Prose on the past in the countryside

The smell of burning leaves is not strange to me at all.

In late autumn and early winter, except for pine and cypress, the leaves of many trees seem to be chased by a god and fall at an alarming rate.

In the early years, pears, peaches and apricot trees at home could fall in an instant in late autumn, whether it was dark, the breeze blowing on your face or the singing of birds. Grandma cleans every morning, but the frequency of cleaning will increase several times this season. Leaves falling to the ground are far less beautiful than those on trees. Things that lose light are always gloomy. Fallen leaves, brown, red, green, intact, broken, withered and bright, will eventually be wrapped in dust and piled up in the middle of the yard. Grandma put the lighted tobacco bag in, took a few sips and the leaves began to smoke.

Burning leaves seems to be a ritual that people need to hold, a special symbol to distinguish seasons, which prevents the growth of living things and makes them disappear in the form of smoke. Remind people that they will face endless cold.

At the moment, the leaves are still alive, with weak pulse and moisture, so they are not completely burned. There is no flame, only smoke, like a constantly elongated gray cloth, straight or inclined upward. It's not as thick as firewood smoke and it's not choking. In the weather that is neither dry nor cold, there is a faint fragrance of flowers and fruits ... Sometimes, the smell of burning leaves tonight will be mixed with the smell of cow dung, cut crop stalks, hay, dried peppers and tobacco leaves in the morning to form a mixed smell, which lingers over the village. It carries the truth in the depths of the world of mortals, as well as the distant, vague and real breath of death and despair.

Maybe the death of leaves should not be counted from the moment they are burned. So, when is it counted and when is it counted? The moment it fell? When the flowers bloom? Could it be the moment when it poked its head out in the wind and rain in early spring?

Sometimes life, sometimes death, life is life, death is death, life and death is death, dying and brilliant, moving quietly with fate.

Some time ago, I went to the mountain to see the red leaves, and the red life dyed the whole mountain red. Is it an extreme interpretation of life or a silent struggle? Or not to fight? Anxiously to death, no, it should be to life. The road back to death is the road back to life.

That day, Lao Zhang, the doorman, said that all the leaves in the yard would be knocked out and set on fire tonight. There is a little anger in the tone.

He means that cleaning up these fallen leaves makes him very tired, and he will gather them in the last album in advance to urge them to end their shaky lives and become smoke.

I smiled. There are Sophora japonica, Magnolia grandiflora and Platanus acerifolia in the yard. The breeze is blowing gently, and the green leaves in the yellow are shining in the sun.

Second, dig the cellar.

The cellar is a container for people to store winter vegetables in rural areas in the north, and it is usually chosen in the yard with thick soil layer. It takes two or three people two or three days to dig a cellar that is warm in winter and cool in summer. Three tools are used: a short pick, a short spade and a bamboo basket.

The cellar is generally two to three meters deep, just enough for one person to go down, and there are two holes in the bottom. These two holes are small or big, or deep or shallow. Be kind to craftsmen when digging, the cellar is well dug, the temperature is suitable, and the grain is stored for a long time. or vice versa, Dallas to the auditorium

Digging a cellar is a big project in the countryside. In addition to repairing and building a house, do the math. Also depends on the weather, make a place to worship the sky. All ground-breaking camps in rural areas should consult heaven and earth, and even cutting down a small tree depends on the sky for food.

I liked my family when I was a child. People sitting on the edge of the kang sit together, talking and laughing, just like a cellar digger who digs a shovel of wet soil from the ground and piles it together into a small pile. The fresh breath makes the world warm and bright.

Pit potatoes is a great event for everyone in autumn. Some people have a big family. They get a lot of potatoes. Plus, they have to pick and choose, and it will take two or three days to finish.

When you finish picking potatoes, winter will come. He Miao said, don't dig too deep in the cellar. If it is deep, it will penetrate the ground, and there are ghosts under it. She heard these words from her father. I flinched in fear.

