Dig up the cabbage
Text/Zhang Dianyun
Loved picking and choosing. Pick vegetables every spring. Now I picked a cabbage again. About two or three friends, ride on the early sun, and go to the far side...
I like to pick and choose vegetables, which seems to be innate. This is due to the love of the little village that gave birth to me.
When I was a child, the small village was very natural, with grain fields and vegetable fields, ditches and ponds, and canals piled up with a piece of primitive forest that I thought I was. The distribution is natural, the connection is lattice, and it is all the painting of the magic pen. Spring is coming, breaking the ice and thawing, the earth is soft, and everything in Vientiane is prosperous. The farmland is lush, the fields are luxuriant, and among the various flourishing beings, the cabbage is not far behind, and there are many and many. There are green and red leaves creeping on the ground, and small white flowers like stars look up at the sky, and the aroma with the smell of earth is overflowing. It is one of our favorite wild vegetables. Whenever there is an encounter, he will rejoice and rejoice, and he will pick it up, or feed it to the pigs, or carry it to the city in exchange for two or three silver flowers, and occasionally mix a plate of cold saucer to give his father wine.
Like to pick vegetables, although not as crazy as, but also a little fascinated. In every season when the cabbage grows, I can't forget to pick it a few times. There is no time to squeeze time, no cabbage to find cabbage, close to the distance. On the boulevard of the unit, next to the winding path of the park, and between the strawberry groves, I left the footprints of picking cabbage. It's more about the little village where I was born. When there were still farmland in the small village, my lovely and respectable neighbors had even become accustomed to leaving the cabbage in their garden that had been removed with the weeds for me to pick when I returned to my mother's house, and I would also go back to my mother's house again and again to pick the cabbage, back to the small village that was too familiar to be familiar with it, and let the unique sweetness of the cabbage flow freely.
Counting the years, I don't know the old sideburns of the heart. In the past few decades, picking vegetables has not stopped, and the more you pick, the more "courageous", the more you pick, the more diligent you are. Not only is the passion undiminished, but also a certain amount of technical experience has been accumulated. I was able to effortlessly recognize the cabbage that had become unrecognizable after frost; I could instantly identify the grass-like cabbage hidden in the grass; I was able to easily dig out the cabbage that grew in the crevices of the rubble. I also know where to go and where to pick up the cabbage.
Remember picking vegetables last year. Still back to that little village as always. However, this is not the time, this is not the other. Under the impact of the torrent of reform, in the traction of fast-paced urban construction, the small village that raised me seemed to stand on the land where she could survive as a new modern city. The original people's homes, fields, trees, and ditches have become a page of the past in the history books. Instead, high-rise buildings are connected, and the street market is continuous... Arrogant and prosperous, swallowing Corning peace. The last star of dirt is also difficult to find. Without soil, where can there be grown cabbage? I ended up finding some cabbage in a newly created park. After that, this park will not be found. Such a park should survive and develop according to people's wishes, and must grow delicious turquoise trees and flowers... There is no room for wild plants such as lettuce to grow here.
In the spring of this year, I am very worried about the cabbage, and I am eager to go to the meeting for a while and pick a return.
Looking farther east of the city, a vegetable patch was stranded for construction. Just next to the tall buildings under rumbling construction, there are a few scattered shantytowns, insisting on growing vegetables and vegetables in several greenhouses. It is not a loss of "fertile land and water beauty", there are cabbage and leaf ferns to grow. There is also an endless stream of people who come here to pick vegetables. A woman who grows lettuce in a greenhouse said: I have been picked a thousand times before, and you are late. I don't think so, looking at the cauliflower that shakes in the wind and opens its heart to the sky, it is very satisfying, after all, there is still growth...
With this place to pick up cabbage, I invite friends from time to time to share happily.
Now I picked a cabbage again. Invite two old colleagues, one elderly college classmate, and one old friend. Sacrificing laziness, he faced the morning sun and went straight to the cabbage. We ran away, as cheerful as morning birds, as unbridled as naughty children, and had fun with the cabbage, completely intoxicated. Our laughter and laughter rippled with the smell of dancing cauliflower flowers and penetrated each other.
Return, people are quiet. Suddenly, an unimaginable question emerged from the bottom of my heart: With the changes of the times and the development of society, after years, do we want to take a spaceship to space and pick vegetables in the Moon Palace? I don't know where?
About author:Zhang Dianyun, pen name singer, Jiangsu Qingjiang Pu people. Literature lovers, especially prose and poetry. Adhere to the truth and goodness, integrity above, cherish fate.
From huaiyin language
Editor: Ma Xuemin
One point number Qingwei Heze creative base