Vernacular prose: It's time for the fragrance of acacia flowers again

Text: A cup of the sea

Maybe it's because of my age, I like to remember very much, and I'm also very sad too. In all the memories of my mother's hometown, there must be a faint fragrance of acacia flowers, and there must be a mountain in the hometown, which is not so much a mountain as a ridge. This ridge is on the west side of our village, and all the villagers like to call it West Ridge.　　

There are a lot of locust trees on the ridge in our village, remember that every season of time, the locust trees all over the mountains will bloom white locust flowers, the locust flowers emit a refreshing fragrance, faintly, if there is nothing on your lips, at the end of your nose leisurely exuded. If you inhale hard, you can't smell the fragrance, but when you don't notice it, you can feel its presence, as if the fragrance is not inhaled from your nose, but it rolls into your heart all at once. Even at home under the mountains, in the fields, in the conversation, and in the sleep, you can feel the faint fragrance that seems to be nothing.　　

On the ridge, in addition to the tall locust tree, there are zigzag jujube trees, shorter than the jujube tree is a dog's tail grass, is thatch, shorter than thatch is barren root grass, in these layers of green, is a pearl-like dam, if there is no wind, the water in the dam is like a mirror, as if it is not a dam, that is green eyes. The sour jujube tree under the tall locust flowers will send out tender green buds at this time, and the pink rice-like small yellow flowers will stand proudly, if it is not for its barbed thorns all over its body, you will definitely happily pick it and plant it in your heart; the dog's tail grass should be high at this time, and it will drag out the tender tail, the green of the dog's tail grass is the kind of yellow-yellow green, it is the kind of desolate green, it likes to sway in the wind; and the dog's tail grass is as high as the thatch, and the green of the thatch is another kind of tender green, soft and weak as if it can't withstand the wind, but it is so tough; and the barren root grass always likes to gently creep on the thin slate stone, crawling on the wastelandCovering the hardness and desolation of the stone slab and the wasteland, the green and full of life, the grass is not only grass, it is the garment of the mountain.　　

In this spring, the whole ridge is a sea of green, these trees, these grasses, these green, overlapping and overlapping with three-dimensionality, the clear water in the dam, reflecting the green, reflecting the clouds in the sky. If the wind comes, the whole green ocean, one after another, will be flexible, it seems to have life, you can feel its vitality, you can feel its kiss, you can feel its whispering.　　

When we were young, Xiling was our paradise, a paradise for birds, and a paradise for all kinds of insects. We always like to catch birds, grasshoppers, frogs, and even snakes.　　

On the ridge, there will always be something new for us to linger on. Because we always like to go there, like the trees, like the water, like the birds, like the sunset on the ridge and look at the smoke rising from the roof at the foot of the mountain, watching the smoke disappear into the clouds like a pillar of smoke from deep to shallow, we always feel that the smoke is not cooking smoke, it is the child of the cloud.　　

We always like to guess whose house is coming from this wisp of cooking smoke, whose house is that wisp of cooking smoke, whose family is steaming steamed buns, and whose family is boiling sweet potato porridge.　　

We can feel this beauty, but we can't express it. We are immersed in this beauty, and we are always interrupted by the shouting of our mother. Because, that's the sound of my mother calling us home for dinner.　　

Even now, I often hear my mother's long-pitched voice calling me home for dinner in my dreams, "Dongdong--, go home for dinner--。 The "oh" sound dragged on long, very rhyming, and soft. Whenever I think of it, it's warm.　　

Now that people are in a foreign land, in this festival about mothers, they miss their hometown and their mothers in their hometowns.　　

Sometimes I often think, what is hometown? I think: hometown is a place where relatives are there, a place where people have unforgettable memories that are difficult to let go, and what takes root in our hearts is hometown.　　

Memories of motherhood are more about staying when I was a child.　　

The mother is a typical rural woman, she is kind and gentle. Like so many mothers in this world, she has no quarrel with the world. Her kindness has always influenced my whole life.　　

When I used to live in the village, in that era of material scarcity, whenever I saw someone begging, my mother would always lead them to the house, give them a bun, and then make sure that I pour a cup of boiling water until they were about to leave, and then stuff another bun on them before leaving. At that time, the buns were much more precious than they are now.　　

That scene, even now, is impressive.　　

In my memory, there are always white locust flowers, a bluestone mill in front of the house, and a mother.　　

The mother would take a bench and sit under the locust tree, while the beggar would squat on the stone mill in front of the house in the patio. (At that time, beggars would have a rule, generally not into other people's homes, even if they met a warm house, into the patio, they would never enter other people's halls, and they would never eat at the same table with the master.) At that time, in my rural hometown, there was always a stone mill in front of the window of the hall house. And the beggar, crouching in front of the stone mill, his cheeks bulging high, his Adam's apple squirming, eating a mouthful of bread and drinking a sip of water.　　

Mother would always say a word or two lightly. "It's from the West Mountain, isn't it?, the harvest is not good?" "Alas, isn't it easy to drag the family with you?" "If you don't force this job, who wants to make a living?" There was always a faint pity in the mother's tone, as if the beggar was a distant relative of hers.　　

And what about the beggars? They will always say, "The eldest sister-in-law's heart is really good", "Those of us who eat hundreds of meals, is it our blessing to meet the eldest sister-in-law?"　　

I think this kind of praise to my mother is worthy and deserved.　　

Even now, after moving to the city, my mother is often like this. When we grew up, we often blamed our mothers for this. Say that there are too many social crooks and that those beggars should not be brought into the house. My mother always murmured, "If it weren't for the fact that I couldn't live anymore, who would want to make a living like this? Who would like to eat a hundred family meals?"　　

