When beans harvest the Millennium, my hometown is on the north bank of Nenjiang River.

The "White Dew" is coming, and the soybean fields on the black land on the north bank of Nenjiang River in my hometown have turned black, green, black and green. The long pods are bulging day by day, and the beans inside are more and more round and about to mature. This season is most afraid of early frost, so every household lights piles of wormwood prepared in advance by the field, and the flames are shining and smoky, creating a microclimate environment. Someone made a broom out of three grasses and hung it under the eaves, swinging like an ornament, saying it was sweeping the frost. Mom doesn't believe this, saying it's all superstition and useless. She resigned herself and was a natural person.

My father takes me to visit the soybean field every day. He looks at every soybean like he looks at me. He grins when he looks at it, and his face is full of smiles. Father pulled up some beans, picked up dry wood and lit edamame to eat. This kind of bean is round, fat and tender. After eating this one, I miss that one, and soon my stomach will swell up. My hands and mouth are always black, and my father says I am like a little black bear in the mountains.

It seems that it is the time to close your eyes and open your eyes. It is the "autumn equinox". The soybeans on the ground quietly shed leaves, and the beanstalk and pods suddenly turned yellow and black, and began to rattle. Those pointed-billed birds flying from the mountains circled in the air, cackling and singing, as if to say: cut, cut. ...

It's time for beans to be harvested.

At this time, my grandfather will go to the town market to buy some new sickles, small grindstones and special leather gloves, with his fingers exposed. I also plunged into the pub and had a few drinks with my familiar old buddies, talked about the harvest and immersed myself in the joy of the harvest. After I came back, I grinded the sickle in the moonlight, grinding and grinding quickly. As soon as I caught a blade of grass, I immediately broke it in two.

On the day of sickle cutting, the whole family went to the fields with the morning star. One person holds three ridges, and the middle ridge is opened once, and then the other two ridges are cut back and forth and laid, and pushed forward one by one along the long ridges. At this time, the sun has not come out, and the dew is heavy. You can't fry soybeans, you can cut them faster. When the sun is like a fireball, go home and have a rest. The sun hits the mountain and then cuts the ground, just to avoid soybean being fried. Grandpa used to say that if beans were fried at harvest time, you would not only lose a lot, but also be laughed at as a farmer. In fact, harvesting beans is the most bitter and tiring. I bent down and pulled the sickle with all my strength. Soon, beads of sweat were all over my face. And the fingertip of the bean collector was pricked by beans, which made people's noses stiff. Often the sickle will be blunt before it reaches a ridge, so grandpa will take off the small grindstone hanging on his belt and sharpen the knife for everyone. Only in this way can I stand upright. Then I cut it again, and the knife rang quickly, and my heart was full of joy of harvest. I'm tired of harvesting beans these days, and the meals of various families are all delicious. My grandmother cooks at home. She baked beef tongue cakes, stewed beans and yellow rice, cooked chicken stewed vermicelli, fried vegetables, fried river fish, boiled salted duck eggs, and cooked hot and sour soup ... Looking at the same meal, she was very tired, but she couldn't eat much. However, my grandfather still drinks a few drinks every night. He said that after drinking wine, you can have a good sleep, which will slow down fatigue.