In the ancestral waterways of my homeland, the water caltrop makes its seasonal appearance, signaling the advent of summer. As one traverses the river in a modest boat, the water's surface is entirely overrun with dense clusters of caltrop plants, sprawling from the banks and reaching towards the heart of the river. The river's breadth, spanning several yards, yields only a narrow passage for the vessel, evoking the poetic imagery of the Song dynasty poet Yang Wanli, who once mused, "A path parts amidst the water caltrops and elodea, but who, at dawn, has passed by in the caltrop-picking boat?" In their verdant abundance, the caltrop plants grow thick and bounteous, their stems festooned with delicate, four-petaled white blossoms. Viewed from a distance, the scene unfurls as an expansive swathe of green, rippling and undulating with the gentle waves, a vast, living tapestry animated by the slightest breeze. As the white blooms eventually fade, tender, spiky young caltrops begin to emerge. These water caltrops, likened in taste to chestnuts, have earned the appellation "water chestnuts" due to their aquatic origins. The eminent Ming dynasty physician Li Shizhen, in his illustrious compendium *Compendium of Materia Medica*, notes that the caltrop's leaves spread out like branches, thus the character "支" is employed in its name, and its sharply angled fruit earns it the title of "菱" (ling). In antiquity, the four-angled and three-angled caltrops were collectively known as "ji," while the two-angled variety alone was referred to as "ling." The Tang poet Zheng Yin once penned the verse, "In the green pond, they gather lotus and caltrop; the sun wanes over the clear river." In our locale, the caltrops are predominantly of the four-angled variety, commonly called "sparrow caltrops" by the locals. The origins of this nomenclature remain shrouded in obscurity. Occasionally, one might encounter the two-angled "phoenix caltrop," whose vivid red hue is quite pleasing to the eye. As for the withered, sharp-tipped "wild monkey caltrops," these are wild specimens, unpalatable to the point of pricking the mouth, and thus shunned by all. In my hometown, the cultivation of caltrops, colloquially termed "planting caltrops," is a well-practiced endeavor. The seeds, meticulously prepared the previous year, are bound in straw and buried on a sunny embankment throughout the winter. With the arrival of early spring, they are unearthed and cast upon the river's surface. During the era of collective farming, a small team would tend several stretches of water; with the land divided, a few families now share a single waterway. Once the caltrop seeds have been sown, two earthen mounds are constructed on the bank, sprinkled with lime. Boatmen, spotting these white lime markers, would immediately recognize that caltrops had been planted here, and would refrain from dredging the riverbed in these parts. The act of "flipping caltrops" is one requiring considerable skill—courage and agility are essential, and it is a task traditionally performed by women. The young women of our village are particularly adept at this craft. A narrow wooden boat, with a plank laid across the front cabin, stretches out on either side like the wings of a bird. The caltrop-flippers crouch on these planks, resembling so many inky ducks, while one person remains at the stern, carefully steering the boat. The balance on the plank must be maintained with precision, lest the slightest shift sends the flipper tumbling into the water, a drenched figure indeed. The oarsman at the stern must be meticulous, applying just the right amount of pressure—too fast, and the caltrops cannot be flipped in time; too slow, and time is wasted. Picture, if you will, the verdant river, dotted with five or six young women clustered on a single boat, a vibrant scene of colors set against the backdrop of the gently flowing water. The caltrops rise and fall, accompanied by the constant melody of laughter. What I have described here as "flipping caltrops" would, under the pen of an ancient scholar, be elevated to the more refined term "gathering caltrops." The Tang dynasty poet Liu Yuxi, in his poem "The Caltrap Gathering Song," captures this scene with such verse:

    Upon White Horse Lake, where autumn’s light doth play,  

    The lilies bloom like silken hues in flight.  

    Fair maidens row, midst waters bright and gay,  

    Nor glance at knights who pass beyond their sight.

    Liu Mengde vividly portrayed the joyous and exuberant demeanor of the girls picking water chestnuts on the serene expanse of White Horse Lake. In contrast, during the Southern and Northern Dynasties, Xu Mian’s poem, The Ballad of Picking Water Chestnuts, encapsulated the melancholic yearning of a young maiden beset by longing. His verses poignantly express:

    In hand, they walk beneath the moon so fair,  

    To northern shores they glide, their lilies plucked with care.  

    Soft breezes lift the boatmen’s song on high,  

    Till dusk descends, and side by side they lie.

    They linger long, though night begins to fall,  

    In yearning gaze, they wait by waters tall.  

    Should they but meet the one who lost a token dear,  

    Their hearts would pledge in love, without a fear.

    In our current era, such scenes are no longer visible. Since the introduction of land allocation to individual households, not only has the land been divided, but even the water surfaces have been parceled out. The collective labor scenes, where an entire production team would work together, have disappeared. Even the planting and harvesting of water chestnuts have become matters for each household to handle on their own. Nowadays, the process of gathering water chestnuts rarely involves the use of boats. For a small patch of water, roughly the size of a few reed mats, it's typically a young woman or a wife who paddles a long, oval-shaped basin across the water. Sitting in the basin, she uses her hands as paddles, alternating between rowing and gathering, moving and pausing. This method requires a great deal of balance. A slight tilt could easily tip her into the river. The small wooden basin rests atop the water chestnut plants; after working for a while, she paddles forward a bit, stops, and gathers again. This process repeats until the entire patch of water is thoroughly harvested. At this point, the young woman or wife can no longer sit in the basin, as it is now filled with water-soaked, fresh water chestnuts. She has to pull the basin behind her as she swims back home, with the sound of splashing water echoing across the river, carrying a sense of solitude. Indeed, the constant laughter that once filled the air has faded away. Water chestnuts have medicinal properties, as documented in the Compendium of Materia Medica. They are said to strengthen the spleen and stomach, fortify the legs and knees, enhance physical strength, and even promote weight loss—making them a natural "slimming" food that would surely appeal to many women today. Additionally, there are reports claiming that water chestnuts can prevent cancer. A 1967 article in the Japanese Central Medical Journal asserted that water chestnuts effectively inhibit the mutation of cancer cells and tissue proliferation, a claim made with such certainty that it is hard not to believe. Enthusiastic advocates have even provided a "recipe" for prevention: take 20 raw water chestnuts, add an appropriate amount of water, and simmer over low heat until the broth turns a rich brown. This concoction, taken three times a day, is said to prevent and treat esophageal, stomach, uterine, and breast cancers. Whether water chestnuts can indeed prevent or treat cancer remains to be thoroughly investigated. However, the freshly harvested water chestnuts, once cleaned, can be boiled and eaten immediately—a true "fresh from the water" delicacy. If not boiled, the tender water chestnuts can be peeled and eaten raw, offering a crisp, sweet, and refreshingly juicy snack, a perfect treat for rural children. When it comes to cooking, the top recommendation is "Fresh Water Chestnuts with Young Rooster." From a culinary standpoint, it is a simple dish, but in terms of ingredients, it highlights the importance of choosing the freshest components. This dish combines freshly harvested water chestnuts, peeled into small kernels, with a young rooster just beginning to crow, which is then quickly blanched. The result is a dish that embodies the essence of freshness, tenderness, and vitality—how could it not make one's mouth water?