Disclaimer: Author authorizes the original debut Literary Sky.
About the Author:
Zheng Lili, pen name Shuliu Hanyue, literature lover, Shandong Rizhaoren, member of the Municipal Writers Association, has won many awards in national, provincial and municipal competitions.
Window of Prose:
"The wheat is ripe for a while", and I don't realize that it is the wheat harvest season again. The familiar and somewhat unfamiliar wheat harvest scene made me suddenly walk back to the May of my childhood.
When I was a child, the wheat was ripe and the students took a wheat holiday. When I was a child, I did not read the sentence "Golden Wheat Lang Mai Gold", and when I was a child, wheat harvest was equated with sweat. Everything depends on man's most primitive labor: cutting wheat, transporting wheat, drying wheat, beating wheat,...... Mechanization is still an illusory dream, at that time, who would believe that they can live a "upstairs and downstairs, electric light telephone" life.
My mother got up to cook in the middle of nowhere, my father grinded the sickle that had been blunted yesterday in the yard, and our sisters and brothers were shouted up and sat at the dinner table in confusion. After a simple breakfast, Dad carried a flat burden with a rope and two scythes; Mom held a basket of wheat ears on her arm and a towel on her head; and our sisters and brothers each carried a pot of water, and one of them took a sickle, and set out for his own wheat field.
When he got to the ground, Dad put down his flat burden and immediately started work. Only to see their legs parted, bending down, the left hand forward to hold a large bundle of wheat, followed by the right hand sickle rise and fall, a click, the wheat stubble brushed in the ground, the wheat remained in the hand. A few ups and downs, hands clasped with scythes, a large bed of cut wheat ironed and pressed behind him. Mom also joined, just as clean and neat. Our sisters and brothers did the same thing. Most of the children in the village would go to the fields to help, and almost did not patronize themselves to play. My brother and I, with small hands and small strength, were cut like dogs, uneven, and became the handle of my parents' jokes. Mom and Dad tied the wheat big and strong, and a big one was lined up in the ground; the wheat of both of us was small and delicate, there were few of us, and we stood pitifully unsteadily, and a strong wind almost all lay down. In Dad's words, the wheat between the two of us was not much thicker than chopsticks, and we cut so many that even the wheat straw was not full. The mother pitied her own child at that time and praised us: "My two grasshopper children have also made two or two efforts." ”
Early out of the slope, when the sun is not poisonous, you can still insist. Come at 10 o'clock, the sun is hot and spicy, the wheat field itself is not airtight, the heat in the ground is steaming, and the wheat is cut facing the loess back to the sky, the taste is really difficult. People became flapjacks between two hot pots, sweat stinging people, and their eyes could not be opened. Q, what not to rub? A, I can't wipe it at all. The image of the words of the people in the village says that if you sweat is oil, and if you sweat a lot, you are dripping with oil. Soon our whole family was dripping with oil and wet. (Later, the first time I saw someone roast duck, the duck oil squeaked and squeaked, and I thought of this clip for no reason.) Mom and Dad can still insist, and the two of us will be lost, one will run to the ground to drink a small belly water, and the other will run to the ground to drink a small belly water. The water seemed to run out of the pores immediately after drinking, and the person was still very thirsty. Soon the kettle was empty, and when Mom and Dad rested, and wanted to drink water to moisten the throat of the fire, there was not a drop of water.
There is no use in the big eyes and small eyes, it is still early, the people working in the field are busy, and my family cannot finish work so early. So Mom and Dad told us to go home and carry the water back. We are also happy to do this light work. The sisters and brothers rushed home, dried the boiling water, filled the kettle, and returned to the wheat field again. In fact, the child did not have long strength, and he did the work for a while, and the rest was pure grinding foreign workers.
Mom and Dad took turns telling stories in order to tease us not to say, "Go home, go home." One is very impressive, because it is spoken almost every day. It is said that when a person cut wheat, he was injured and went to the hospital, and it was possible to hurt his fingers and legs and feet, but this person hurt his nose! The doctor was surprised and asked what was going on. Answer: "This is not cutting wheat and I don't want to go home, I cover my eyes with a sickle, I see if it's not heavenly, I don't see if it's heavenly, I unload my strength in my hand, I forget that the sickle blade is on my nose, and I cut my nose!" Thus there is the allusion that "cutting the wheat cuts off the nose." The joke that made us both laugh back then, now that I think about it, I really can't laugh.
