Rich seasonal prose

After beginning of autumn, Yuanye, which has been brewing for a long time, appeared rich scenes. In the village, the original smoky and calm days were completely disrupted. Those bitches who were originally in the east and west of this street also turned around and began to ask the men who played cards in the men's den to go home and clean up the yard. Cattle, sheep and pig manure in the pen should be dumped outside to see if there is a suitable place at the back corner of the house outside the courtyard. As long as it doesn't get in the way during the autumn harvest.

In fact, women don't need to sharpen their mouths more. Every man who lives with his family knows that the autumn harvest is tiring physical work, not as short as the wheat harvest season. A few days after the harvest, the wheat was put into the warehouse and sown after a thorough rain. Autumn harvest is not so simple, and the work is scattered, such as harvesting corn, cutting beans, picking cotton, cutting sorghum, pinching ears, pulling peanuts and planing sweet potatoes. Most of the work is concentrated together, and I wish one person could use it for three people. I'm too busy. Tired men just want to have a good sleep, but they must do this and that under the guidance of a strong old lady.

In men's eyes, women love to nag and can do nothing but cook and raise children. This makes women really unconvinced, and they will raise their voices one by one and say to men: at home, they should cook, wash clothes, sew and make up the pulp, and educate their children. Men working in the fields cut a ridge of wheat and a row of corn, wipe their sweat and smoke a cigarette, and women are also in a hurry; Men pull cars to transport dung to the ground, and no women push them hard one by one, and the cars are doing in the ground; Men are hunched over when picking cotton, and their hands are clumsy, so they can't pick it quickly. When a woman leans a little and drags a little water, cotton will pour into the capsule still in the bag. At noon, there are more capsules filled with cotton than men. Just picking cotton makes men have to obey, and two men can't keep up with a woman's hardworking hands. Therefore, it is everyone's responsibility to be busy with the autumn harvest, and we can't just speak by friendship. Since it is not a person's job, it needs the whole family to do it, and even the children will come in handy. Every season, the men, women and children in the village will be boiling. The whole village is like a drunken sorghum field. Heavy purple ears staggered in the autumn wind, almost touching the ground, and suddenly stood up straight. Take a look at the fragrant soil of mature crops everywhere, and the drunkenness is even stronger.

Like all families in the village, our family's work is divided. I watched my three-year-old brother cook, and my parents went to the fields to cut and break corn. After filling the car with corn, pick up some edamame and peanuts and dig some sweet potatoes to transport home. Corn cobs have to be transported many times, and empty yards are piled up into corn hills. At night, the big silver plate looks like the moon rises, and then the whole family goes into battle to peel corn. Corn husks need to be peeled with your fingers, and your fingertips hurt and numb. My parents peeled it quickly, and my fingers were bleeding. Wrap it with tape before peeling it. Not a good job for children. At the beginning, it was the nature. Although it is cold in autumn, it is not cold. In addition to the sound of clicking, stabbing, rustling and peeling corn, crickets and insects hidden in firewood and wall foundations sang to us one after another. But after the fog started, the fog was wet, wet corn piles, wet clothes, shoes and hair stuck to my face. Besides, the dust on the corn covered me all over, and I was itchy. I'm tired of peeling corn. At this time, more and more drowsiness began to make me attached, and the peeling action naturally slowed down. The fat meat worm in the corn crawled into my trouser leg to keep warm, and the cricket sang in my ear. I almost plunged into the corn pile, woke up suddenly and shivered. I watched my parents peel it hard. I peeled it again, but I soon fell asleep. Sleep tastes really good, gentle and sweet. I feel that no matter how delicious the moon cake is (just after the Mid-Autumn Festival), the sweet and crisp apples and pears can no longer tempt me. Maybe my parents can't hear me peeling corn. First, my father laughed at my sleepy appearance, and then my mother said, go to sleep! In my sleepwalking, I can't hear this lovely cry. I opened my eyes wide and staggered to my feet. I didn't have time to shake off the corn beard, dirt and reptiles covered on it. I went back to the house and fell asleep in bed. When did my parents go back to the house to rest? I don't know!

During the day, my task is to cook. I don't have to work and cook in the fields. I look like a fireman in a gray apron. After my parents go to work in the fields after breakfast, I will first clean up the dishes and chopsticks that have been filled with stoves, brush the bottom of the pot with a layer of porridge skin, then pour the swill in the pot into the cow trough and add some feed so that the cows can eat and drink when they come back in the afternoon. I also want to wash my hands and send noodles to the table and steam a pot of white steamed bread before my parents come back.

Actually, cooking is really good. You can take the opportunity to cook beans in the stove. You can also bury a few sweet potatoes in the ashes of the stove. Although the pot is steamed with sweet potatoes, peanuts and edamame, how fragrant it is, the taste is just unusual. This will make my brother listen to my command. Besides, he is really a good boy. If he is asked to catch chickens, he will catch chickens. If he is asked to bring me firewood for cooking, he will bring firewood for cooking. He is very diligent and helps me play the bellows, which saves me a lot of effort. When he grew up, I asked him about his childhood. He just smirked and didn't know anything.

