I have eaten pickles cooked by my mother all my life. My father died four years ago, and all the people in the old photos are gone.

The old house that has lived for 20 years is going to be demolished, so I moved into a rented house, a rough house on the first floor and a cement wall. After simply laying the floor in the bedroom, I moved in. Most of the things we moved in together are old things, and I hate to throw them away. I always want to put them in a corner with my memories.

I stayed for a whole month before the Mid-Autumn Festival.

The rented house is far from the street. Out of the south gate of the community, you will arrive at Huiheba in the ancient town. In this small town in northern Anhui, it has almost become a place for people to walk in the morning and evening. A person moved while working, from running around from the beginning, bored and unable to appreciate, to the incomparable love now. I look forward to coming back from work, closing the door, living in a humble room and drinking tea.

Although it is the Mid-Autumn Festival, the vast land outside the window is still lush and there is no sound in my ear. I don't like the excitement, as if I have found the habitat of my soul, especially at night, and there seems to be a kind of loneliness.

After cleaning up the rough house, the fatigue of moving gradually faded. Because I was worried about my mother, I quickly went to visit.

My father has been gone for four years, and my sisters who are free often go home to have a look.

Mother lives with her younger brother's family, looks after her little nephew in grade three, and brings her a lot of laughter. When my father just died, I moved in with my mother for a month because I was worried about her. I chat with her every night and listen to her talk about my father's past. Mother finally came out of the great grief of her father's death and gradually had a smile on her face.

Every time I read it, she couldn't help mentioning her father, but I listened quietly.

The day before yesterday, I went to my mother's after work. The old man looks fine. He asked me if I was tired of moving and whether I was busy with my work. When I left, I forced a bottle of her bean paste and told me there were peanuts in it, so I took it back and ate it slowly.

After my father died, my mother suddenly aged a lot in recent years. She always walks with her back bent, and her hair is turning white. As usual, my mother turned on the light on the stairs when I went out and told me to be careful on my way home.

Back to the rented house, I opened my mother's bean paste and dipped it in steamed bread. Night infiltration, delicious food, full of the smell of home.

The still time strikes a chord and makes me fall into the lake of memory. ......

I was born in the old street of Chengguan Town, Guzhen County, Bengbu City, Anhui Province in the 1970s. Kimchi is still my favorite, and its taste has been cordial for decades.

As far as I can remember, the pickles that I always ate at home when I was a child were all pickled with spicy vegetables, and the bean paste made of soybeans was after I grew up.

The ancient town was founded in 1965. When I was a child, I often heard my mother talk about it. When she and her father first established the county, they obeyed the arrangement of the organization and came to Guzhen.

My mother used to work in Huaiyuan county hospital, and my father worked as an officer in Huaiyuan county government. When my parents and my two-year-old brother first arrived in the ancient town, almost all the places except the old street were empty and there was no house. My mother said that my first home in the ancient town was a grass temple, and the walls were reinforced with thick mats. At night, kerosene lamps smoked my eyes, so my mother put a lampshade outside, which was much better.

This kerosene lamp, in my impression, was still in use when I moved to the old sports ground in Guzhen. 1984, my family moved to the new sports ground on Guzhen No.2 Road, and I also saw it from my father's old collection.

In that era of material scarcity, almost every family had many children and had a heavy burden. Because the family is poor, it is enough for adults and children to eat. Unlike today, there are so many stresses on eating, and the recipes prepared by nutritionists are delicious and attractive, which is in line with the perspective of health preservation.

In my childhood, I remember eating meat once a week, with few vegetables. The impression of the food market is vaguely remembered. On both sides of the road just entering the old street, the old residents of the old street spread out the packaging bags with their own vegetables on the ground, which were scattered sparsely. It should be called the market at that time. My mother took me and bought rice from there. I remember it very clearly. It was forty cents a catty.

40 cents a catty of rice was only available after the days got better.

