Prose in the market

In the early 1980s, there was a party day every Friday in rural areas. On this day, the villagers in the neighborhood shouted together to go to the market, sell their products at the market and buy back urgently needed production and daily necessities. I always feel that they are so eye-catching when they come back from the market with big bags and small bags in their hands. So I thought to myself, I hope to catch an episode one day.

The opportunity has finally come. It just snowed in the twelfth lunar month. My mother said it was the last party day before the Spring Festival and decided to take me to the market to buy some new year's goods. In order to catch up with the time, she got up in the middle of the night to feed the donkey and tidy up, and we set off before dawn. Along the way, my mother drove the donkey and lit up the rugged mountain road with a flashlight. I followed closely. Before dawn, the mountains seemed a little quiet, only heard the rustling of snow in the mountains, only saw a series of deep footprints extending into the distance. It was almost dawn, and we climbed a deep ditch and three beams. On the way, I met three or five groups of market people from time to time to chat with my mother. My mother introduced me: this is your aunt and that is your uncle, but I don't know them well.

Three hours later, we finally arrived at the market, but we couldn't see the dirt road for thousands of meters. People came and went, many vendors were occupying the road, and the voices of hawking and bargaining were endless. The crowded people always stopped and went. My mother pulled the donkey, and I shouted at the back. I spent an hour queuing in the supply and marketing cooperative to sell a bag of flax, and then found a conspicuous booth to sell two live chickens and more than 50 eggs. Buying new year's goods is even more crowded. A bottle of white wine, a catty of fruit candy, two jins of peanuts, three pairs of Spring Festival couplets, a string of firecrackers and some daily necessities took more than two hours to transport from the northern end of the street to the southern end. At noon, I was so hungry that my mother dragged me to an oil stall. But seeing Huang Cancan's oil cakes steaming and fragrant, my mother made me full. At that time, the living standard of farmers was very low. They can only eat oil cakes during the Spring Festival all year round. After a party, they ate more oil cakes, which was a great enjoyment. When the sun set in the west, we embarked on our way home. When we reached the difficult mountain road, it was already dark, so my mother took out her flashlight. We ran home with one foot deep and one foot shallow.

More than forty years have passed, and the story of the hour market is still fresh in my memory. I went back to my hometown last year, just in time for the rural market. With a deep homesickness, I went from south to north, and then from north to south. What I saw was: the flat and spacious streets were full of vehicles, the bustling crowd could not see the side at a glance, dozens of clean and tidy shops were crowded with buyers, and the business of vendors was booming. The old and young people in the market are all dressed in fresh and tidy clothes, and the young women are beautifully dressed. Everyone's face smiles like a spring breeze, and you can't see any fatigue and helplessness. This is the ever-changing changes in rural towns.

Going to the market is really a great pleasure in my life, because it remembers my growing steps and reflects the great changes in rural reform.