I don’t know if today’s children will still eagerly look forward to spring.
Spring in the city is the neatly trimmed green belt and the uniform artificial flowers in the shopping mall windows. However, spring in the countryside is not like this; it has a temperament, and you need to step on it with your feet and dig with your hands before it will be willing to take out all the beautiful things and show them to you.
Blowing locust flowers is the most important thing in spring
At that time, I didn't know how to be afraid of heights at all, so I found a long bamboo pole and poked hard at the branches of the locust tree covered with bunches of white flowers.
In an instant, flowers and leaves fell overwhelmingly, falling into the hair and sliding along the neck and collar, making it unbearably itchy. Anyway, we didn't care. We just squatted on the ground, grabbed a handful of the fallen sophora flowers and stuffed them into our mouths.
sweet. It's not the greasy sweetness of sugar, but a dewy, refreshing sweetness.
On one side, the adults next to us shouted loudly not to eat all the food, but to take it back and steam it for dinner at night. On the other hand, although we responded with our mouths, the movements in our hands did not stop.
sleeping in the wind
I don’t know which family’s adults actually know how to enjoy themselves. A cradle was tied between two relatively sturdy locust trees.
It was definitely not a cold iron chain swing like a city park, but an object made of bamboo strips woven one by one, with old quilts laid among them. Once a person lay inside, the whole world would be left with only the light spots falling from the top of the head and the swaying shadows of the trees.
Once, I saw the opportunity for adults to enter the house to drink tea, and climbed up secretly. At first, I was full of nervousness, holding my hands tightly on both sides, not daring to let go at all. Then, as the breeze blew gently, the cradle began to rock slowly, and the eyelids gradually became heavier...
When I opened my eyes again, I was awakened by the smell of rice. That feeling was much more comfortable than sleeping on any latex mattress or blowing any air conditioner at the moment. I was truly surrendering myself to a gust of wind.
The sun goes down and the table goes out
By evening, it was as if an appointment had been made in the village, and every household had brought out their tables.
It's not the balcony in the house used for sunbathing and leisure, it's not the restaurant where the family can dine, but the muddy ground outside the front door of one's home. This muddy ground is so bumpy that sometimes when a table is placed, a tile has to be placed on the table legs to keep the table stable.
There’s nothing weird or unusual about what’s edible. On the left is a basket of sweet potatoes, on the right is a plate of home-pickled pickled beans, and in the middle is a very large pot of porridge cooked with new rice, showing an eye-catching green color and an extremely thick layer of rice oil.
The children had no intention of eating. They carried in their pockets the grasshoppers they had caught during the day and placed them in the straw cages. They also carried pressed specimens of picked wild flowers with them, and competed to see whose "treasure" was the most unique and rare.
"Look at me, this flower is called Dawanhua. Do you dare to touch it?"
"I, the grasshopper, am the 'Great General', and my legs are longer than yours!"
Next to them, the adults were laughing, but no one really cared. Occasionally, they would chime in and say that a big vole hole was dug during plowing today, or that someone's sheep ran into the next village.
There were no cell phones at that time, but nothing seemed to be left behind.
light in winter night
In fact, what I miss most is not spring, but winter.
When it snows, we so-called "wild children" will also build snowmen. However, the snowmen we build are usually crooked and twisted. Their eyes are made of black briquettes picked up next to the stove, and their noses are made of dried chili peppers.
I played until it was almost dark and my hands were as cold as carrots, so I ran home.
As soon as I opened the wooden door, my whole life felt warm.
In the stove, the fire was raging and making a crackling sound. A few sweet potatoes and potatoes were buried in the ashes of the fire. When I pulled them out with the help of tongs, they were extremely hot and I had to blow on them as I turned them around in my hands. After breaking them apart, the aroma overflowed and white steam came out. Inside was golden meat, which was so hot that the tongue had nowhere to hide, but it was reluctant to spit it out.
At this time, the north wind whistled outside, and we gathered around the stove, our faces glowing red.
I couldn't help but wonder, what are the children in the city doing right now? Are they enjoying the warm wind, turning on the electric blankets, and playing with their iPads?
Perhaps they have never heard the sound of sweet potatoes sizzling and sugar and oil oozing out when they are roasted in the fire.
green in memory
My mother always said that your generation knows more about pesticide residues than anyone else, but they have never seen the true clean and pure green.
One year when she went to her aunt's house, she gestured towards the crooked-neck cherry tree in the backyard and said, "Go there, climb up there and eat. This tree has never been sprayed with medicine."
I picked one with hesitation, but it was still warm, carrying the residual warmth left by the sun. At the moment when the skin was broken——.
How to describe that smell?