Mother often has a sentence on her lips: This person, if he is good, he will not be able to get rid of it sooner or later. What are you doing? God is watching?　　

My mother was uneducated and couldn't say anything philosophical. But the kindness of our mothers has always influenced our behavior today.　　

In my mother's life, my father and I are everything to my mother. In her world, this home is all she has, as long as her family is safe and sound, it is given by God in her heart, and it is what she has cultivated all her life. All her thoughts were given to this family, my father and me.　　

My mother was very fond of me, and in my impression, my mother never scolded me, let alone hit me once. In front of my strict father, I prefer to be with my mother. Even now, if I have anything to say to my father, it must be conveyed by my mother, and so does my father.　　

I think my mother loves me more than my sister. No matter what was delicious, my mother would always secretly leave it to me. My sister often jokingly told her mother that you have your son in your heart. The mother didn't say anything, she always smiled faintly, and a flower bloomed on her face. Even if I made a mistake, my mother would definitely protect me in the face of my father's severe punishment. My mother's love for me has reached the point of doting.　　

Writing this, I recall a very embarrassing incident when I was a child. If it weren't for the fact that my son mentioned it to me when he went home for the Chinese New Year last year, he might have forgotten about it.　　

Still in that age of scarcity. I'm supposed to be seven or eight years old, right? Maybe a little older.　　

During the Chinese New Year, parents usually buy new clothes for their children. At that time, my family was poor, so my mother told me, "I have bought my clothes, but what about my shoes?" In those days, our shoes were almost always the same as the mother's green gang white soles, which were comfortable but not good-looking.　　

I've been thinking about it for a long time, and I wanted to ask my mother to buy me a pair of these shoes during the Chinese New Year. Whoever wears shoes like that is the same feeling as people driving a Mercedes-Benz BMW nowadays.　　

When my mother told me she wasn't going to buy shoes, I was extremely reluctant. I didn't say anything at the time, but I was reluctant in my heart.　　

On Chinese New Year's Eve, everyone is posting couplets. But I was not happy when I thought about it, so I thought I had to have a pair of Huili brand sneakers. And that thought is getting stronger and stronger.　　

So I told my mother, I want pullback sneakers.　　

The mother cooks the meat on the fire in front of the stove. The fire in the stove reflected the mother's face, the pot gurgling, and the smell of meat filled the room.　　

My mother said, "Didn't you say okay?" I won't buy shoes this year. I've got those shoes painted for you? Didn't you agree?　　

I don't know where the courage came from, so I stubbornly said that I would return to the brand sneakers. And it has to be.　　

My mother was embarrassed and persuaded me that what to wear was different.　　

But I was very determined that I must buy Huili brand sneakers.　　

My father heard it outside and said, "It's good to buy what to buy, and it's good for children to wear it, and I also pick and choose, and I didn't have shoes to wear when I was young."　　

I was surprisingly stubborn and insisted on buying sneakers. I think I have this stubborn character that I have now since I was very young, and I must stick to what I want to do to the end.　　

Mother just sighed.　　

My father got angry and grabbed me, took off my pants and spanked me. While fighting, I told you to ask for sneakers, I asked you to ask for sneakers.　　

I didn't cry either, let my father beat me, and said: Celebrate the New Year, wear broken shoes. Celebrate the New Year and wear broken shoes. I'm going to have sneakers.　　

I still remember my mother shedding tears in front of the stove, it was still a red stove fire, and the tears were also red, crystalline, and full of helplessness.　　

My mother took me in her arms and yelled at my father, "Don't beat him again, hit me if you hit me again." I've never seen my mother get angry like this.　　

The father was stunned, sighed and went out. Later I got the sneakers I wanted.　　

I can now relate to the frustration of my parents, when a pair of sneakers would have been eighteen dollars if I remember correctly. At that time, a pound of pork should have been nine cents. I can better appreciate the love given by my parents.　　

When I went home for the Chinese New Year this year, my son snuggled up to me and said to me mysteriously: Dad, tell you something, don't you be angry?　　

I said, you say.　　

The son is still not at ease, saying that you are really not allowed to be angry?　　

I'm not angry, do you say? Did you want something? Or did you do something wrong? It can't be a girlfriend? I often joke with my son.　　

Neither. The son said.　　

Say it, don't say it, be careful I'll beat you!" I told my son.　　

My son leaned in my ear and said, "Wear broken shoes for the New Year, and wear broken shoes for the New Year."　　

I chuckled in my heart, this must have been what the mother said to her son. I think the mother must have been thinking of me when she said this to my son.　　

Thousands of miles away, my mother never missed me. And I, running around in a different place for my own ideals and livelihood, never seemed to realize my mother's attachment and concern for me.　　

Every time I call my mother, I always ask, "Is your son okay?" and then ask, "Are you okay with your father?" instead of asking how you are with your father and then asking how your son is?　　

The first sentence of the mother will always be babbling and saying that my son is all over the place, your son and I take good care of you, don't worry about anything, you work hard outside, and your father is also very good. You can rest assured. Mother always puts the people she cares about first, and rarely mentions herself.　　

When I became a father, I realized the weight of my children in my heart, and my children always seemed to have a heavier weight in my heart than my parents. If you compare your heart to your heart, don't parents treat their children the same way?　　

There is a saying in my hometown that is particularly good: don't let your son know if it hurts.　　

Mother is silently paying for you in this way, we are used to accepting and feeling that everything is as it should be. We are immersed in love all day long, but we don't feel it. I don't want to use those clichés to emphasize or praise my mother. Because the greatness of mother's love is that even the most beautiful language in the world cannot express one-ten-thousandth of a mother's love.　　

In the middle of the night, I seemed to smell the long-lost scent of locust flowers, and I knew that it was my mother's smell.

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