What my mother has repeatedly said for decades is that the earliest eggs cost twenty cents, pork costs eighty cents and mutton costs ninety cents. 1984, I lived in the new sports ground on Guzhen No.2 Road. The watermelon I ate was 50 cents a catty. It is big and yellow, not to mention how sweet it is.

These are the two-cent eggs. My mother said that she was poor at that time and had other expenses at home, so she couldn't bear to buy it. She occasionally buys it several times and leaves it for her brother to eat. After arriving, fortunately, my mother kept some hens laying eggs in the yard behind the new playground, and my sister and brother didn't miss eating eggs.

Authentic earth eggs, sometimes fried by mother, sometimes fried by mother, full of love.

The old sports ground where I lived as a child has now become a bustling commercial golden street, with no trace of the past. But the past years will always unfold inadvertently, and at every quiet moment, I will be reminded repeatedly by myself. ......

I have no recollection of the vegetables I ate as a child. The only thing I remember is the kimchi that I have to eat at home all year round.

The home of the old sports ground is now Guzhen Road Xintiandi Financial Street. At that time, our family was divided into three tile houses by the county sports commission. Because there are grandparents, there is not enough place to live. My father built three thatched huts in the front yard and surrounded them. In this way, there are two yards in the front yard. My father built a brick fence and planted several kinds of flowers in it. I can't remember the names of these flowers. It seems that the wall climbed over the vine. Outside the wall is a playground, with green grass all over the floor, and two basketball courts made of salt and mud. In the era when there was no TV, the sports ground at that time became the only entertainment center in the county, and it was very lively every night.

Later, my father paved the front yard and backyard with cement. The front yard is used to park wooden carts and the only black bicycle in the house. The back seat is big and strong. My brother and I are still young, and my father will take us to play when he goes out from work. There were no seats for children at that time. The father sat on the beam of the bicycle with his brother in his arms, sitting sideways. Put me in the back seat.

At that time, the sky was blue, the clouds were light and the wind was light.

The backyard is much bigger than the front yard, and two kitchens have been built. At that time, it was called a pot house. One is open, with a fire pot and a sealed box, and the chimney is connected to the outside. When I was a child, I liked to see smoke coming from the chimney at home, which meant that dinner was coming soon. I was so happy. The other room is a formal kitchen, with a small dining table, several small benches and a long wooden bench. Because there are many children when eating, the dining table is too small to squeeze, and there is always a child sitting by the side, who has to stand up and eat enough. Later, when the family had some money, my father bought a generous table and put it in the living room, which was not used much at ordinary times unless there were guests at home. During the Chinese New Year, my grandparents were with us, and the family sat there, eating a big dinner. As a little girl, I loved Chinese New Year and always felt that I could sit very high without eating pickles and eating meat casually that day, without standing up and reaching for it.

Many years later, my mother smiled and told me that I was too busy at work to take care of my children. Once it was raining lightly, and when I finished eating at home at noon, I found that there was no me. My mother hurried out to find me and picked me up under the big tree in the playground.

The boiler house in the backyard takes up no space. The most striking thing is a well in the middle of the yard, with a big water tank beside it. Outside the backyard is a small lake. At that time, there was no running water, so everyone drew water from the well to drink. There is a hole in the wall of the backyard, just like the sewer now. At that time, washing clothes, cooking and washing vegetables, the rest of the water flowed out from there.

Watermelon in summer, dad tied a big net with wire. The rope is very strong. Watermelon has been soaked in well water for a long time, and when it is pulled up, it becomes an iced watermelon. Cold and delicious.

But my favorite is the big water tank. All the year round, it is a vegetable basket at home and has a happy childhood.

In the big water tank, my mother pickled my favorite pickles until today. Pickled pickles are commonly known as "snow red". I don't quite understand the origin of this name. I thought to myself, in those poor years, there was nothing to eat in the snowy winter. Only this dish I ate made the name so festive.

