Play with mud and tell jokes.

Speaking of mixing mud and beating blanks, it is estimated that children after 60 and 70 will laugh.

Maybe you don't want it, but children in modern cities can get into the handmade mud that charges by the hour and walk all day!

Don't believe it? You also try.

In the year when I was admitted to Liu Tong Zhuanglianzhong, my father said that he had no spare money to build a house and decided to build two Westinghouse houses with mud bricks to read for me.

In that era when red and blue bricks were still luxury goods, for ordinary families like us, let alone reinforced concrete, it would be good to use wheat straw mud casually.

When I came home from school that day, I saw my sister trampling on the mud covered with wheat straw in high-waisted rubber shoes. It's very interesting. I want to try it.

But when my foot stepped into the mud and I couldn't pull out the strength to nurse, I couldn't help but think of the joke that "the beautiful female doctor in the city went to the countryside in thin sandals after the rain, and her heel was stuck off before she entered the village", and I blushed.

The cement in my hometown is "wet and sticky, dry and hard, not wet and dry, and can't move", especially the uniformly stirred wheat straw mud, which is even more overbearing-no matter whether I hook it down with a three-tooth hook or gouge it out with a three-tooth shovel, it hasn't been pulled out anyway.

Later, I simply went barefoot and slapped my face with my bare hands. Father squatted down and piled the wheat straw mud handed by my sister or me neatly on the brick foundation covered with a thin reed pipe.

Father said, everything should not be hasty. Swallows build nests with mud in their mouths, and pay attention to step by step. Farmers plant crops in season on time, and the wheat straw mud wall should also master the "temperature"-even if the bottom is almost dry, it should be urgent. People squatting on it will deform, sometimes shake or even collapse.

In a blink of an eye, more than half a month passed. When my interest in stepping on wheat straw mud and scooping mud balls gradually became dull and even became a burden, my father said, "The window is too high, so let's use adobe." ?

Speaking of blank production, I'm interested again. Because long before I played with mud, I had seen my father's dance "Three Shovels, One Mold and Twenty-four Clutches". ...

I vaguely remember that day when I went to deliver dry food and water to my dad and them, I heard the rhythm of "Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock".

Approached, my father was moving a freshly paved adobe pile, and Pinghai stood in a knee-deep pit, scraped the soil off the mat with a baffle, put the jujube blank mold back on the mat, then plugged in the baffle, raised a plant ash in the blank mold, then grabbed a shovel and filled three shovels of soil. ?

At this time, my father just came back.

I saw him twisting his waist, jumping on the blank mold, jumping up and stamping a few feet, and then kicking off the excess soil on the side. Then he raised the stone pestle with both hands, struck it backward three times toward the center, then struck it slightly forward and backward nine times, then raised the pestle head and struck it next to the heavy hammer nine times, and then struck it on the formwork help three times. Finally, he firmly put the stone pestle aside, crossed his legs and jumped out of the blank mold.

Father said, don't underestimate the "one dust, three shovels, twenty-four pestles" for more than a minute. It is not only a manual work, but also a technical work. If two people don't cooperate tacitly, they can't finish it at all.

Summer is full, summer is connected with summer, and it is the harvest season of the year in a blink of an eye.

Suddenly I remembered the four tiredness of "harvesting wheat, threshing blanks, digging rivers and building dikes" that have gradually drifted away; Hengrui and Ruizhen live in the adobe Westinghouse, which is warm in winter and cool in summer; I look forward to the firmest gaze, the pride of my life, and the hero of my world. ...

This is for memories.