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Appreciation of Li Yanxia's Prose Eggs
In the neighboring henhouse, a black hen is doing her duty and lying motionless in the henhouse. A group of us came to it, and it just raised its head slightly and rolled its eyes slightly. Maybe it's flashing: so many literati will be famous for laying eggs for their masters today, right? Be famous in the world? What's the point if chickens don't lay eggs? Those hens who can't lay eggs finally got into the soup pot. In this way, its heart is no longer impetuous, and it bows its head and concentrates on laying eggs. This is where chickens are smarter than people. It never swells, perhaps because it has always been humble.
The owner of this chicken, surnamed Yang, is a villager of the gunner's ditch group in Sandaogou village, an ancient village in Chaoyang. His home is located at the gate of gunner's ditch. A valley full of weeds and trees winds in front of his house. On the road covered with stones, sheep dung, donkey dung and cow dung are scattered. The smell of livestock manure and the smell of wormwood mixed together and dispersed. I smell a little drunk because I have to escape from this crowded and noisy city for a while.
On the right outside Yangjiamen, there is a stone wall more than half a person high, with an elm tree in its 500 s in the middle. The trunk is like a winding dragon, the green branches and leaves are like flying scales, and the canopy like an umbrella casts a silent shadow. On the left is a low stone wall with a high handle, surrounded by a clearing. On the open space, three poplars go straight into the sky, and the dense leaves flow gently in the sun. Each poplar tree has two or three branches as big as a bowl. It seems that the owner is letting it grow freely, just like these free-range chickens outside the door.
Chickens, or groups of three or five, are planing in the dung heap in front of the door, pecking at the chicken feeding utensils prepared by their owners, playing alone on the wall or even on the elm trees, or strolling in the valley, which is comfortable and leisurely. There are two big cocks, extremely restless, holding their heads high, showing off their red and big cockscomb and singing a few words from time to time, perhaps because they took a fancy to a beautiful hen and presented a love song. In a short time, the two cocks were pinched together, their feathers were licking, they kept jumping up and down, and their beaks were desperately pecking at each other's red crowns. Are they fighting for that beautiful hen? In this case, chickens are as stupid as people.
There are many kinds of chickens, including nine catties of yellow, black face and white neck ... There are more than a dozen rare reed flowers in the flock. The quality of reed flowers is good, the eggs are big and yellow, the chicken is tender and smooth, and the chicken soup is fresh and refreshing. Eating it can produce blood, nourish the body and strengthen the brain. That big reed flower, with black and white feathers, high neck, long and straight back, wide and plump hindquarters and upturned tail feathers, looks delicate and beautiful. It probably knows that it comes from a famous family, strolls leisurely with measured steps, and shows aristocratic demeanor between actions.
Under the stone wall, a black hen leads three chicks to walk and peck. Hens spread their wings from time to time to touch their chicks. The chicken's delicate chirp from near to far has cleared away the dust of the years. My "little yellow" with tender wings and fluffy cuteness is coming in the distance of years. I lay on the kang, watching chickens emerge from eggshells, and they looked at the world naively. Xiao Huang doesn't have a hair all over his body. It is pure milky yellow, clean and refreshing. Mother said the family needed money, so she sold it all this year, and invited a chicken buyer. I pulled my mother's sleeve, and her mother promised to leave Xiao Huang. I was anxious to catch up with Xiao Huang, so I stepped on it-I cried until the sun went down and the stars came out in the afternoon. In my sleep, I held the furry Xiao Huang in my hand and watched it spread its wings. I killed the lovely Huang. Many beautiful things in the world are stifled in people's desires-
Suddenly, Xiaohui said, Sister Li, can you name those three chicken feeding utensils on the ground? Only then did I notice that the three utensils for feeding chickens in the shade were very special: the bottom of the utensils was a one-meter-long wooden trough with a herringbone fence nailed to it, and there was an inch gap between the wooden strips. Several chickens are sticking their heads and necks out of the cracks to peck at the food in the wooden trough. Xiaohui said that this is the "killing dog" that Yang Er took away in Lu Xun's "Hometown"-chickens can stick out their heads and necks to peck, dogs can't, and they can only look sad! I sincerely admire the survival wisdom of workers. Dogs are too strong, so people come up with this way to help the vulnerable group of chickens. Is this a man-made destruction of the natural balance? Not exactly. After all, chickens and dogs are domestic animals, and they all have to be slaughtered. Now, many wild animals have surrendered to human beings.
