These days, it has been brushed frequently by the word "tea brewed around the hearth".
It may be because the weather is getting colder and colder, and even the snow is coming, so everyone likes to bake around the stove, and then boil a pot of steaming tea, sit with friends, and gossip with family, which is also a good scene in the world.
Being in the mountain city of Chongqing, I probably can't meet such an elegant day.
Snow, for the winter here here, the low altitude is a luxury, and if you want to listen to the snow make tea, you can only achieve half a sentence.
You can make tea at any time, and you have to listen to the snow.
Forget it, let's listen to the rain.
Actually, it's not bad to listen to the rain, didn't the ancients still have poems: painting boats and listening to the rain.
Yesterday afternoon, the sun was good, and my health was much better, so I went to the mountains with my mother to pick some wild chrysanthemum vines, which were full of small yellow flowers, which were very gratifying.
In this season, wild chrysanthemums are the home of the mountains, and when you look up, you can find the yellow bushes and clusters everywhere.
It's just that this year, when the picking is late, most of the flowers have already bloomed, and to make wild chrysanthemum tea, it is better to not bloom, or it is better to bloom just now, and the flowers that have been blooming for a few days are already nearing the end.
Although the quality is not good, picking is more of a mood.
Nature has given us human gifts, and we just need to accept them, and what does it matter if we are a few days late. It would be a pity if you missed this year's harvest altogether.
The warm sun in winter makes people feel that winter is not cold. In fact, this is only the tenth month of the lunar calendar, and for the south, it is a small spring in the true sense, so it is natural to be warm.
On the way back from picking wild chrysanthemums, I happened to meet the third uncle's family picking citrus. Their family planted a lot of citrus on the top of the mountain, since I was a child, there were a lot of them, and now they have eliminated several varieties, but they still plant a lot. Taking advantage of the good weather, he picked all the ripe fruits home.
The third uncle used to be a stonemason, and he was very strong, but now he is over seventy years old, and he had another illness two years ago, so he has to take medicine every day, and he can't do heavy work or be tired, but he can't be idle after all. Seeing that his family was busy, he always followed him up the mountain to work.
Every time I see him, I persuade him to come, but he always says that his life is much better than his father's generation, he has social security every month, he eats well, he lives well, and even if he is sick, he can be cured. People, after all, there is death, sooner or later. Being able to live to be in their seventies is many times stronger than their parents who died in their thirties.
Listening to what he said, I really didn't know what to say. After a lifetime of hard work, you should stop and rest, after all, you are old, no matter how hard you work, if you get sick again, it is still a trivial matter to spend money on medical treatment, the key is to suffer yourself. But he wouldn't listen. He always felt that if he could do something, he had to help the young people do some. In fact, he is a person who even has a grandson as a father, and he doesn't know which heart to.
The older generation is probably like this.
When my mother and I came back, we talked about the third uncle. Some of the wild rape that has grown wildly on the roadside has already bloomed. I've picked it before and eaten it, and it tastes good except for some bitterness.
My mother didn't like it, but I did. Wild rape clears heat and reduces fire, and is rich in fiber, even if you eat more, it is only good for the body, and there is no harm at all.
If you want to have a half-day of winter elegance, you probably can't count it.
I went to the mountains to pick flowers, picked wild vegetables on the side of the road, came back sweaty, and picked all the wild chrysanthemum flowers in the yard with my mother, and prepared them to dry when the weather was good. And the father, while weaving bamboo utensils in the yard.
My mother and I worked and gossiped at the same time. It's all about trivial things in life, such as how busy my husband has been lately, and how I've been doing after taking a few pairs of Chinese medicine. My mother didn't speak much, she was probably listening to me.
I didn't listen to the snow, I didn't listen to the rain, I probably listened to a wind, the wind in winter.
I couldn't even make tea, but after drinking the old tea made by my father, it was bitter, but it was a familiar taste.
Instead, he sat leisurely opposite his mother and gossiped about homely things. I don't know, can this barely be regarded as a little elegant?