It was so easy to get to the end of the day, and Mom had a basket full of ears of wheat on her arm, and we both went home almost empty-handed. Dad also had to pick up a load of wheat and send it to the wheat field. He took the rope and tied six barley men at one end, and inserted the flat burden, a big pick, heavy. My brother and I took turns trying it out, like a small ant shaking a tree, not moving, scaring us into sticking out our tongues – it was too heavy! Dad came over, squatted down, flattened his shoulders, took a deep breath, stood up straight, and a big pick of wheat suddenly left the ground! Dad walked steadily on the rugged mountain path.
I followed dad and looked at him carrying two wheat hills. The pressure was intense, and the flat burden on Dad's shoulders was deeply buckled into the flesh. It was hot again, the back of the shirt was wet, and the sweat on his neck was endless. Dad's heavy breathing made me feel breathless too. But Dad walked fast and we had to trot along. I told my mother that if the wheat did not sink, my father would save effort. My mother glanced at me and said that I was really an ignorant child. I was not convinced, and asked my mother to explain. "The wheat sinking is a good thing, indicating that this year's wheat is solid, indicating that this year's harvest is good, and the New Year can eat more steamed pot white-noodle steamed buns." The wheat does not press the shoulders, which means that it is a poor harvest. Your dad, would love to sink a little deeper! Shoulders are flattened and shouldered, which is a blessing. "It turns out that this is the case, flat shoulders and shoulders, it is actually a blessing." For the sake of the family, it seems that Dad will not feel heavy on his shoulders.
As we walked, Dad gradually threw himself away from us and was far away from us. Obviously, we are light and provincial, how can we not go faster than dad? I rushed home with this question mark. My mother cooked, I burned the fire, and my brother was busy boiling water with dry wood in the yard. After the meal was ready, Dad dragged his tired body back. At the dinner table I raised my questions. While pulling rice into his mouth, Dad said: "Flat shoulders, pressing you, you have a thought in your heart, come to the field to put it down." Anyway, you can't throw the wheat in the middle of the road, people are walking more and more boring, the more they go, the hotter and more panicked, the road will not become shorter, do not go fast, find trouble by themselves. Mom added a few words: "It has always been empty-handed and unable to carry the burden." Those who pick up the burden have no time to scatter their eyes blindly, and rush forward with their heads stuffed; those who look east and west with empty hands, those who pull east and west, and those who cannot pick up the burden. "Oh, that's it. My little braincase was filled with this shallow answer, and I couldn't turn it anymore. Tired and tired, he was about to scatter, filling his stomach and thinking about the bed was worse than thinking about anything, falling down and sleeping to death.
When I woke up in the afternoon, my parents had left early. I woke my brother up and continued my journey of cutting wheat. Although in the field, the little wolf seems to have to dry for a while, but it always cuts less, and the parents can be less tired. Just stop complaining about the wheat bale sinking, knowing that it is a good thing. Don't complain that Dad is walking fast and not waiting for us, picking up the burden and walking fast! One season of wheat was harvested, the wheat stubble was planted, our sister and brother lost a circle, and my parents were three points blacker. The rural scenery is good, but when it is busy, no one pays attention to these, and there is enough work to do, where there is that leisure. Adults and children are almost overloaded with labor, and the only thing to enjoy the scenery is probably the dogs of Sahuan. Later, I saw many works, describing the busy work of farming so poetically, I couldn't help but shake my head: the author must not be a person from the real rural area! You must not know how much courage it takes to doze off and turn around and get up, and you must not know what kind of war it takes to grab seeds in the wheat season.
The harvest of wheat is similar from year to year, and the harvest of wheat is slightly different from year to year. Later, there were wheat beaters, small harvesters, micro-cultivators for farming... These mechanizations have greatly reduced the burden on farmers. It was almost a blink of an eye, and the little fart child of that year had entered middle age. Dad used the flat burden for many years, sweat soaked in rain, all became bronze, although it can not be used, it is not lost, the existence of cultural relics in general. In fact, I can go out of the countryside and get a relatively stable life today, and I am grateful for my father's flat burden. Thinking back to the difficult road of a rural child's education, it is really inexhaustible sour, sweet and bitter, and I can't count how many times I have had the idea of giving up and trying to pick a pick and not do it. If it weren't for the fact that my parents said that flat shoulders were a blessing and the idea of picking up the burden and taking the fast road was supported, I might not be able to walk today. In order to find a future, some sufferings have to be eaten; some are tired and have to be endured; some burdens have to be picked.
In a sense, squashing the burden on the shoulder is really a blessing. At that time, it was tired, but there were heavy harvests waiting, there were opportunities to take fewer detours, and there was a probability of walking faster than others. If you want to be noble before people, you must be affected after people. You know, there is no one in the world who can succeed casually.
Unfortunately, many children now do not understand this blessing, and some parents may not understand it.
Reviewed by Zhang Xuewen
Artwork illustration: Selected from the Internet
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