My parents began to be busy as soon as they arrived in autumn. They brought back full spicy dishes with trolleys and marinated them for a year. What kind of wild spicy food did my mother buy? As for the difference with the usual spicy food, I have never asked.

I only remember that in autumn, when my parents were not at work, they rode their scooters out early in the morning. When I come back, my father pulls and my mother pushes. We children are waiting at home. The scooter arrived at the door, and I happily helped my mother push it. Buy wild vegetable chili pepper, open it in the backyard, cut off the roots, remove the yellow leaves bit by bit, wash it with water from the well several times, and then dry it. When the water evaporated and the leaves faded a little, they began to pickle.

Mom doesn't seem to have a chance for pickles, because on several occasions, the spicy vegetables pickled by mom have gone bad. From then on, all the pickles at home were cooked by her father.

On the day of pickles, when my parents were at home, I was so happy that I looked from the front to the back. At that time, my brothers and sisters went to school, and my brother was still young. My parents always take my brother with them when they go out, but they are too busy at work to take care of our two brothers and sisters. At that time, there was no kindergarten, and they often locked me in the house, waiting for them to come back from work.

Locked at home for several years, I always moved a small bench myself, sat quietly in the yard, looked at the picture book my father bought me, looked up at the sky, and felt that the sky was so blue and the clouds were so white.

After the washed spicy dishes were put in order, my father began to pickle them. Wash the big water tank several times before pickling. Spread a layer of wild spicy vegetables on the bottom of the tank, sprinkle a handful of coarse salt particles, then spread a layer of vegetables and hold them tightly with your hands; Then put a layer of wild spicy vegetables and a handful of salt on it. Repeat this way, and a large jar of pickles will be cured. Father finally put a big stone on the big water tank, covered it with plastic cloth and tied a circle of rope around the water tank. After a while, when the salt water comes out, my father will wash the sharp green peppers and put them in, and together with the spicy dishes, they will become delicious on the table in the future.

I remember when I was a child, I didn't eat any fresh vegetables. Pickling pickles in a big water tank in the morning and evening. At about noon, my mother cooked the food, but I really don't remember it today.

Spicy dishes are preserved, and every time my father takes out a few from the water tank for my mother to fry. Mom first prepared a few slices of ginger, poured some oil into the pot, and when dad heated the pot and fried the ginger slices, he quickly put the cut spicy vegetables in and fried them, then put the green peppers in, and when the pot was about to go out, he poured in a few cloves of garlic, and then went out a few times. Spicy food is always steamed by my mother, soft, white and sweet. Steamed buns are made from the big aluminum pot at home.

In addition to clay pots, coal was often burned at home when I was a child. Mother is steaming steamed buns on the coal stove. The coal stove is very big and the fire is very big. It can put four pieces of coal at a time. I remember when I was very young, there was no lump coal, but I bought loose coal to go home. I often see my parents sweating together, using shovels and coal in the backyard, then shoveling out the blended coal with shovels and burning it in the coal stove. Poke a hole with a stove hook before going to bed at night, then tighten the lower stove cover and open it the next morning. Later, with briquettes, parents no longer need to burn coal.

When I was a child, there were no snacks. Only during the Chinese New Year, jiaozi, leaves and small fruits were fried at home, and my mother bought us a dime 10 piece of fruit candy. I usually eat pickles every day, but I don't have enough. There are many people in the family, and steamed buns are eaten quickly. My mother will steam steamed buns soon. When my friends and I play in the sports ground for a long time and run home happily, my mother will let me wash my hands and hand me a steamed bread that has just been cooked, which is full of sugar. The smell of hard biting still lingers through time and space.

In order to improve the taste, my mother waited for a rest and cooked dough buns on the floor pan, while my father was responsible for burning wood. The hair mask was so scarred that I ate it all without putting sugar and pickles.