Sometimes, my father who comes back from other places will bring a string of green grasshoppers. Grasshoppers eat and drink everything in the field. They each have fat green wings. I will put them in the hot ash at the bottom of the pot and share them with my brother. That smell is really indescribable. Several times, because I was too greedy, I forgot to cook the rice. Eating raw rice will inevitably lead to my mother's nagging or scolding. My tired father will play some chestnuts on my head with his hand, and my scalp will feel tingling, but it won't hurt too much. I know my father likes me and is very tolerant of me.

Sometimes, dad will catch some slugs for us to play with. Fruit and grasshopper are similar in appearance, but they are more beautiful than grasshoppers. Put the fruit in a cage made of sorghum stalks and hang it on the branches of jujube trees in the yard. There is a small hole in the cage. My brother and I feed it with green leaves. In the morning and evening, the sound of the fruit is crisp and loud, and we all like to listen to it. We also made up a song: Xiao Guo Guo/shouting/squeaking to drink dew. Unfortunately, it didn't survive the winter and died soon.

At this time, a scene of depression began to appear in the fields, and those harvested fields were like patches nailed to the ground. In late autumn, crops that had not been harvested before stood alone, some fell vertically, there were traces of wind blowing, some people stepped on them, and some cows chewed them. The village began to get crowded. You see, corn, peanuts, cotton, soybeans, millet and sorghum are spread and piled up in every yard, outside the house and on the roof of the bungalow. Even the corner and the entrance to the gate are full of firewood, peanut seedlings and corn stalks, which are covered and covered. This is the best feed for cattle, sheep and pigs in winter and cannot be destroyed.

After all, it takes a long time to harvest cotton, so most people collect corn, soybeans and peanuts here, and they have to pick up glistening cotton all over the floor. Soybeans cannot be harvested until they are ripe. If you look at the yellow leaves of beans, you have to cut them quickly, so as not to burst the beans and cause unnecessary losses. Cotton has to be picked as soon as it opens, and it can't be sold at a good price because of bad weather or rain. Like most other families, our family first piled up the cotton we usually picked up, which looked like three or four hundred kilograms. My parents took some spare time and dragged it to the village construction site to bask in the sun. When they were busy working in the fields, they asked me to see cotton. While watching cotton, like other friends, like adults, learn to rummage through the grass and pile cotton. The cotton after sun exposure is really warm and soft. As long as I lie down, it will soon make me sleepy. Lying on the cotton pile, I fell asleep soon, dreaming that sweet dream. I don't know how long it took. In the dim light, I seem to hear gasps, and my voice is very similar to the ambiguous cry of the cat next door. I don't feel my heart pounding, as if I had peeped into other people's privacy, and my face was red and my ears were hot. Is this the sound of men and women hiding in the cotton pile, or is it a scene with strong seasonal flavor? I've been thinking, thinking, and I can't figure it out.

The exposed cotton will be packed in the afternoon, and dad and other villagers will go to the cotton purchasing station to sell it early tomorrow morning. When he comes back, he will buy us a lot of delicious food with the money from selling cotton, which makes us as happy as a holiday. However, this warm, sweet and happy moment will not be tasted many times, and it will lose its luster like the scene after the autumn harvest. The earth is lonely, so we have to find another kind of fun.

Therefore, at this time, I like to go to the harvested fields with my friends to rummage for sweet potatoes and peanuts, all of which were pulled down by others at harvest time. Every time I find a sweet potato and a few peanuts with small hooks, I feel like honey, just like picking up the food on someone else's table. Now I have it myself and I have a big bargain.

We rummaged through everything, picking up junk, and little brains were not allowed to be idle. For example, it is interesting to recall the scene of picking wheat in the field during the wheat harvest. Under the blue sky, we casually sang children's songs about picking wheat: cicada singing, wheat playing/adults busy laying wheat in the sun/children busy picking wheat in the field, and their hearts were happy/peaches and apricots were sweet and fragrant. The more you sing, the happier you are, and the more you talk. At that time, I wanted to pick up wheat by myself. I could turn it into white steamed bread, sesame cake and chopped green onion oil cake for the whole family to eat, and I could also eat a lot of sweet peaches and apricots, so that I would be more energetic when picking up wheat, and the hot sun overhead would not be too hot, so I was too tired to rest for a while, for fear that my friends would overtake me. When adults see that we are diligent, they leave us alone and are often very happy. And the picked wheat will stay at home alone. I really want more. Finally, I will type it out and weigh it to see how much I can pick up. With accurate figures, friends love to show off who picked up the most, and the atmosphere is very warm.

