Essays praising farmers

In our large agricultural country with a population of 1.3 billion, I see the ebb and flow of black people. Most of them are farmers, but they are all worthy of our praise. It is available below, please refer to it.

：My farmer brothers

When working becomes the fashion for farmers, and doing business becomes people’s yearning, and they abandon their homes and families one after another to go out to hunt for gold and silver, you still follow Grandpa’s teachings: Land is the lifeblood of our farmers and must not be left to waste. If you lose anything, you cannot lose the land. Rub your youth into the long years and mark the yellow land with salty sweat. The finely ground hoe handle records the hard work of facing the loess and the sky, and the bald plowshare tells the vicissitudes of life. For the sake of firewood, rice, oil and salt, for the tuition of your children, you wear the stars and the moon, go out early and come back late, let the sun kiss your back thoughtfully, and let the mountain wind gnaw your skin mercilessly. The bright hoe reflects your sadness, and the silk smoke burns your misery. The sweat drips, and the grains are your blood and salt. The cold comes and the summer comes, and your pain and tiredness are there every day. Crops are your favorite, fields are your hope. Every time the swallows bring the whisper of spring, the cuckoo sings the yellow wheat, and the magpie pecks the ripe corn in the mountain col, your brows bloom and fall like lotus flowers. Only at the end of the New Year, when the wealthy migrant workers in suits and leather shoes return home, do the rattling dry tobacco pots show a little bit of disappointment.

There is no rain, the land is dry, your brow is furrowed like a torn wound, the fields are shrouded in your sorrow like smoke, facing the large tracts of crops that are withering day by day, you are burning with worry, and will be deeply worried. The earth sighs and is buried in pots of dry tobacco bags. Looking back at the west sky, the setting sun is like blood, nurturing the hope for tomorrow with empty faith.

: What the farmers want to say

Today, a 7-year-old boy passing by my paddy field asked his mother: "Mom, why do farmers plant grass in the rice fields?"

Listening to the little boy's words, I felt an inexplicable sadness and sorrow in my heart, instead of listening to my fathers' descriptions of the educated youth who went to the countryside to tell the difference between wheat and grass.

When I was as old as a little boy, my mother taught me in the paddy field: "Planting rice seedlings is like writing, horizontally in rows, vertically in rows, with the left hand dividing the rice seedlings and the right hand planting the rice seedlings."

In my mind In my young heart, I had the feeling of head against the scorching sun, back bent against the blue sky, facing the land, feet stepping on the scalding rice fields, sweat flowing into my eyes, and soreness after working. I hated the hard work in the paddy fields.

When I grew up, I learned about the hardships of my parents’ generation. In this society where the number of money equals success in life, who would have thought that it is farmers who feed China's cautious urban residents through their hard work. Being kind, honest, honest and hard-working, in the eyes of urban residents: the work of farmers is menial; the status of farmers is humble; their income is meager; they are just backward, ignorant and second-class citizens.

The sons and daughters of farmers have become migrant workers, living in simple work sheds and factories in the corners of the city, doing dirty, tiring and poor work, making the city more beautiful day by day. But some bosses cut off wages. People in the city say that migrant workers are uneducated and cannot use magic to protect their legal rights, but we farmers also know our legal rights. We will not stay with them for one or two months for a salary of more than 1,000 yuan. During this period, The cost of food, housing and transportation, as well as the inaction of local authorities, make our migrant workers destined to be losers in terms of time and economic costs.

In fact, we are just migratory birds in the city. In the city, we only cultivate in spring and summer, but do not share the fruits of autumn. In the winter in the city, we can only fly back to our hometown.

Sometimes people ask me what I do online. When I reply that I am a farmer, they will say that farmers can surf the Internet and write prose. I reply angrily, why do I look down on farmers?

Here, I never conceal my identity as a farmer. I think farmers are noble, kind, honest, honest, and hardworking. In the eyes of some people, farmers' work is menial; their status is humble and their income is meager. But they have the hard work and the character of constant self-improvement. What farmers lose is that they do not have a say in allocating social wealth, education... resources. What we farmers lose is at the starting line.

I am a farmer. This does not prevent me from working in the fields, washing the dust off my hands, sitting on the computer, and writing what I want to say. Because farmers are not ignorant. Labels of poverty and lowliness.

: Praise you, farmer friends from my hometown

Farmers have a very valuable spirit - like the gears in the machine that keep running, hardworking and hard; like the quiet stones in the fields Lying quietly, stubborn and thick; like a rainbow in the sky, simple and beautiful. This is the farmer in my eyes! During this past holiday, I witnessed the valuable spirit of farmer friends.

In fact, I have wanted to use my own language to praise my migrant workers who have been working hard and making silent contributions for a long time, but I always felt that my language was popular and my writing was poor, so I was hesitant to write. The reason why I have the courage to write now is because their spirit moves me and makes me admire them.

The winter in my hometown is very cold this year. Compared with last year's Spring Festival, when everyone wore short-sleeved clothes to celebrate the New Year, this year, folks in my hometown celebrated the New Year around the stove. However, after the first and second days of the Lunar New Year, the villagers started to get busy again. Some people are reluctant to take a break even on the first day of the Lunar New Year and are eager to cut sugar cane. A few days before the Lantern Festival, light rain fell and spring thunder sounded in my hometown. It rained for several days in a row. I was so cold at home that I could hardly live without the stove. You might think that everyone is resting at home in this situation, but the farmer friends in my hometown put on their raincoats, water shoes, hats, sickles, and went out to chop in the wind, rain, and cold. sugar cane. How hard it is, I am touched by their actions! Winter is the harvest season for sugar cane farmers. In this cold season, the villagers go out early and come back late. They are exhausted from work, but they are also happy. They are tired and happy at the same time. A few days before returning to school, following my parents, my brother and I also picked up sickles and marched into the sugar cane fields. That day, the weather was not very good. It rained a little, so we put on raincoats. Because of the rain, my whole body was cold, even the sugar cane was cold, and my hands were so cold that they were almost numb and could not feel anything. However, in the fields, everyone was talking and laughing. The villagers’ simple and slightly humorous jokes made me laugh non-stop. How rare this is, I am shocked by their spirit! In their hometown, the main agricultural labor performed by the villagers includes: cutting sugar cane, planting sugar cane, pulling sugar cane leaves, planting corn, etc. You might say that the working objects are almost all sugar cane. Yes, sugar cane is the main cash crop in our hometown and we live on sugar cane. Throughout the year, the lives of villagers revolve around sugarcane: planting in spring, maintenance in summer and autumn, and harvesting in winter. Spring and winter are the busiest times for villagers. When spring arrives, the villagers begin to cultivate the land; when summer arrives, the villagers begin to weed the fields; when autumn arrives, the villagers begin to pull the leaves of sugar cane; when winter arrives, the villagers begin to cut sugar cane.

From planting to harvesting, every step is not easy. There used to be a joke: "Sugar cane is delicious, but the residue is hard to swallow." Now I want to say: "Sugar cane is delicious, but growing it is difficult." No matter it is scorching sun or wind and rain, the villagers must go out on time. work.

Peasants, standing on the shoulders of history, seek the shining sun from the land. Although they dress simply, they have a simple and kind heart. They come in the wind and go in the rain. They are busy with life all day long, but they work hard without complaint.

The beauty of wild geese is in the high sky, the beauty of flowers is in the green bushes, the beauty of words is in the truth, and the beauty of people is in their labor. Farmer friends in my hometown, I am proud of you, you are great.

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