Pickled vegetables, except steamed bread and hair mask, are pancakes. When I was a child, there was a hollow pancake in my house and it bulged out. Mother kneaded the dough on the panel with a rolling pin, then rolled it into a thin circle and put it on the concave surface. What burns below is a fine fire, sometimes small wood chips, and sometimes wheat pulp specially sent by relatives in my hometown. When baking pancakes, mother rolled them up and turned them over. There is a small wooden stick next to the concave, and my mother gently picks it back and forth, and the pancakes will be cooked soon. Often before dinner, I will pick up one and roll in the mala Tang cooked by my mother. I can't wait. And my brothers and sisters sometimes eat salty peppers with relish.

Many years later, I am immersed in a cup of chrysanthemum tea, and my thoughts are out of control.

The smell of pickles pervades time, and childhood seems to have never left. The beauty of time has permeated my past life and has potential in my heart.

As soon as Tomb-Sweeping Day arrived in the second year, the pickles in the big water tank began to taste bad and the salt water began to turn white. At this time, it is necessary to fish out the spicy food that has not been eaten and make it into a moldy dish for summer consumption. Wash and dry the hot dishes and cut them into small pieces. First, clean the pot, pour it into well water, add ginger slices, peppers, star anise and peanuts, and cook with the chopped spicy vegetables. Usually the fire starts at 5 pm, and there is not much left at 8 pm. First, my father pulls the bellows, then simmers it with a big fire and then a small fire. When the time comes, the firewood will naturally go out, cover the pot and stew for one night, and take it out to dry the next day. When my home is a little better, my mother will cut a piece of pork belly into Queena Ding, cook dried vegetables in a pot, and dried skin that I usually hate to eat.

The cooked dried vegetables were dried on the chopping board bed the next day. When I was a child, the chopping board bed was the four thick wooden sticks with nails, and the middle was climbed with thick ropes. There is a thick mat on the chopping board bed, and dried vegetables are put on the back of the thick mat to dry for breathing. Boil the pork belly in water to dry the mushrooms. When it is dry one day, put the dried mushrooms in, soak them in lard water for one night, and then take them out to dry the next day. Going back and forth several times, the soup is used up, and the food is dark and bright, which is very attractive. At that time, meat was rarely eaten, and the diced pork belly in the dried vegetables was quietly eaten by us.

Mom fried moldy dried vegetables and liked to add some vinegar. It's delicious. Summer dinner, home is often a bowl of chopped green onion water, garlic and dried Chili vegetables, which has become the most leisure time for the family.

Later, the whole family moved from the old stadium to the new stadium on Route 2, and the big water tank was abandoned in the old house because there was no place to put it.

At home in the new sports ground, vegetables were finally planted in the yard, including green vegetables, peppers, eggplant and cucumbers. There is a pomegranate tree in the yard, and my mother grows strawberries. When autumn comes, the spreading grape vines are full of fruits.

There is no big water jar. My mother bought a big porcelain jar and pickled wild spicy vegetables every year, but it is no longer our staple food.

Parents don't have to pull a scooter out to buy it. Every time I see a bundle brought back by my father by bike, I still wash it like that or pickle it like that. Father likes to put some shredded pork in pickled peppers and fry them himself, so that our sisters often run home and roll them in pancakes to eat a delicious meal when they grow up.

Time flies, the number of pickled spicy vegetables at home is getting less and less. Every year, it is alternating with bean paste.

Now that my father is away and my mother is old, I haven't pickled salty and spicy vegetables at home for several years, but my mother still loves them for decades. When I buy it from the supermarket and pickle it, I often fry a plate and taste it carefully.

Last year, I was surprised to find that in a small shop at the corner of Guzhen Second Road, there was fried dried vegetables, which I bought several times and still smelled like that childhood.

Sitting in a dull time, let the memories fly and the past reappear.

Today seems like yesterday, but the reality seems more distant than before. The smell of kimchi exudes warmth, permeates life, travels through time and space, and moistens your eyes.

Qian Fan drank warmth and was drunk all his life.

Wen Yang Chunyan

Old photos provided by Yang Chunyan.

Collation record ┃ ┃ Explanation of Jianghuai