ground. Despite the reduced flow the water remained perfectly pure and clean. Its clarity was still breathtaking a testament to the resilient, natural filters of the earth beneath us.
My mother immediately put the pure water to good use, washing the freshly-acquired vegetables. The cold, clear spring water cleaned them, readying them for our upcoming meal. Meanwhile, I couldn't resist. Seeing the pristine water, I shed my clothes and immersed myself in the cool embrace of the spring. I wanted to feel that familiar, childhood joy of bathing in the spring again. There is a kind of unmatched freedom and connection to nature when you bathe outdoors, and it brought back so many cherished, simple memories from when I was a kid moments of complete peace and playful abandon.
On our way back to the house we also passed by an old, abandoned rest house. It's an undeniably creepy and fascinating structure. It stands as a kind of silent sentry, a relic of better times, or perhaps a place of forgotten secrets. Every time we walk past it, my imagination runs wild with stories of what it once was and why it now stands derelict. It’s a strange, quiet landmark that adds a touch of mystery to an otherwise familiar path.
This trip was a beautiful reminder that our most valuable resources often found right in our own backyard, even if they require a 20-minute walk and a neighborly request. It was a day well spent, filled with gratitude for our neighbors and the refreshing chill of mountain water and the simple joys of home.