Grandma went to the cellar to get potatoes. I squatted in the cellar and watched her body grow shorter and shorter. When she reaches the deepest darkness, I will keep calling her, and my heart is full of anxiety and anxiety. I am afraid that she will go somewhere else from the cellar. She always agreed to be shorter and duller. The happiest thing is that when she came up, she leaned over one by one with a basket of potatoes and carrots on her head, as if being held by something, slowly, evenly and full of fairy gas.

Potatoes picked in spring are even more surprising. Although those potatoes are still warm, they are covered with small white potatoes. Those small potatoes are usually fed to pigs by grandma. And the big potato we want to eat has been sucked dry by these little things and shrunk like a midwife's face. When we eat it in our mouth, the soft taste disappears and becomes crisp, sour and hard. I always tell my grandmother that it is like an undercooked pear.

In the village, most people can't eat fruit in winter. They eat dried shredded fruit or dried radish in a wok. Only a few families with people working outside will store one or two baskets of apples or pears in the cellar.

The apples and pears taken out of the cellar are cold and hard, with bright colors and lingering fragrance, which makes people drool. Once bitten, enough sweetness and water vapor will spread into the space while filling the stomach. In spring, some fruits will rot. Grandma peeled off the rotten fruit and put it in a bowl. After a while, the pulp turns yellow and soft. In my opinion, this is my least favorite food.

Everything in the world is time-sensitive. So is the cellar. Of course, there are also human factors, such as the misunderstanding that we are reluctant to eat or are used to saving the best for last, which leads to the deterioration of food in the cellar. The existence of time is always frightening and lucky at the same time.

I didn't mean to talk about my childhood the other day. At that time, how exciting it was to have a basket of apples in the cellar. I go to school every day and my heart is like a sweet secret. That secret will make people laugh for no reason in the cold weather in winter.

Do you think everyone's memory is like a cellar? We dig it out with experience and age, and then store the love and hate we get constantly in our lives. We are grateful and unforgettable for these hand-torn fruits, dried radishes, apples and pears? Let them rot in time, rot, and pass without a bite?

At the moment, I am peeling an apple that is shrinking and short of water. In the past years, on this cold winter night, there were sweet and attractive apples everywhere.

Third, sweep the footprints.

When I was a child, I always felt so miserable during the Spring Festival.

It's New Year's Eve, and my family is still doing their work. Mom has endless sewing, grandma is busy in the kitchen, and dad is cleaning up those old things in the yard. Our children have nothing to do, so they have to squat in front of the fire until dark. Because my shirt and coat were washed away, I only wore a cotton-padded jacket without a collar. I felt the wind drilling into my neck from all directions, and even my chest was cold.

There are stools to sit on in front of the stove, and five or six large and small cotton-padded jackets, all of which are knitted by mother with wool. Throughout the winter, the collar is like a warm scarf, resisting the increasingly fierce cold wind. It is difficult to dry wool thoroughly when it is wet. Often after a night and a day's work, my mother asked us to take off our cotton-padded clothes and put on our black collars.

I was wearing my father's coat, which was the coldest time in my memory. My teeth hit each other, and the endless cold slowly spread to my muscles through the contest between my teeth. So my whole body began to tremble, even if the fire was very strong at the moment, it seemed that it could not dispel the cold. It was not until my mother sewed up the general that I put on my cotton-padded coat, which had no temperature and was still shaking frequently. Because the gap between my body and my clothes narrowed, the temperature slowly came back, as if something had dispersed, and then it was not cold, so I leaned over the window to watch my father sweep the yard.

Different from usual, my father did not take a step forward, but took a step back and scanned it again. That is a very awkward posture, as awkward as the third daughter in our village writing with her left hand. Normality and habits seem to be correct in the end, and maverick people will always be questioned. Slowly, I can clearly see that every time my father sweeps the place where he just stood. The place he swept was clean and flat, as if the millet in grandma's basket had been carefully brushed, with faint lines and nothing in a trance.

