Once the rice is harvested in late August, thousands of white ducks appear on the paddy fields in the suburbs of Huế. They are called vịt chạy đồng—free-range ducks—but I prefer to think of them as autumn ducks.
This seasonal tradition takes place mainly after the autumn rice harvest, when farmers do not plant another crop until December because of the flood season. The first rains of the wet season turn the harvested fields into immense shallow ponds, and the ducks seem perfectly happy to make them their feeding grounds, playgrounds, and resting places.
Abundant leftover rice grains, insects, snails, grasses, and other creatures provide plenty of food, helping the ducks grow and fatten quickly. The fields feed the ducks, while the ducks, in turn, help clear away insects and other small creatures that might otherwise harm the next rice crop.
The ducks spend their days—and practically their entire lives—on the paddy fields until they are about two months and ten days old, when they are mature enough to leave for good. No wonder local gourmets and restaurants prefer these free-range ducks to farm-raised ones.
While the ducks forage across the fields, their herders spend just as much time there, rain or shine. Temporary shacks are set up beside the paddies to shelter them. Some herders are the duck owners themselves; others are hired to take on this demanding seasonal work.
I hardly noticed these ducks or the people who watched over them until recently, when I started taking a new route on my morning rides to Thuận An Beach for my daily swim. I soon found myself slowing down whenever I passed the paddy fields, captivated by the ducks preening their feathers, diving for food, or swimming together through the morning mist.
And thanks to the ducks, I got to know two of their herders, Mr. Khấn and Mr. Hân.
Mr. Khấn first caught my attention with his broad smile on a weather-beaten face. Mr. Hân delighted me in a different way: one morning, I spotted him sitting inside his tiny shack, quietly listening to music on a radio.
When I asked Mr. Khấn what was most difficult about herding the ducks, he immediately knew the answer.
“It was when I first brought the ducks to the fields. They wandered everywhere, and it was so hard to get them back together.”
Getting to know Mr. Hân was more difficult. He was quiet and reserved, and I found it hard to start a conversation with him. Mr. Khấn, on the other hand, was more open to talking about himself.
“My wife and I had eight children, and two of them are now sick,” he told me one rainy day when we first met.
He spoke so openly that I wondered if he had sensed that I genuinely wanted to know his story—and that I would listen without judging.
Another day, he came to me with a completely different expression, his voice filled with joy.
“I passed your gift to my wife, and she was so happy. So thank you again!”
At first, I stopped by those paddy fields simply because I enjoyed watching the ducks. Then I stopped again and again, not only to watch them, but to listen to their herders and, little by little, to know and love the people around me more.
These autumn ducks have given me more than a few beautiful moments on my morning rides. They have led me to people I might otherwise never have met.
Below are some of the beautiful and memorable moments I have captured over the past few weeks.
Lan Huế
Huế, October 1, 2026
