Yongshou Meiwen "The Flower of Motherly Love Treasured in the Depths of My Memory": Chen Xiaohui

Text: "The "Flower of Motherly Love" Treasured in the Depths of My Memory"

Author: Chen Xiaohui

In the afternoon of the spring weekend, because of the wind, I had to cancel the outdoor badminton game with my son and adjust the exercise method to walking - unconsciously came to a green suburban area, and I saw a small flower in the distance, she was so kind and familiar, attracting me to stop and look at it carefully. Looking at it carefully, the door of my memory seemed to have been pressed to restart: a scene about flowers with my mother when I was about three years old appeared in front of my eyes...

At the end of the 1970s, the rural areas had not yet solved the problem of water difficulties, and my hometown was located on the southern edge of the Weibei Plateau, with ravines and ravines, and it was no exaggeration to say that "dripping water is as expensive as oil" when it was difficult to use water. In this mode of harmonious coexistence between man and nature, laundry generally uses waterlogged pond water, eaves water, river water and even spring water. Spring water is generally used for drinking, and only when it is cold and frozen, people have the luxury of washing with spring water.

I remember once my mother led me to the waterlogged pool to wash the laundry, she carried the laundry wrapped in the bag on one side of her shoulder, a washing board under her armpit, and the other hand pulled me, while I jumped and jumped all the way. The waterlogged pond is wide and the water is deep. My mother asked me to play with the mud on the shore behind her, but I had to chase butterflies one moment and wash my mother's clothes the next. So my mother asked me to look for flowers under the ridge far from the water, and she looked at me from time to time while doing a quick laundry; I had not found a flower for a long time, and I was disappointed, and I inadvertently looked up, only to see that there were several clusters of yellow flowers on the top of the ridge, and the petals fluttered with the wind and were beautiful and moving, and I did not hesitate to climb quickly to the ridge, thinking only about picking flowers. My mother threw down the clothes she was washing and stopped me loudly: "Yellow flowers are bald flowers, and they will become bald scabs when you touch them!" As for what a bald scab is, I don't know when I was young, but I know that there was an uncle in the village nicknamed "Bald Scab", who had very little hair, and he could often see white, reddish-brown, and yellow scabs on his scalp, and I often saw him scratching his scalp; so I immediately stopped climbing, and just the moment I didn't want to become "bald", my mother was already standing behind me.

Another time, my mother removed a lot of cotton clothes and bedding in the winter and spring seasons, and led me to the river to wash. The nearest river to home also has to go to the bottom of the ditch, adults generally cut rugged trails, my mother chooses to take a relatively flat road because she leads me, when I really can't walk, my mother will hold me with one arm, and the other arm will support the laundry bag on my shoulder. When washing clothes in the river, my mother chose the section of the river where the water flowed deep and visible; before starting the laundry, my mother first led me around the riverbank, pointing out where to play and where not to go. For me, there is nothing happier than running happily on the green grass on the shore, sometimes with unknown small flowers, which undoubtedly has a strong attraction for the little girl who loves beauty in early spring; I don't know when the red flowers in the water grass on the riverbank come into view - only to see it bright and messy, delicate and charming, I rushed to the flowers, and I had already left my mother's "forbidden area" behind; my mother called out to me loudly and let me return to her, and I stubbornly had to pick the flowers. My mother could only put down her clothes and accompany me to the shore where the flowers were. She picked up a stone and threw it into the river, and there was not much splash on the river; my mother told me: "That is a dumb flower, and when you pick it, you become dumb." But I said, "My little friend called it a cross flower, my sister once picked it for me, we have not become dumb, I want it!" Mom smiled, squatted down and said, "It is indeed a dumb flower, you did not become dumb because the flower was not picked by you, you only took it." I asked, "How come my sister didn't become dumb when I picked the flowers?" Mom turned her face to the side and smiled, then hid her smile and said to me, "My sister is older than you, and you have just learned to speak for a short time." I stared questioningly at my mother and pouted. Mom led me again to pick a handful of colorful flowers on the flat grass.

