【Human Chapter Hui】Unforgettable pot years| essay Xu Shanyi

(1) Childhood memories of baked cotton pants

People are middle-aged and always love to reminisce about the past. The memory always appears in the childhood time, once lived in the courtyard, after the baptism of years, there are not many old things, but the pot that has always remained is still warm and warm, warming our ordinary life. Mother often said that the big pot of rice is fragrant, and the small pot is fragrant. My family's floor pot has also been demolished and built several times, witnessing the passage of time. But no matter how the years change, the fragrance of the pot food is always haunting the heart, and the toothless is unforgettable.

In the winter of childhood, the sound of the bellows of "hula hula" is like a morning song accompanying us to sleep, and the pulled bellows cares for the firewood and grass fire pot, and the fragrance of the meal fills the entire courtyard in a short time. We have long woken up under the smoke of rice, but the warmth of the hot quilt still makes us nostalgic. My mother was angry, but she was even busier at the mouth of the pot and roasting thick cotton pants for us, carrying them in her arms, afraid that the heat would dissipate. Even though we still couldn't get out of bed, my mother couldn't bear to lift us out of the bed in the laughter. Struggling, crying, sometimes on the bare buttocks there will inevitably be a mother's gentle punishment. But at this time, the cotton pants are permeated with the fragrance of firewood and grass, and wearing it, the steaming warmth moisturizes our tender body skin. Suddenly, there is a feeling of happiness, which is really good.

(2) Unforgettable pot of potatoes

At the end of autumn, the crops are ripe, and the large fields of potatoes have naturally achieved a great harvest. In childhood memories, sweet potatoes are a staple food for winter. When it comes to harvesting sweet potatoes, the open space full of lakes and courtyards is dried dried potatoes, and the family's rations can be regarded as guaranteed. Drying, bagging, storing, are all busy in this season. Of course, a large part of the sweet potato has to be dug into the cellar for storage. At that time, every family had a pig in captivity, and you know, this was the hope of the whole family. Feeding for more than half a year, selling at the end of the year, naturally a handful of harvest. Feeding pigs with grass has also been a beautiful memory of my childhood.

In winter, the grass is naturally gone, but the stored sweet potato is also the staple food of the pig. Whenever after school, my thin body deftly went into the cellar under the expectation of my mother, picked up a basket of potatoes, and my mother roped it up, and the staple food for a day or two was ready. Morning and evening pot is busy, and mother is busy every day. A pot of sweet potatoes is cooked, the family gets up early, holds a bowl, and takes the pickled radish beans and dried radish, and the bustle of breakfast dispels the cold of winter. And we children have to rush to school, holding steaming potato blocks in our hands, jumping and shouting at our peers, the road to school is also the fragrant potato, the heat of the pot accompanies us through one cold winter month after another. Eating leftover potato pieces, and occasionally mixing some cornmeal, naturally becomes a good meal for pigs. Above the small village, the dream of cooking smoke led us home.

(3) The present and the past are in a long-lasting mood

Time flies, and under the influence of the aroma of rice in the pot, we grow up day by day. Later, we went to middle school one after another, and every weekend, we could salivate at the aroma of the pot of food. The bellows with the vicissitudes of the times are gone, and the swashplate pot between the kitchens of the old home is lingering for years, and the emotions remain unchanged. And then later, we worked. The courtyard has become more spacious, the old house is gone, and the old kitchen that once accompanied us through the stormy years is also the old look. Gas stove, hood, decorated clean kitchen. But the ground pot is still the same, and the rice pot and the vegetable pot are still the stove matches. Mother was busy, but her sideburns were already frosted. The firewood and grass piled up in front of the stove always evoke our memories of the past. Every time we came home, the warmth in the pot and stove was rekindled, and the smell of that different meal brought us to the story of childhood. Long live in the town, relive this long farewell pot fireworks, no matter the winter cold and summer warm, is a pleasant dark fragrance floating.

In the pot, the mellow potato rice is steamed. The small vegetable pot is also busy. Wood-fired chicken stew and wood-fired fish are rare delicacies in urban fireworks. At this time, my mother seems to have brought us back to the time of our childhood. Long awaited home, fragrant fragrance. The fireworks of the pot are always burning in the heart and staying quiet.

The hustle and bustle of the town seemed to bury the memory of the cauldron. But the smoke from the hometown is always like singing the "Wandering Son" that stirs up the dreams that haunt the homeland in our hearts. The pot often walks into dreams, kind, casual, and happy. No matter how big the heart is, how big the sky is, the sky of the courtyard with the aroma of food is always vast, and the pot of the four seasons of cooking smoke is always stored in the heart...