Suddenly, I remembered the scene of getting into the corn field like a green tent and mowing the grass together. There is a melon garden next to the corn field. When you are thirsty, bend down and sneak into Gua Tian to pick melons to eat. By the time the melon-watching old man found out, we would have run away. I also picked people's edamame, broke off people's corn, picked people's peanuts and sweet potatoes, hid them under the grass frame, and carried them home to burn and cook. Green corn leaves are chopped and fed to sheep and cattle. If they can't eat, they will be dried for firewood. After the newly harvested corn is dried, it is always pestering mother to twist some with her hands and try it. When the porridge is cooked, it is sticky and delicious, with a sweet taste. In our family, my mother only steamed hollow corn flour. I don't like it very much. Grandma, who has been dead for many years, will make more fancy food with corn flour. She used new corn flour, sweet potato flour and white flour to roll the dough cake, and the rolled noodles were big and round, like a flower map. Sitting in the yard, snoring, drank a big bowl in one breath. Vegetable dumplings made of corn flour mixed with a little white bread are fried in a flat-bottomed oil pan. The reverse side is brown and crisp, and there is stuffing inside, which makes them bite strangely. My mother also learned to cook it several times, but it was not as delicious as my grandmother's. Grandma thinks cooking is an artist carving his works under the knife. Mom doesn't have that kind of mind and idea. It is the tempering of time and the accumulation of experience that most people can't learn. This reminds me of the old jujube forest at the entrance to the village. In summer, there is a grave covered with morning glory, where my grandmother sleeps.

However, the wheat harvest season is short, and as soon as the joyful atmosphere is over, it will soon be a long autumn. When autumn comes, especially after the first frost, the originally colorful season will become depressed. The earth is empty, with no marginal distance and foggy. It turned out that the beautiful face of the tree was exhausted. On the bare branches of Qing Wu, there are some dead leaves that have not been blown away by the west wind. The lonely and dead thatch was uprooted by the wind and rolled up. After the autumn harvest, wheat was planted in the corn field, and green seedlings grew, and the season moved towards winter day by day.

Besides, the peeled corn is spread out in the yard. Anyway, it is dried, emitting red, yellow or purple colors, piled up in a pile and shining in the sun. In my own land, I have gained rich fruits through hard work. This is my sweat, so I look very kind and like it very much. When I walk in the yard and pass the big corn pile, I want to hum a little song or something. What is hateful, however, is that rats are in droves, they don't show up during the day, and they get together at night to harm corn, and even steal to eat, without stopping all night. My mother was distressed to see the good food ruined, and my father decided to borrow a corn ear thresher to beat corn.

So the whole family went into battle together, and the neighbors also wanted to fight, so they came to help in advance. Parents first put a sorghum integrated basket around the yard, fearing that corn would fly everywhere and it would be difficult to sweep. The diesel engine rattled when it started. Parents, brother next door, we picked up the ears of corn and put them in the machine, and we heard the crackling rumble in the machine. Strangely enough, at the other end of the machine, the detached corn kernels and the broken corn cob are colliding. Although the hill is like a corn heap, it can't stand being swallowed up by this small machine, and it will be finished after a long time. The next job is not easy either. It is necessary to check all the corn cobs until all the corn kernels are left. At this time, I will cover my pocket, and my parents will put corn kernels into my pocket with a dustpan. I will see a row of more and more corn, so let's put thirty. The corn was collected by a Si in the village, and his father told him to weigh it and load it away. So much corn was replaced by a pile of money in his father's hand, and he gave it to his mother for safekeeping. At this time, he listened to his mother's nagging: What is the net profit of corn this season except pesticides and fertilizers? Father gave his mother a sly look. Needless to say, my trouble is coming, and the meaning is clear enough. Then I have to pay the bill. How many Jin of corn did * * * hit this year? Our family has more than ten acres of land. How much is an acre of land? What is the net profit per mu of land except chemical fertilizers and pesticides? This series of numbers made me dizzy, but I tried to hold back my panic and thought with my chin in one hand. Just like a great mathematician, he has to go through such hard thinking before becoming a mathematician. But I'm not a mathematician after all. My mother read my mind and said, I was not born to go to school. It's no use trying! Looking at his father's face again, he was disappointed. Instead of nagging like his mother, he sighed. Don't look at this sigh, it's enough to make me uneasy. You might as well hit me I can make my father Japanese, but he hates iron to produce.

I just hope this moment will pass quickly, so that I can go back to running among my friends and playing hide-and-seek among the haystacks. Then sit down and talk about the old locust tree full of cicadas and stars in the old black grandmother's house, and think about how many stories she told under the old locust tree. But I'm not so lucky. My mother punished me for carrying a basket of firewood, and I had to pick a basket of firewood when I went home, otherwise I wouldn't come back. At this time, I am so lonely, just like the harvested land without crops. I watched the ants climb up the tree and fall down, making the dead leaves rustle. Or I hope the next heavy snow will bury me so that my family can find me. I hope I can grow up quickly. When I grow up, I may be able to settle accounts, and I won't be entangled and stumped by those figures any more. And these are just my fantasies. The reality is that when I came home with a basket of firewood on my back, my parents told me to put down the basket and wash my hands to eat. They seem to have forgotten to let me check out this afternoon. How can they be so forgetful?

However, when I really grow up, I miss my childhood very much. I have the same dream: there will always be endless wheat, firewood and cotton; The grass that can't be cut is thick and slippery, and you should catch it once; I dream of a bean field full of edamame, a corn field full of big ears, and a peanut field with no end in sight ... I love gluttony in my dream and never grow up. What makes me even more incredible is why my childhood memory is so long. I just want to ask one person. Are you the same? I really miss that rich season.