Soon after, when the river had not yet thawed, my mother, who loved cleanliness, led me to wash my clothes at the edge of the spring in the ditch (the spring was at the lowest point at the bottom of the ditch surrounded by mountains on three sides, which was difficult to get sunburned). I set off early in the morning, my mother was worried that the wind would blow my delicate skin, and specially put on a beautiful flower sleeve and turban for me (I remember that the turban was a square scarf of pale blue and red flowers, my mother folded the square scarf in half into a triangle, covered my forehead with a diagonal fold, leaving a large triangle behind the neck, and the small corners on both sides were knotted behind the neck), most of the people I met along the way were wearing cotton jackets, and some uncles and grandfathers wore belts around their waists. By the time we got to the spring, someone was already fetching water, and someone had washed a small amount of laundry and was ready to go home. I was curious to see the spring water, but my mother didn't let me at first, only saying, "It's water, nothing to see!" "I said I hadn't seen fetching water. So my mother stopped me from behind and asked me to lie down and watch from the fountain. I was not satisfied with just seeing a bottomless black hole, but I wanted to take a step closer, and my mother hugged her tighter, and I finally saw the splash of water from the bucket (the edge of the spring is symbolic, the height is not as high as my calf; the water is tied to the barrel beam with a very thick hemp rope sleeve, slipping down the spring, filling the water and then lifting it up with the left and right hands). My mother chose a flat place a little farther away from the spring, carried the hanging spring water into the basin to wash clothes, and I imitated her dry cleaning clothes next to my mother... After hearing me cough a few times, my mother stopped washing and led me to the gentle slope opposite to bask in the sun, at which point the earth took on a mottled appearance (brown, yellow, green) and looked like a starry sky at night, and the "star" was a faint blue-purple flower—its umbrella hat was chrysanthemum-shaped, and the blue-purple color was so faint that it needed to be fixed to confirm the color. My mother picked a flower and handed it to me, my little hand actually felt that it was too small to hold, and then my mother said to the small flower that opened on the ground: "Change, change the dog", at this time a miniature little ant climbed up from under the flower, I immediately came to my senses, shouting that I also wanted to "change the dog baby". My mother still explained my forbidden area as usual, and then quickly went back to continue washing clothes; and I "changed into a dog doll" without looking back, one after another. But after a long time, I didn't conjure up a dog doll, and my mother told me loudly from afar: "Don't worry, change slowly, you will definitely conjure up a dog doll!" "By this time my mother was no longer sitting and washing clothes in the shelter of the wind as she had been at the beginning, but was half-crouching facing me and looking at me frequently; I confirmed that my mother began to concentrate on becoming a dog doll behind me... Suddenly, a belted grandfather I had seen on the road yelled at me, "How did you get here?!" Then his flock of sheep panicked and took care of themselves, and I wanted to cry in grievance, and as soon as I skimmed my lips, I heard the grown-ups shouting one after another: "Quiet, quiet!" Quiet, moving!" (Some I've seen, some I've never seen), I don't know what's wrong, look back – Mom didn't wash her clothes anymore, but ran straight to me, running and saying, "Quietly, Mom's coming!" (I distinctly remember a few thick trunks that had been cut down at the spring, and a very deep canal, and my mother dragged me around; but I don't know what my mother was doing at the moment, I only saw her running straight towards me) In the blink of an eye, my mother snatched me from the steep slope, wrapped her hands tightly around me motionless, and looked in horror at the dangerous place where I had just stood—for a long time, before I lowered my head and pressed my forehead to my little face; at this time I also felt the physical and mental warmth from my mother Snuggled up in Mom's warm embrace (my little ears could clearly hear Mom's rapid throbbing heartbeat, and even my eardrums could sense the impact of the sound waves coming from Mom's chest). I snuggled quietly in my mother's arms until I sensed that my mother's beating voice was slowing down, and then I said timidly, "Mom, I didn't conjure up a dog doll." My mother told me softly: "The dog baby wants to be mother, go home; we don't change the dog baby, we go home!"

Whether it is the "bald scab flower", "dumb flower" or the "dog baby" of the lilac and purple flowers, all carry my mother's love and care for me; every time when I face danger, my mother always appears in front of me for the first time - care for me, warm me. (She told me many times with action: between two points, the line segment is the shortest!) These "flowers of maternal love" cherished in the depths of my memory are enough to warm my life, and I will certainly take care of my children like my mother cares for me, and pass on this selfless "flower of maternal love".

About the author: Ying Qing, formerly known as Chen Xiaohui, a native of Yongshou County. Born in 1975, he is an associate senior teacher of biology in high school, a senior tutor of life planning, a senior psychological counselor, a member of the Shaanxi Family Education Research Association, and the first member of the Xianyang Family Education Research Association. He enjoys photography, literature and art, and is now engaged in education and teaching.

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