Seeing the words as | that year, the bowl of dried bamboo shoots and roasted noodles made by my father will never be erased in my memory

Qianjiang Evening News hourly news reporter Huang Weifen

On the weekend, it was lunchtime again, Aunt Wu asked her daughter what she wanted to eat, and her daughter said: "Dried bamboo shoots and roasted noodles."

Squeezed noodles is a unique name for dried rice noodles in Aunt Wu's hometown of Shaoxing Xinchang.

Qingming is coming, and Aunt Wu returns to her hometown to visit the graves of her deceased parents. When she came back, my sister gave me a bag of dried bamboo shoots that had just been made, and my sister gave me a basket of squeezed noodles.

For Aunt Wu's daughter, "dried bamboo shoots roasted noodles" is just a delicious dish made from local goods in the countryside, and it is best to use it on weekends to relieve hunger.

For Aunt Wu, such a bowl of noodles will never be forgotten, it was in her girlhood, her father specially cooked for her.

In the era of material scarcity, there were more faces than faces, and Aunt Wu said that it was also full of her parents' selfless and all-out love.

Telephone voice video is not so convenient in the past, the car is slow, the letter is also slow.

When they receive a letter from their children coming home, the parents will watch over the village entrance far away; when they leave, they will send it far and far.

The gaze stuck to the end of the road is like a thread of affection.

In 1998, the mother left, and 6 years later, the father also left, and this thread was broken.

Aunt Wu said that since then, her hometown is no longer home, "My brothers and sisters are very good, and my eldest sister even takes care of me more than my mother, but I am only their guest." ”

Grass warbler fly, I miss you so much.

Just like the Qingming in 2016, the spring is as messy as this year, one late night, Aunt Wu dreamed of her father saying to her: "I miss you so much." ”

The dream was so real, and the thoughts came flooding in, even though it wasn't the father in reality. All his life he lived in a small mountain village in his hometown, his father's love was not strong, so he never said it, and his love was in action.

Aunt Wu said that she was more than sixty years old, even in another ten or twenty years, the thoughts of her parents would not be less.

This thought has been assembled for another year.

As the Qingming Dynasty approached, Hourly News opened the third season of "Seeing Words As Faces", expressing thoughts and condolences for the deceased through words. If you also have thoughts to express, welcome to the "Community Those Things" post. (For more details on "seeing the letter as it is", see here: Grass Warbler Fly, I miss you so much!) Hourly news "See words as clear as the face of clear thoughts" season three opens, your thoughts want to read to whom)

The following is What Aunt Wu saw as it is-

My father was a farmer who could not be more ordinary.

In his life, he never went to school, and he didn't even know his own name. But my father was a well-known cropper in the village, and no matter what he planted, he was always the best in the village.

My hometown is in the mountains of Xinchang, the mountains are full of bamboo, and the old house is surrounded by green bamboo.

Every spring, spring shoots break through the soil, in the eyes of rural children, this is of course a beautiful scenery, more importantly, usually food collapse we can taste the delicious spring shoots.

It was just that in the past, there was a shortage of materials, and dried bamboo shoots and squeezed noodles now seemed to be extremely common, and for farmers who were not rich or even poor at that time, they could not eat at any time.

It was also because I was too poor at that time that I would never forget my father's bowl of dried bamboo shoots and roasted noodles.

Whenever I think about it, I always burst into tears.

In order to subsidize the family, my father would often pick up dry firewood in the dark at two or three o'clock in the morning to sell it in the market nearly 15 kilometers from home, and then exchange it for some daily necessities.

As for meat, it was an absolute luxury at the time, and in my mind, except for a little meat taste at home Chinese New Year's Eve night, it was almost impossible to see the rest of the time, let alone eat it.

That year, I was not yet twenty years old, studying in my hometown town, and there were dozens of miles of mountain roads at home and school, and I rarely went home. In my generation, the school had similar memories, and whenever the rice and dried vegetables they brought with them were eaten, they would return home on Sundays.

I went home that day and was supposed to go back to school on a Sunday afternoon.

In order to let me stay at home for one more night, my father decided to sell firewood the next day so that I could go with him. Although I can't eat anything good at home, I can at least have fresh vegetables to eat, and I am naturally happy to spend one more night at home.

The next day at about 3 a.m., my father woke me up from a dream.

When I came to the kitchen with sleepy eyes, I smelled a long-lost smell of meat and couldn't help but swallow.

On the table, a large bowl of fragrant squeezed noodles was already waiting for me, and inside there were dried bamboo shoots and fresh shredded meat that I rarely eat.

I exclaimed, swept away the usual Sven, and immediately swallowed. While eating the delicious shredded meat, he wondered where his father got the meat from. I knew that my father had always been frugal, and that day was not a holiday, so how could he be willing to spend money on meat.

In the blink of an eye, I saw my father silently preparing to pick up dry firewood to sell in the patio.

I asked my father to come and eat with me.

He said he had already eaten.

Walking to the stove, I saw the bowl that my father had placed there, and it was obvious that he was eating the cold rice left over from the previous night.

The heart began to tremble violently, an inexplicable pain was blocked there, and the tears could not stop pouring out.

I began to nibble slowly through the food in the bowl, no longer feeling the deliciousness of it.

Later, I learned that my father had specially picked a bundle of firewood to sell at the market the day after I returned home, and used the money from the sale of firewood to buy a piece of meat, just to give me a taste of meat.

Many years have passed, and I have eaten many delicious dishes, but the bowl of dried bamboo shoots and roasted noodles that my father's year has always been stored in the depths of my memory and will never be able to be picked up.

It's just one thing parents love about their children. The number of piles and pieces is not enough.

The father was like this, and so was the mother, a very ordinary rural woman, who never did anything amazing in her life, and the slightest wisp of love was like a trickle.

In May, the wheat in my hometown was ripe. My mother would grind the new wheat into flour and make flatbread, wrap it in tofu skin and roast the meat, and send us to school.

The mother could not take the car, leaned on a pair of feet, and hiked back and forth for dozens of miles, just wanted to give her children what she felt good.

There are two college students in our family, which are inseparable from the diligence, open-mindedness and rationality of our parents.

In order to provide for my brother and me to go to college, my mother raised more than 60 long-haired rabbits alone, and every day she got up early in the morning and went to the wild to cut grass; when gao fu, in order to bring me rice and vegetables, she could walk in the kneeless snow for five or six hours, even if the snow made her slip and even wet and worn by ice and snow, she never retreated without complaint.

The second half of my parents' lives are in the eyes of many people, and they are bitter and willing to eat and wear.

Before I retired as a teacher, every holiday, my parents were not used to living in the city, I was willing to go back to my hometown, do farm work with them, stay by their side.

It's just that the days are really fast, and it has been so long since my father and mother left.

Fortunately, the voice and smile of my father and mother in my mind have not disappeared in my mind, and fortunately we can still meet in our dreams.

However, the hand that was covered with the vicissitudes of time, I could no longer hold it.

He woke up with tears on his face.

After my father and mother left, I couldn't see them at the door of the old house, and I couldn't hear the familiar voices when I left.

It was another year of Qingming, and the grass in front of my father's mother's grave was green again. Relatively speechless, my thoughts grew for another year.

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