Yang's dog was not poisoned by gas. It lay quietly on the stone road in the middle of the yard, with its head faithfully facing the door. It may be used to the owner's preference for chickens. How can everything be fair in this world? When he saw us enter the hospital, he stood up warily and shouted at us. The host shouted, don't scream. It was silent at once, squatting on the side of the road with its tail between its legs, opening its mouth in surprise, pricking up its ears and watching us warily.
In Yang's yard, there are no morning glory in rose, purple, pink and white, no corn with wide and green leaves, no whole frame of beans and golden corn like a millstone, all of which are vivid outside his courtyard wall. Four cement flat-topped houses stand on the mountain, with flat and empty front and east yard, which are also chicken sites. The woodshed in the west is connected with the barn. Between the barn and the Westinghouse window, there is a henhouse, where hens lay eggs against the courtyard wall. There are five holes in the henhouse, each about a foot square.
The first time I saw such a delicate chicken nest, coupled with the killing of dogs outside, it can be seen that Yang's chickens are extremely careful. Our village used to feed chickens in broken pots or pig troughs, and rice grains were directly scattered on the ground. The henhouse is a small shack made of stone, fitted with wooden fence doors, and kept in the henhouse at night to prevent civets, foxes and weasels from stealing chickens. When hens lay eggs, some are in the henhouse, some are in the cracks of straw, and some are in broken baskets.
"The gentleman in service, I don't know its period. What is this? Chickens live in Geng ... "The talented Xiaohui read aloud the famous" Gentleman's Battle "in the Book of Songs. He said that he had carefully verified that the nest built by chicken farmers against the wall was the "chicken nest" (chicken house, which was made by digging holes in the wall), and farming civilization was the source of the Book of Songs.
"Chickens live in the ravine", which is a wonderful picture of the sunset in the countryside: in the afterglow of the sunset, flocks of cattle and sheep slowly walk down the hillside outside the village, into the farmhouse yard and into the pen house. Chickens make their homes in their nests. At dusk, the earth presents a gentleness that has never been seen during the day. Farmers gather around them with what they cherish in their lives, and there is peace, tranquility and beauty everywhere. Smoke billowed from the kitchen stove, the lights danced enthusiastically, and the farmer and his wife and children were chatting about idle topics. This is the most interesting moment in the life of ancient farming society.
The young Xiaohui was intoxicated by the artistic conception of the ancient poems of Miri in Malaysia. However, I was immersed in the past: the hen that laid the eggs "clucked-clucked" out of the henhouse, and my brother staggered to the front of the henhouse, crouched down, put his head into the henhouse, and the little * * * pursed up. In his hand, he held an egg at the hen's temperature, which was covered with dust and grass clippings. He grinned happily, held up the egg and said to his mother, boil the egg and eat it. Mother picked up the egg and locked it in the cupboard. My little brother burst into tears. My mother hugged him, wiped his tears and told him that lamp oil, salt, needles and thread were all waiting to sell eggs. My brother didn't understand, and my mother finally said, I'll boil eggs for you on May Day. My brother stopped sobbing. After that, my brother will ask every day, is it May Day? My brother and I conspired to steal eggs, but we didn't get them. My mother is too clever. Every morning, she catches the hens and touches them one by one. When the hen clucked, her mother came out. We have to look forward to May Day with my brother.
The eggs cooked in the zongzi pot smell like zongzi leaves. No matter how difficult it is, my mother will let each of us take two eggs. I will eat one in the morning and put the other in my schoolbag. After class, everyone will show off their eggs and put them together to compare their sizes. The dispute that the teacher solved this day was mainly that the eggs were stolen. At noon, I took the eggs home again. My two younger brothers have eaten all the eggs, and I enjoy superiority in their envious eyes. My brother's eyes made me cruel when I was old, so I divided an egg into two parts.
After May Festival, I hope to get sick. You can eat a small bowl of tender omelet when you are sick. Scrambled eggs? We need important guests. A plate of scrambled eggs needs four or five eggs, and no one can be so extravagant. At that time, there was a joke: a commune cadre went to the village to inspect his work, and the family who was sent rice made him scrambled eggs and rice with millet. While he was eating, the children in that family kept standing outside the door watching him. Hardly had he put the last egg in his mouth when the children cried loudly, "Mom, he ate all the eggs." It is said that the commune cadre told this joke to his friends to laugh at the child.
Today, eggs are a common dish on the farm table.
Seeing an egg and a chicken laying eggs in the henhouse, I remembered the old question: which came first, the chicken or the egg? This is a scientific proposition about the origin of life and the universe, and it is also a philosophical proposition.
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