Gratitude in Every Bite

In the lush, green valleys of Mai Châu Village, Vietnam, where mist hugged the rolling hills, young Liem and his grandmother Bà Lan sat beneath an old mango tree. The branches swayed gently, heavy with golden fruit.

As Liem bit into a ripe mango, he smiled. “Bà, these are the sweetest mangoes I’ve ever had!”

Bà Lan chuckled, her weathered hands resting on her lap. “They should be, child. This tree is older than you. It was planted by your grandfather many years ago.”

Liem looked up in surprise. “Grandfather planted this tree?”

She nodded. “Yes, and he never tasted its fruits. He planted it knowing that one day, you and others would sit here and enjoy them. That is why, when eating fruit, we must remember the one who planted the tree.”

Liem took another bite, but this time, it tasted different—not just sweet, but meaningful. He looked around at the rice paddies, the wooden houses, and the many trees shading the village. Each one was a gift from those who came before.

From that day on, whenever Liem ate a fruit, he whispered a silent thank-you—not just for the fruit, but for the hands that made it possible.