Xiaoman came as promised. On the vast land, the wheat grains are full, and the wheat shoots are yellow, like a piece of silk rippling in the vast eastern Henan Plain. The lovely cuckoo has returned from the south, and the farmland has its agile figure, which is like a pregnant woman, urging the farming. The people began to prepare for the wheat in its gentle call.
Go to the West Market to buy a handy wooden fork, nail a crescent-like sickle in the East Collection, batch a basket of eggs, weigh a few beers, and create a new field.
In the corner of the field of responsibility, the wheat is removed by hand, and then the ground is raked deep with iron palladium. Go to the well to draw water and sprinkle it on it, tie a willow branch like a tail to the back of the stone, and the manpower will pull the stone stone carpet to roll on it several times. In the end, a wide and flat field was created.
"The south wind rises at night, and the wheat is covered with yellow. "Overnight, the wheat was ripe everywhere in my hometown.
In the early morning, the sun climbs the horizon, revealing a red face. The tall and low trees in the east are like rolling hills in the glow, black and oppressive.
In the small courtyard of the farmhouse, the grandfather called, and the whole family got up early and walked to the wheat field with a cart and sickle.
As far as the eye can see, there are already people on the endless fields, and some villagers wearing straw hats are the first to appear.
Our family hurried to the responsible field and bent down to harvest the wheat. Hold the handle of the sickle with your right hand, gently hook a touch of wheat with the sickle, grab the wheat stalk with your left hand, and then pull the bright sickle against the wheat root and pull it back, and the wheat will be cut down.
Everyone scrambled to the depths of the wheat field, and the wheat fell one after another behind them. After a long time, my back hurts, my back hurts, and my face is covered with beads of sweat. The hateful Mai Mang also took the opportunity to sneak attack, staining it on his arm and attaching it to his clothes, which was unbearable and unbearable. Look at everyone's face without makeup, but it has become a Peking Opera mask with heavy makeup.
When I was tired of cutting, I sat down on the sheave and rested for a while. I innocently asked, "Grandpa, take a break!" He smiled and said, "I can't rest!" 'When the grain is ripe, the wheat is ripe for a while', it must be harvested in time, or a large amount of wheat will fall into the ground. "Looking at my grandfather's busy back, my eyes were hazy with tears. How many bitter tears are filled with the life of the peasant family!
While the morning light is not very bright, the family has to cut a few more ridges. Then, the villagers walked towards the village with smoke curling.
At noon, you and I picked up the wheat. The wheat is loaded high to a certain extent, and a person specially goes to it to pedal on it. **Misfitted, **pretended, to give a wake-up call to the people below, so that the wheat cart is not easy to fall crookedly on the road. After a while, it was full of a large cart. Then, my father pulled the heavy wheat cart, and I helped behind, sending the big cart and the small car to the field. Most of the time was spent all over the place, and the wheat harvest was finished.
On the wheat field, everyone scattered the wheat like a dragon and a tiger, and used a fork to pick a palladium hook to turn over a large field.
It was almost noon, and my grandmother came home to prepare lunch. She had a pair of dexterous hands, and a few delicious meals were made quickly. She pedaled a tricycle to bring food to the ground. Under the shade of poplar trees, everyone's taste buds awakened, feasted, and ate the meal in a moment.
The afternoon sun kisses the earth. Soon the wheat was scorched. Grandpa put on the old ox in the family, drove the stone stone, pulled the reins with one hand and whipped with the other hand and shouted. On the wheat field, the English letters o came out one by one. The wheat kernels fall from the mother body and hide in the bran. Two hours passed, and in the "squeaky and hoarse" sound of the stone, the wheat field was rolled. The stone stone was unloaded in an unobtrusive place, and the cattle lay under the tree to cool off, still breathing hot air.
Here's where the family comes in. In three steps, we strive to pick up the wheat straw upstream and pile it aside with a fork; After that, carefully hug it once or twice on the field with a fork to remove the remaining wheat straw; Finally, the bran mixture is piled up on the field with a drop harrow and a fork**.
At this moment, the wind is blowing from the wheat field, and it is the right time to raise the field. Grandpa and Dad raised the scene, which was called a "wonderful". I saw them throw the mixture into the sky with wooden shovels, and draw a beautiful arc in the air. Split in two: the bran flies into the distance and falls, a golden drizzle, falling vertically. The bran gradually thickened, and the wheat heap slowly grew taller.
Sometimes there is no wind and you can't raise the field. The wheat mixture had to be piled up on the field. I waited for a long time and didn't see the shadow of the wind. It was dark, and after dinner, people had to spend the night in the field. He took care of the wheat for fear of being stolen. I spread out a mattress by the conical mixture, took a sheet, and dragged my tired body to lie down. In the evening, the earth gradually "receives from fever" and has a hint of coolness. The stars blink in the deep blue sky, frog drums come from the pond in the distance, and crickets play the piano softly in the grass. What a delightful summer night! Before I knew it, I was falling asleep.
The face of a child in the summer day changes when it is said. People in the fields are in full swing to harvest wheat, pull wheat, spread stalls, and sow seeds. Suddenly, dark clouds came from the far side of the sky like a small mountain, and thunder flashed. In an instant, inky clouds covered the overhead. "The mountain rain is coming, the wind is full of buildings", and it rained without holding back the tears.
Looking at the wheat lying on the ground, the aunt of the owner had tears in her eyes. If the sudden wind and rain linger for a few days, it will really cost people's lives. In the rain, the wheat will sprout, and half a year's ration will be wasted. Thinking of the scene of plowing in the field in the past, how can I not cry!
In the distance, a few sections of white mist wafted like a light veil on the wheat fields, and in the village, a column of cooking smoke rose from the village. On this quiet morning, our family hurriedly had breakfast, brought beer and eggs, and followed the villagers to sow seeds.
Walking into the vast wheat stubble field, how wide the row spacing and how long the plant spacing are all according to the traditional pattern of the hometown. The family was divided into two groups. Dad, grandpa and I in one group, and mom and grandma in the other. "The eight immortals crossed the sea, each showing their magical powers. "Dad poured out the pit kiln along the stubble, I was responsible for throwing the seeds, and Grandpa filled the pit with his feet. Soon a line of corn seeds kissed the yellow earth. Mom and grandma didn't let the women shave their eyebrows, cooperated tacitly, and reached the end in a while.
After two days, I was so tired that my back hurt, and my feet and legs didn't obey the call, but I remembered that the ground was planted, and my heart was still beautiful.
Time flies, and the seeds can't wait to break through the ground and sprout. Patches of seedling fields add a light goose yellow to the earth. It took more than half a month of hard work day and night for the wheat harvest to come to an end.
Now the wheat harvest is like heaven and earth. A cloudless blue sky, the sun shining in the sky. Combine harvesters swim back and forth in wheat fields like a sea of gold. In a few moments, the whole plot of land was finished. The wheat family has not returned, and the local ** to the merchants who go to the countryside to buy wheat. Now the seeder replaces the manual labor, and after the machine, the seeds are sown on demand, left and right. Artificial machines can be replaced, but machine broadcasters are not as good.
The affectionate yellow earth, the era of ancestors harvesting wheat is gone. They are not afraid of hardships, and the figures of hard work often appear in front of me, giving me the courage to face the storms given by life, and becoming the source of my motivation to overcome difficulties in the future.
end– vernacular proseAbout the Author
Jianghuai Tanglu (pen name), a native of Shangqiu, Henan.
This article was edited
Scholars from other places.
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