The smell of wheat is intoxicating

□ Photography By Lu Jun

It's the wheat harvest season again, and I think of wheat again. Wheat is the most lyrical crop in the loess land, and the pasta made from wheat noodles is a delicious taste on the tongue that I have never tired of, left and loved all my life.

When I was a child, my family was not well off, and I grew up eating millet potato soup. I have never tasted bread, biscuits and other "foreign food", the big white steamed bun is the food I crave the most, and the thought of being able to let go of the belly and eat a meal of white steamed bun should be the most beautiful happiness. A peasant child, from an early age, knew that white steamed buns were made from white noodles milled from wheat. Whenever I see a green wheat field, I am like seeing a big white bun growing in the yellow soil.

During the Qingming Dynasty, the land thaws and glows. The croppers sow wheat seeds with their hearts in the fields where the bottom is fertilized. Ten days later, the wheat seedlings scrambled to emerge from the ground, and they grew taller and greener day by day under the moisture of the sun and rain. Then, the croppers are busy weeding, fertilizing, and watering. "People are not lazy", only in this way can the land give them a perfect return - the crops have a good harvest. After the summer, the wheat is jointed, the ears are drawn, the flowers are raised, the pulp is filled, the wheat grains continue to accumulate starch, and the stomach of the wheat grains is swollen day by day. We made an appointment with each other, and one day, a few of our little devils secretly burned ears of wheat in a mountain depression. The smell of wheat is fragrant, and the hands and mouths of each person eat are black, and they taste the taste of the earth and the taste of green wheat.

In the middle of July, the wheat was ripped open yellow and green, and the breeze and the waves of wheat wave after wave made a subtle sound, which was intoxicating. At this time, the hungry sparrows, as if they had consulted in advance, flew into the ground in groups and pecked at the wheat grains that were about to ripen. The peasants took the drafter and stood in the field. The straw man wears a torn straw hat on his head, wears a torn shirt, and two empty sleeves, fluttering with the wind, frightening those "little thieves and dolls" who dare not come closer. But after a few days, the sparrows were commonplace and no longer afraid. They fell, were full, and flew off into the distance. At this time, we peasant children have the task of driving away the sparrows. I stood on the mound and looked at the birds, not even wanting to drive them away, because I knew what it was like to be hungry.

Some days later, the dogs of the village, so hot that they threw out their tongues, gasped for breath; the cicadas in the trees, "Know, know!" The people who called were upset; the whirling yellow bird shouted loudly, "Whirling yellow whirling cut, whirling yellow whirling cut!" This succession of reminders told the peasants to "yellow a little, cut a little, can not delay, can not relax!" "As if this were its responsibility, naturally, there was also a sense of gratitude and the expectation of a good harvest.

The harvest of wheat cannot be delayed. When the wheat is ripe, the cropper has two fears: one is afraid of hail, and the other is afraid of rain. A hailstorm can smash a crop to pieces, leaving no grain. If it rains continuously, the wheat will sprout, and most of the hard work will be wasted. Therefore, during the wheat harvest season, there is no idle person at home. Everyone danced with a scythe in their hands and sweated like rain, trying their best to return the ripe wheat to the granules. Cut off the bundled wheat bundles, stand in the ground, through the wind and sun, basically dried, then transported to the wheat field, yard into wheat stacks, this is to let go of a matter of mind. On these busy days, we little dolls can't be idle —carrying water, delivering food, and picking up ears of wheat are our tasks. While doing this sporadic work, we did not forget to catch one or two grasshoppers that were just right, put them in cages woven with wheat straw, and listen to them. As long as the serious matter is not delayed, the adults will not condemn it.

After the wheat is stacked, it is necessary to wait for the wheat stack to heat up and "sweat". "Sweating" is to kill pests and diseases, so that the wheat grains lose some of their moisture, which is easy to shell when milling, and it is also convenient for storage. Playing is the business of adults. They spread the wheat bales evenly on the field, and separated the wheat grains from the debris through multiple processes such as drying, milling, and lifting the field. It's a hard and tiring technical job. If there is wind, just stop, and when there is no wind, you have to wait. Sometimes, it is also common to pick up the lights and fight at night.

During the waxing moon, my mother sifted the wheat, shook it clean, drizzled it with the right amount of water, and put it in her pocket for the night. The next day, it is transported to the mill grinding surface. The stone mill rumbled, and the wheat grains were ground into powder, white as snow. The isolated bran should also be collected, taken home, and used as vinegar, as feed, to feed cattle and sheep, to feed pigs and chickens.

The New Year is approaching, although the family's life is not wide, my mother still took out some white noodles, steamed steamed steamed buns, made flower rolls, fried oil cakes, made buns, wrapped dumplings, she used her skills to make all kinds of farmhouse meals tasteful, so that the whole family who had worked hard for a year could have a happy and peaceful Spring Festival.

When I grew up, I left my hometown and also left farming. My childhood, like the wheat of my hometown, is getting farther and farther away from me. Recently, I went back to my hometown and saw that now I have sown, harvested, and milled, all using agricultural machinery. When my brother brought home a dozen bags of wheat from the harvester and spread them out in the yard to dry, I held up a handful of wheat affectionately, and a gentle smell of wheat entered my heart and spleen. I said, "Wheat, what a lovely wheat!" "It's like meeting a loved one who has been separated for a long time!" At this time, the image of parents working hard in the crop fields came to my mind...

□ Zhao Zhiyuan

Source: Lanzhou Daily