Dad spends a lot of time sweeping the yard because his posture is different from usual. It was a little dark at that time, and tiny snow particles began to appear on the treetops and tiles. If you stick your head out of the door, something cool will lick your nose or lips gently. The swept yard is empty, there is no snow, and there seems to be nothing. Father beat himself out of the water at the door. Sometimes he will take off his clothes and shake it hard. In the cold wind, he could see the white heat on himself.

Almost all New Year's Eve was spent like this when I was a child. After sweeping the yard and street corner, my father will stand the broom at the door, get dressed, and then squat down at the door to smoke a cigarette. In the coming night, like a huge shadow.

Many years later, I realized that my father was sweeping footprints. It is said that every year, people are entangled in many firms, good and bad, good and evil. These are the so-called red dust. When the new year is about to begin, people will use various methods to clean up the traces of the old year. Cleaning the house, pasting enough paper, wiping the stove, taking a bath, cutting nails and even washing the collar of cotton-padded clothes are all the same as sweeping footprints. They are all trying to stop the bad luck and bad luck in the old year by exchanging old ones for new ones or completely eliminating the old year. Then, people and things, as well as feelings and events, will enter the coming new year with a brand-new look.

Grandma mixed half a pot of paste with flour, and dad came back from the door and asked us to paste couplets together. I saw the yard where my father had just walked, and I didn't leave his footprints.

Sleeping at night is not stable at all, as if sleeping on the water, and a slight ripple will wake you up. But even so, I didn't realize that it had been snowing all night. In the morning, the whole village, the mountains and rivers outside the village, are covered with snow. Between heaven and earth, it seems that someone swept it carefully with a broom, leaving no smell and filth of the old year. Even the appearance is new. Red couplets, red firecrackers, my red shoes are striking and fresh in the snow, which makes people laugh.

Fourth, birthdays.

When I was a child, on my birthday every year, my grandmother would soak the yellow rice in the water one day and one night in advance, and then take me to the door of someone in the village to pound the yellow rice with a mortar. In my impression, the yellow rice rises greatly after soaking, and it is slippery when it is pounded. The stone pestle should not be raised too high or too vigorously. If you lift it or use too much force, the rice will spill out. Of course, food is too precious to waste.

Grandma is holding a small broom in her hand, banging and sweeping back the accidentally spilled rice. The rice soaked in water sticks together as soon as it is pounded, and the semi-finished products stuck on the mortar pestle have to be scraped off with a small shovel and pounded again. Grandma took a small bowl, dug the rammed semi-finished products into a fine sieve and gently sifted them in the basket. What fell out of the sieve eye was yellow wheat for making cakes.

In the evening, grandma cooks beans on the fire, puts alkali, and when the fire is turned on, turn off the fire and stew. Overnight, the beans turn red and soft, put some saccharin in them and press them into mud with a shovel. At this time, the cake noodles have been mixed with boiling water, and the pieces are all in the basket. When the pot is boiled, they are scattered on the cage layer by layer.

Mixing cakes and noodles is a job that requires strength and skill. Women are afraid of scalding and have no strength, so they leave it to men. And when a pot of noodles has just poured out of the cage pot and is steaming, it is very scary. The man's hand was soaked in cold water and quickly plunged into the hot noodles. Pay attention to speed, accuracy and firmness when kneading dough. Don't touch water too much. Not for long, but it must be uniform. The village pays attention to the smooth surface of the basin, and the man's glossy surface is really exquisite.

In the village, whoever makes the cake is a big event, and the neighbors will join in kneading the cake. The cake is sticky and soft, so knead it while it is hot. A group of women will wash their hands, laugh and knead a round yellow rice cake, which seems to be very enjoyable.

In October of the lunar calendar, the weather is getting colder. The wind blows the dead leaves in the corner and shakes the willow branches in front of the door. Coincidentally, my sister and I celebrated our birthdays on two adjacent days in the same month. Embarrassed, my sister was the day before and I was the day after. I always celebrate my sister's birthday and pass by me, but this does not affect the happiness that my birthday brings me. On the morning of my sister's birthday, we all took a "lock"-a copper coin of the same age tied to a red rope. Wearing a bright red lock around your neck will make you feel superior and make you dizzy. This "lock" will add a copper coin every year until 12 years old, and there will be an unlocking ceremony at home, which means that children will get rid of ignorance and grow up gradually, and they will also be responsible for family affairs.

