Text | King Up
There is a poem that reads: The front door of the courtyard is opened for the first time, and Qunfang Xie is on the stage alone. You can wear jade strings and make-up cottages, and you can pick flowers as ingredients. Blood-colored gels greet the sun and the moon, intertwined with cold dew and clean dust. Faintly interpersonal hometown tree, a beautiful childhood into a dream. It was March, and this poem about locust flowers evoked memories of locust flowers as a child.
I was born in the 1950s. As a child lived in a big yard. This courtyard is said to be the old residence of a certain big man, and although it is dilapidated, its building still maintains its former glory. There is an old locust tree in the yard that has not been known for many years. Towards May, the tree is leafy and shaded. The spring breeze blows, and the courtyard is filled with a strong aroma. I saw that the locust flowers were about to bloom, and a string of white locust flowers bent the branches. I leaned against the old locust tree, rubbing the rough bark, silently staring... Together with the slightly cracked bark, the vicissitudes of the years are written.
A few days later, the locust flowers reached their full blooming stage. Looking up, the rich fragrance of locust flowers attracts countless bees. Industrious bees flock to each other. Those days. The neighbors of the compound were attracted by the scent of locust flowers and became jubilant. Some of the friends climbed up the tree barefoot and rubbed a few times. The bold little friend climbed higher, picked a bunch of locust flowers, and shouted loudly: "Old Fourth, catch it." I hurriedly raised my little hand to greet the white flower. For a time, under the trees became an ocean of joy for the little friends, shouting and ecstatic to pick this earthly delicacy. This is the joy of childhood, like the New Year, the face is full of happy smiles.
Sometimes my friends and I would take a long bamboo pole and tie an iron hook to the top of the bamboo pole so that we could pick the locust flowers. The bamboo pole was lifted high, and the branches of the locust flower were skillfully hooked, and with a gentle pull, a large branch of the locust flower with flowers with flowers fell. I hurried forward, plucked a locust flower, and put it in my mouth. The slightly blooming flowers, spilling sweet juice in my mouth, instantly entered my throat, naturally sweet, and the feeling of sugar cubes is different. The acacia flowers are fragrant, elegant and simple. After staying under the tree for a while, I felt that the whole person was immersed in the sweetness of the locust flowers.
My playmates and I picked a basket full of locust flowers, so tired that my neck ached and my hands couldn't move. Looking at the fruits of victory, I shouted to my mother, "Look, we have picked so many locust flowers." Mom took the locust flower, happily picked up the towel, wiped the sweat off my face, "Child, take a break." I will send you a little bit of Grandma Li and Aunt Wang, which is a blessing from God. "In that era of frugality, this was a rare delicacy.
Mom took the picked locust flowers, washed them, chopped them with a knife, and then added a little noodles, a little salt, and stirred into a paste. The oil is poured into the iron pot, and the acacia flowers that have been mixed into the paste are poured into the pot, and the pot is filled with foam, and in a short while it becomes golden. The fragrance of locust cake filled the whole room and moisturized people's hearts. Mom put the locust flower cake on the table, I eagerly picked it up and took a bite, an aroma filled my taste buds, I felt that it was the most delicious thing in the world, eaten in the mouth, sweet in the heart. Childhood happiness, simple and content.
Nowadays, you can also see locust flowers on the stalls in the wet market, but they no longer have the appearance of the locust flowers they remembered as children, nor do they have the aroma of the old days. The locust flower leaves the tree and loses its fresh life. I miss the big locust tree full of life, and I miss the locust flower cake that my mother made that still reminds me of the fragrance of my lips and teeth. Writing this, I miss my mother even more, and tears can't help but burst out of my eyes, bit by bit spilling on the keyboard.
What a happy thing it would be if my mother could live to this day. Write this in memory of my mother. The writer Lao She has a good saying: "Even if a person lives to be eighty or ninety years old and has a mother, he can be a little bit childish, lose his loving mother, like a flower in a vase, although there is still color and fragrance, but he loses his roots..." (Picture selected from the network, invasion and deletion)
About author:Wang Qi, born in 1953, retired cadre. In 1972, he joined the shengli oilfield and was transferred to Shandong Iron and Steel Group in 1977. He loves literature and likes to write. His works have been published in "City Women's Daily" many times, and he has published "Mother's Cabbage Flower" at Qilu One Point, "My Lonely Island Love", "Facing Life" and "Sisterly Love" on Dongying Microculture, "Shandong Old Cadres" magazine published "Mother has me on the way to work", and also published articles on public accounts such as Luneng Real Estate and JianYuan Park.
One point number Shandong financial literature