When I was a child, there were very few red sorghum growing in my hometown, and I rarely saw red sorghum growing up. Later, my aunt married in Xishui County, Guizhou, which is more than 200 kilometers away from her hometown, and every summer vacation, coinciding with the ripening season of sorghum, my aunt would take me to Xishui to live for a while. Xishui County is one of the main producing areas of sorghum, and it was here that I had the opportunity to get up close and personal with this crop.
My uncle and aunt live in a small village by the Chishui River, every summer vacation, when I climb the hill in the village, no matter where I look, there is a piece of fiery red sorghum everywhere, the red tassels are undulating in the wind, looking festive, when the wind blows, the unique fragrance of red sorghum spreads far along the direction of the wind, in the distance is the Chishui River, and in the distance is the mountains that are layered on top of each other, and the whole field is like a burning fire, which is particularly spectacular.
My uncle's family planted a few acres of red sorghum, which is bright and ruddy in color, and is the same as the ripe black plum that spreads all over the mountains and fields in summer, which can arouse the child's appetite. Every time my uncle and I went to the fields and saw the endless red sorghum around me, I couldn't help but feel the urge to eat it. Once, when my uncle and I were weeding in the sorghum field, I took advantage of my uncle's lack of attention, secretly grabbed a large handful of ripe red sorghum, stuffed it into my mouth and chewed it, the taste was dry, rough, and difficult to swallow, no different from chewing a handful of fine sand. My uncle slapped me on the back of the head and scolded, "You glutton, this thing can't be eaten raw, it's used to roast wine." ”
Sorghum is not delicious, neither the moisture and fragrance of rice, nor the sweetness and sweetness of corn, but my uncle has a deep affection for sorghum, every time he harvests sorghum in the field, my uncle is too tired, he will sit on the edge of the field, smoke a few cigarettes, drink two sips of wine to relieve fatigue. My uncle sat on the field, his trouser legs rolled up to his knees, his calves covered with mud spots, and the green tendons on his legs and stomachs were knotted, as if each green tendon was full of strength ready to go. The uncle smoked a cigarette and looked at the red sorghum in the field, his eyes were kind and affectionate, like looking at his relatives who had been reunited after a long absence. Looking at it, the uncle suddenly grinned, grabbed the wine bottle and took a sip.
After the sorghum is recovered, the next step is to collect the grain. My uncle spread the sorghum on the concrete floor in the courtyard and repeatedly slapped it with a tool known locally as a "lid bucket." The uncle waved the bamboo pole again and again, and the bamboo row on the top of the bamboo pole kept rotating and knocking on the red sorghum until the sorghum seeds were separated from the stem, and the uncle collected the red tassels and put them into the granary.
Collecting sorghum seeds was a hard and long-lasting labor, and my uncle often had to work from morning to night, and I sat on a low stool in the courtyard and watched my uncle sweat in the courtyard, and when the sweat soaked my uncle and uncle, my uncle would work in the courtyard shirtless. Uncle is an authentic farmer, broad shoulders, broad back, a pair of thick long legs, a bronze complexion, a strong figure, tired from working in the field, he will work bare-chested, revealing a well-developed muscle, sweat down the uncle's torso, like smearing a layer of olive oil on the uncle's body, the whole person has the masculine and rough beauty of ancient Greek sculptures. When my uncle was too tired, he would shout a few trumpets, or sing a mountain song to cheer himself up, my uncle's trumpet and singing were heroic, unrestrained and agitated, echoing in the cramped space surrounded by mountains, so that I deeply understood the beauty of labor and the power of labor for the first time, and at that time I felt that my uncle was the most beautiful red sorghum in the world.
After collecting the sorghum seeds, the next step is to sell the red sorghum. Sorghum is called "rich grain" by the local people, the local winemaking has a long history, according to the "Huayang National Chronicles" record, as early as the Western Zhou Dynasty, the ancestors living along the Chishui River have the custom of planting grains to make wine, drinking, and leave a variety of folk songs about brewing wine, its winemaking history has been at least 2,700 years. Sorghum, the raw material for winemaking, has become one of the most important crops that lead the local people to make a fortune.
Every time I sell sorghum, my uncle is the happiest, and my uncle drives his own small truck, loaded with a truckload of red sorghum, to sell red sorghum at a nearby winery. I sat in the truck, the car winds along the rugged mountain road, on both sides of the mountain road is Cui Wei's mountains, the chirping of birds from the dense forest, crisp and noisy, my uncle holds the steering wheel, humming a song with his mouth "mmmmmm
Until I became an adult, I visited my aunt once a year during the sorghum ripening season. Now, my uncle is getting old, his face is full of wrinkles, his figure has become a little rickety, and his heroic posture and demeanor when he was young no longer exists, but in my mind, my uncle is still the tall red sorghum.
Every year when I come to visit my uncle, I occasionally have such dreams, in which I see myself walking in the endless sorghum field, which seems to have no end, and in the depths of the sorghum field, my uncle stands my uncle, who is holding a handful of red sorghum in both hands, and the sun is shining through the cracks in the sorghum, shining on the red sorghum, like a golden dream ......
*: China Youth Daily client.