An essay on the non-hierarchical nature of labor.

Summer vacation is happy, interesting, colorful, with ups and downs. In my summer vacation, there is such a thing.

Every summer, it is the harvest season of corn. This year, I went to grandma's house with my mother to help break corn. Outside the cornfield, I saw them standing motionless; Walking into them, you will find that there is only one corn cob on each corn stalk. They are like a group of hide-and-seek children, hiding in corn leaves and sticking their heads out from time to time, as if they were spying on this beautiful little village. In the morning, the air is fresh, and I am clamoring to break corn. My grandmother insisted on putting on long clothes, trousers and stockings after me and told me to put on this suit. I won't wear it. If I wear this suit in such hot weather, I will definitely get heatstroke. Grandma said, "There are bugs in the ground that bite people." I have to put on long clothes and pants. I carried a basket, and my grandmother took me to the cornfield and taught me how to break it. Wow! There are so many clothes on the corn doll, layer after layer. After peeling the corn, a golden corn doll appeared. Corn kernels are golden yellow, like little pearls. When it is broken gently, the corn will be separated from its clothes and thrown into the basket. I am very happy. Look at grandma, she has broken three corns. Looks like I have to refuel. Then I started to break the second and third ... the first row and the second row. This second row is not as easy to break as the first row. I asked my grandmother what the reason was, and she said, "There are some differences in corn varieties this year, so that line was better than this one." I broke a few, my hand hurts, and I really want to give up. But look at my grandmother, there is a lot of corn in her basket, but she keeps breaking it, and I regain my confidence. The burning sun rises from behind the mountain, trying to pick one corn after another. I'm sweating like a pig, the back of my hand is bitten red by insects, and my palm is red with fatigue. Grandma and I didn't go home with a basket full of corn until noon, but the corn was too heavy. I could only carry five or six, so I had to carry my small basket in batches and walk back and forth four or five times. Back home, my hands hurt, my shoulders hurt, and it was still very hot. I immediately washed my face and ran to the electric fan to deal with it. On the other hand, grandma went to the kitchen to cook.

My mother told me that when she was a child, she had to walk dozens of miles to school and home every day. As soon as she got home, she put down her schoolbag and went to cut rabbit grass with her sisters. She didn't go home until dusk. When she got home, she helped her grandmother cook. In summer, I also help grandma break corn. The bug is biting, and there's nothing I can do. No matter how hot or tired, I must do it. At that time, there was no electric fan to blow. After a while, the hot corn was cooked and I ate my own corn. I am in high spirits. Although very tired and hard, but also very happy.

I thought it was easy to do farm work, but it was not easy to do it. This time, I came to grandma's house to help her break corn. I have a deep understanding. I really feel the meaning of the poem "It's noon when weeding, and the grains are unpalatable". Every grain is hard to come by. It reminds me of myself. Often waste food and don't cherish it. I'm really ashamed. Now I know that food is hard to come by. In the future, I will cherish every grain, cherish all the fruits of my labor, not waste, not destroy, and cherish public property. This is the harvest of my labor.