On my birthday, the yellow rice cake was first presented to the goddess Guanyin and then fried in a frying pan. I took a bowl to send cakes to my neighbors, usually six, pushed the door and went in, saying, Aunt, today is my birthday. Aunties usually sit on the kang and sew, turn off the kang with a smile and find a bowl to pour the cake in. We also often eat cakes given by other children on their birthdays.

At that time, singing "hot oil cake on the table" in the chatterbox seemed to be singing the scene in the birthday, which was real and vivid. The process from food preparation to entrance is tedious, slow and extremely grand. This sense of ceremony makes birthdays solemn and beautiful. The fried yellow rice cake is soft and sticky, sweet and spicy. Because it is rare, it is not often eaten. It's always full before stopping chopsticks. The food made with hard work, hard work and sincerity is unforgettable so far.

My hands hurt when I was lying in bed at night, only to remember that I was broken by the blisters ground by the stone pestle when I was pounding the cake noodles.

After grandma died, I stopped making yellow rice cakes at home. It seems that most people, regardless of their birthdays or not, want to eat cakes on holidays. When they go to the supermarket to buy some fried food, the respect and love for food they developed as children will gradually decrease. On your birthday, go to the restaurant to order a table of dishes, serve a plate of fried cakes, eat a bowl of longevity noodles, and chop up a happy birthday when raising a glass. Older parents sit opposite each other. They are like a mirror that looks at you. The past time is blurred, as if suddenly dying without experience. In this case, I suddenly feel that birthday is really a horrible and boring thing.

Fifth, make a snowman

"The light snow will snow when it is cold, and the ground is not even cold, and the snow is not big."

The light snow after the "light snow" hangs on trees, grass and flowers, as if it were blooming in another season. Seemingly sad and happy, but also indifferent.

Near noon, there is little snow left, only the branches of pine and cypress have a faint white color. Microscopically, it seems nothing.

In the sun, the grass and low trees are covered with sparkling water drops. I met AG, a second-grade pupil in the corridor. Covered in mud. I asked, "Why did you go?" He replied loudly, "I went to make a snowman." I said, "How many did you pile up?" He said "10". I said, "It's amazing." He looks very proud. "It's just a little small." I drew it with my hand, but it was only the size of a fist. Then he said, "It will disappear in a minute." This time there was a trace of regret in her voice. I said, "It's going to snow again, and then it will snow heavily." He opened his eyes wide and said, "Great! I can make many snowmen. "

When I was young, I seldom made a snowman to play with. At that time, the winter was cold and cold, and there were even storms when there was snow. The sound gave me a fright. Let alone build a snowman bigger than yourself in the heavy snow.

When the weather is fine, there will be a thick and tall snowman in He Miao's yard, with black eyes, a broom and a carrot in his mouth. Sometimes a snowman wears a snowsuit, which has no style, but many buttons. I remember once, Brother He Miao made the snowman wear a double-breasted Lenin suit. Snowmen without exception have no legs, so the buttons of clothes have to be buttoned to the ground.

The most unbearable thing is to watch the snowman get thinner day by day. Water dripping from it will freeze into ice at night.

She Miao said that it was sweat that made her feel hot. I didn't say anything. In my heart, those water marks are the tears it shed.

Later, a thick snowman turned into a shovel of ice, and his father He Miao shoveled it into the flower pond.

The winter when DOG first raised, there was a heavy snow. At noon, I took DOG to wait for her son to leave school in the yard. When sweeping the snow, I caught up with a group of young people in the community management office to make a snowman. A girl tore off all the buttons of her coat and became a snowman's bright eyes. Later, she hesitated and gave the red scarf to the snowman.

That scene is very warm to think of now. Sometimes, I think everything in the world is spiritual. So is the snowman. It is the human mind that makes it exist in this world. Like an imaginary feeling, as if in the past and as if from the future.