Editor-in-Chief: Liu Yonggang
Editor-in-charge: Cao Ruiping
Editor: Liang Yaohua
Life is always in the alternating dreams, found the courage and hope to move forward. Some dreams become old dreams, and those old dreams will give birth to many new dreams, and life will have the motivation to pursue dreams. This time and again, it is the opening of a dream.
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Author: Ren Xiaojuan Anchor: Qiu Xiufang
The sun shines on the yard, on the overwintering walnut trees, and the tall and plain walnut trees are full of magpies and sunlight.
This half-light, half-dark pit courtyard is high on three sides and low on one side. The glimmer of light penetrated the window, the chickens in the yard and the chirping of the sparrows woke people up, and the bright day began. How many times have I listened to the birds, and my mother told me that it was a meeting of sparrows, but I didn't understand it at all. There are eight caves in the pit courtyard, three large kilns on the east cliff, the gate is on the west side of the cliff, and the small cave of my house is in the same direction, the tall double wooden door, one door has been latched, the other door is pried, for people to enter and exit at any time, only when large items come in and out, the other door is opened. The grandmother lived in the large kiln in the middle of the east, and there was a swallow nest on the kiln, which added a lot of life to the grandmother's large kiln. When spring arrives, the cute little swallows fly from the south and are busy pulling the dry grass nest. My grandmother told me that the swallows were nests made with their own spit and mud, and that they should not move the nests of the swallows, otherwise the swallows would not return next year.
The grandmother sat on a hot kang, covered with a dark red quilt woven with wool thread, or snoozed, or twisted silk thread that could not be twisted all year round. The grandmother peeled off the cocoon, which was only the size of a finger belly, and tore it into a line, and then twisted it into a silk thread on the line, and the gyroscope of the twisted line should have accompanied the grandmother for life. The iron-black handle was polished by the grandmother's, and the grandmother held the shriveled cocoon in one hand, twisting it for a while, tearing the cocoon for a while, and then warming my hands, and the grandmother's hands were white, cool, and the skin was loose and soft, and I sat next to my grandmother, and my small hands rubbed the quilt. The look of the grandmother's twisted thread slowed down the whole time.
There is a three-story chicken nest on the right side of my grandmother's kiln, which is where the hen lays her eggs, as long as there is a hen in the nest, she will receive an egg, and we often use a small stick to pick up the bloated body of the hen to see if there are any eggs underneath. Every time there is a harvest. Sometimes the hen was thrown out of the nest, and the warm egg was held in his hand, excited and curious. Grandmother always smiled and put the eggs into the crock pot of millet. Sometimes, the hen will give birth to a very small and round egg, which we call the "golden egg". Such "golden eggs" must be placed in wheat hoards and placed like this for several years. Out of curiosity, I sneaked into the house without permission, took out the eggs, and broke the skin in no one's place, and the soft yolk whites had become harder than the shells.
There was a big seepage pit in the middle of my yard, a tall walnut tree stood on the edge of the seepage pit, the trunk was straight, the green and white bark, summer came, the canopy was like a big umbrella that stretched out, covering the whole yard, and standing with the walnut trees were tall paulownia trees, dry pear trees and short mulberry trees. The skin on the trunk of the pear tree is peeled off, the branches are sparse and dry, and occasionally a few pears of different sizes are hung on the treetops, and we remember that it is a pear tree. The mulberry tree was the best, not tall but strong, quietly blossoming, quietly bearing fruit, no brilliant flowers, and no long wait.
On a spring day in February and March, the breeze blows slightly, and the emerald green walnut ears on the tall walnut trees hang upside down like caterpillars, and we play under the trees, running around picking up the fallen walnut spikes, and when we pick up a large handful, we neatly pack them up, hold them in our hands, and sweep them around the pink little faces of their younger siblings, tickling them with giggles, or pranks, and quietly putting the walnut spikes in their necks. Paulownia trees are not as tall as walnut trees, so straight, with trunks inserted obliquely into the ground. Paulownia blossoms bloomed, the purple spilled out carelessly, and the scent of honey wandered in the cool spring breeze. The breeze blew the flowers down and the purple spread on the ground again, and we ran around, picking the flowers that had fallen on our hair, carefully sucking on the sweet nectar hidden in the buds. The pit yard in spring is colorful, fragrant, and sweet.