It is not the kind of cherry in the supermarket that has a hard texture and only tastes sweet but not sour. It is soft and substantial, sour and sweet. You can taste the taste of rain, the taste of sunshine, and even the taste of earth.
At the dinner table, I ate bite after bite, eating more and more ferociously, and within half an hour, half of the basket of food was gone. The strong color of the food had dyed the inside of the mouth purple. When the aunt saw it, she actually smiled and said, keep eating, keep eating. This is something that grows on that tree. Even if it is kept, it will only be used as bird food.
Afterwards, we went into the field of peonies to take pictures. Those flowers grew taller than me and were submerged once we entered. The bees made a buzzing sound and were not afraid of people. They were buzzing around in our ears.
I returned home in the evening and walked on the field ridge. The sun had just set, and there was still a trace of golden-red color on the horizon. The white walls and black tiles in the village are indeed all coated with a layer of light.
At that moment, I felt like a person who broke into the painting.
At that time, I was always thinking, why do the dogs in the village like to lie in the middle of the road? Don't they feel uncomfortable doing so?
I found out later. While it is basking in the sun, it is also guarding the door of the house. His eyes were closed tightly, but his ears were straight and erect. It is a kind of precautionary measure in a relaxed state, a kind of leisurely protective behavior.
Unlike the dogs in the city who are led all day long, the scenery they see is always human legs and wheels.
Children in the village throw away their schoolbags when they come back from school, and then they literally "disappear" into the mountains. When I heard the call for food again, I seemed to have emerged from the earth, emerging from every corner, my head covered in sweat, my trouser legs covered with mud spots, and there were a few unripe wild fruits stuffed in my pockets.
After my grandfather finished eating, he took a sickle and said he would go to the back mountain to cut some grass. I must go along.
I remember the way he looked when he was mowing the grass, even to this day. He mows the grass slowly, bending down and waving the sickle, and the grass falls neatly. You can get a handful by just rolling your hands. It looks like he is working, but in fact he seems to be negotiating with the grass to borrow some to feed the sheep.
I tried it and almost cut my hand.
It was quite interesting to watch him shut up the chickens at night. How could those chickens be so disobedient? You drive them toward the east, but they run toward the west, clucking and clucking loudly. Grandpa was not in a hurry and just walked around like that. Finally, they were all blocked and rushed back to the nest.
At that time, I felt that this was much more interesting than any game console in the city.
By the way, there was another time to fly a kite.
My cousin wanted to take me to fly a kite. What I thought was a purchased kite made of silk with a long tail.
Then he led me to the wheat field, took out a plastic bag from his pocket, and then took out the spool, and tied it up in just a few clicks. A gust of wind blew, and the plastic bag swelled up instantly with a "whoosh" and flew really high.
He said, look, you don’t have to spend money to buy a kite, you just need to be able to borrow the wind.
At that moment, I felt that children in rural areas are the ones who truly understand the wind.
Then one time, I almost got angry myself.
Together with several sisters, we went to dig sweet potatoes in the field. After digging them out, we dug holes on the spot, looked for firewood, and lit a fire to bake them. Just as he was getting excited about baking, the flames suddenly shot up and ignited the hay next to him.
If my cousin's eyes weren't as fast as lightning, and he suddenly pulled me away with force, and then stamped on me in a random and unorganized manner, my buttocks would most likely be on fire.
At that moment, I was so scared that my heart was pounding. However, after the fire went out, I continued to eat the half-cooked sweet potato, and I still felt that the smell was unbearable.
In the city, there is no chance of being chased by fire.
Sometimes I also think about it
People in the city live by adding items to their homes, adding more diverse functions, faster network speeds, and more intelligent household appliances.
People living in the countryside seem to be doing derogatory behaviors toward the outside. What is detracted is the unnecessary anxiety, the precise and meticulous time planning, and the wall of isolation erected between people.
Don't go out of your way to find meaning. Meaning is in the peony flowers, in the wind that wakes you up, and in the aroma of the bowl of freshly cooked meatball soup.
Just live like that.
Climb trees when spring comes, play in water bodies when summer is hot, harvest when busy in autumn, and wait by the fire when winter is cold.
Day by day, slowly and leisurely.
When I woke up, I found that spring had come again.
It’s time to dig the soil again.
You can also go hunting for locust flowers.
I can lie in the wind again and have that shaky dream.
PS, on the day we left the village, the sun was rising, turning pink, and half of her face peeked out from the top of the mountain in the distance. Grandma returned with a basket of freshly picked cucumbers and tomatoes, with dew on them and a little mud.
I didn't want to wash it, so I carried it all the way back to the city.
Later, all those dishes were finished, but the taste seemed to still linger in my mouth.
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