A drizzle of hair sprinkled from the sky, and the grass on the back of the cliff was mighty green. On a sunny day, the clouds in the blue sky are also white. We lay on the green grass and carefully smoked the grass stalks that had just emerged from the ground, and even the wind smelled of grass. The apricot blossoms woke up, the small red buds, drilled out from the trunk of the iron blue tree, the carmine buds like peppercorn grains, densely packed together, in the spring wind and spring rain, swollen up day by day, the powder gathered branches, full of aroma, YanRan smiled, the whole air was the smell of apricot blossoms. After more than ten days of blooming, the apricot blossoms have fallen in the spring rain, waiting for the birth of the hairy apricot. The newly grown hairy apricot is covered with a layer of fine hairs, and the tip of the apricot also carries a long brownish green hair. My friends and I couldn't wait for the apricots to put on its little red jacket, so we peeled them off raw and put them in our mouths and chewed them, sour and astringent, making people shiver. The little hairy apricot grew up in this daily tasting, and when it was the size of the little thumb egg, we picked it off, gently bit it open, carefully took out the snow-white almond, held its breath and put it in the ear, and shouted coolly together: "Hug, hug, hug the chicken baby, the chicken baby comes out without a tail!" Hug, hug, hug chicken baby, chicken baby out without ears! ”......
During the summer harvest, when the sun was shining and the apricots were finally yellow, we sat on the apricot trees, shaking our hanging legs, the rhubarb apricots within reach, and we threw the apricot cores down as we ate. Under the almond trees is a large field of alfalfa, purple flowers swaying in the hot wind, and white, flowered butterflies flying in the alfalfa flowers for a while, resting for a while. When we were full of apricots, we slipped down the trees, waving floral coats, tiptoeing to catch butterflies, and large swaths of alfalfa were flattened. The second uncle stared at us in the distance again.
In the dusk, the trumpet flowers on the edge of the alfalfa ground are closed, and the blue folds of the starry sky are wrinkled together. The lights on the paulownia tree were on, the gate was closed, and the little friends pulled the small rudder and ran around the yard around the seepage pit, and the water in the seepage pit was bright and rippling. The paulownia tree is full of fruit, and the fruit of the paulownia is much more plain than its flowers, covered with yellow fine hairs, hanging in bunches on the tall paulownia tree, like a jade bell, green enough, just unconsciously turned dark brown, plucked, shaking out a wonderful muffled sound.
After the dew, the walnuts ripened. Grandmother said that the water in the pit would seep less before picking walnuts. But there was always so much water, and the walnuts were ripe until they fell down on their own. So on a sunny day, the brothers and sisters were there, and the lobby brother and the second uncle went up to the tree to beat walnuts. The walnuts had nowhere to escape under the continuous beating of the long poles, they fell down in a crackling, fell heavily on the ground, the green skin broke open, the slippery, wet walnuts rolled all over the ground, many rolled into the seepage pit, some jumped directly from the trees into the water, the naughty and brave boys simply took off their shoes, barefoot men walked around in the water to touch the walnuts, the water did not reach the knees, laughing and throwing one walnut after another to the "shore".
The paulownia trees in the yard have fallen out of leaves, the turnip cabbage is harvested, and pickles are a big event in autumn. Cut the cabbage, plucked out of the turnip piled like a hill, the grandmother began to pickle, pickled radish is simpler, cut off the head and tail soaked in a large vat, cabbage to be pickled into a pulp water dish. First put the dish in a pot, boil in boiling water until it is five ripe, then use a wooden stick, one end on the window sill, one end on the back of the stool, the cabbage head hanging down on the stick to drain the water, brothers and sisters just drill under the stick and drill over and fight... I don't know how many days have passed, a large vat of syrup water vegetables, a large vat of sour radish will stand firmly on the ground of the kitchen kiln palm, the cold winter moon, a bowl of fresh and fragrant corn grits with sizing water vegetables is simply delicious.
The snow fell, everything turned white, and the chickens walked around in the snow. The walnut tree is still there, the paulownia tree is there, and the crooked neck pear tree is gone. The sparrow was still flying, struck a few spins, and fell back. Dusting the snowflakes that fell on my hair, I sat against the light, and my spring was still in the distance that I could not see.
Anchor style
host
sow
wind
pick
Qiu Xiufang, a native of Ning County, Gansu Province, is a provincial Mandarin proficiency tester, a member of Qingyang Recitation Association, a teacher at Huachi No. 1 Middle School, engaged in radio and television editing and directing and broadcast hosting professional college entrance examination guidance. He has presided over dozens of programs and participated in the "Singing the Motherland" literary and artistic performance sponsored by the Propaganda Department of the county party committee. He has undertaken the recitation of "Ode to Nanliang" sponsored by the Propaganda Department of the county party committee. Among them, "Extracurricular Homework Don't Just Focus on Teaching" won the first place in the first teacher forum in Huachi County, and the recitation of "Monument" won the first prize of the city, the second prize of the province, and the third prize of the country.
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