Every year on the sixth of June, the hometown of the mountains of wheat fields, with the light summer winds of the golden waves, the earth was ripe wheat dyed all over the place golden yellow. A burst of wheat fragrance drifting with the wind, drunken wheat field side of the old man with a big smile. He urgently pulled down a few ears of wheat, put in the palm of the hand, vigorously rubbed a few times, and then, drumming up a breath, blowing to the palm of the hand, wheat in the air drew a beautiful arc, flying everywhere, the only thing that remains in the hand of the golden grain of wheat, he reverently held the grain of wheat, placed on the chest, look up to the heavens, and quietly thanked the heavens for the favor of the crops! At this moment, the grasshopper drummed round cheeks vigorously released the song of the harvest hymn, wheat cicadas tirelessly blowing the intoxicating countryside summer song, blue blue blue sky inlaid with a round of golden sun, reflecting the simple smiling face of the croppers ......
"Wheat is ripe! ", this is my childhood most looking forward to hearing a sentence, it means a heavy harvest, means a wish fulfillment. June 6 every year is the day when my mother smiles the most in the middle of the year, and it is also the happiest day for our family. The first time I saw the movie, I saw the movie, I saw the movie, I saw the movie, I saw the movie, I saw the movie, I saw the movie, and I saw the movie.
I remember in the early eighties, the land has just been decentralized to the household, the village life although there is hope, but the days are still very tight, the shadow of poverty and hunger still shrouds the villagers. All year round, every family had a hard time. The crops harvested throughout the year were only enough for half a year. Every spring, March and April, the food is not enough, this is the most difficult time for the village people, almost every family is out of food, starvation, these two months has become a nightmare for the whole village, my family is no exception. Therefore, the whole village in the famine, eagerly looking forward to, looking forward to the wheat quickly ripe, quickly eat the fragrant new wheat flour buns.
When the sixth month of the lunar calendar is approaching, the village will show a busy scene. June 6, I don't know what era handed down the custom, this day has become the villagers harvest wheat before the sickle day. At the end of May, the villagers were busy sharpening their knives, wheat cicadas in the trees played the harvest song, the cuckoo in the sky from time to time to remind people, the farmhouse yard resounded with the villagers more than half a year of dusty laughter, wheat field also sang the children's cheerful nursery rhymes: "June 6, the wheat yellow, wheat cicadas woke up our parents; June 6, the wheat yellow, mother to us branding a new bun! ......"
In the sound of the cuckoo and the children's rhymes, the parents are also closely preparing for the wheat harvest. They discussed and planned to buy a few bags of fertilizer for the family, add a few pieces of furniture, and sew a few new clothes for the children after the wheat was blacked. A few days before the sixth day, parents are eager to Yangshan yellow early wheat cut to some of the wheat field, the father knocked down the wheat with a wooden stick, the mother with a dustpan repeatedly bumped and bumped to let the wheat clothes with the wind away, leaving only the gold of a grain of wheat, and then dumped in the sun to dry. After drying, my father rushed to put the wheat into his pocket and carried it to the mill to grind new wheat flour. The first day of June 6, before dawn, my mother got up early, in the kitchen to cook us new wheat flour steamed buns.
In my young mind, I always thought that my mother had a pair of dexterous and magical hands. According to the village custom, she was able to cook a bun shaped like a wheat cicada. After my mother had pinched the buns, my siblings would eagerly gather around the pot and stare at the buns that had just been put into the pot. As long as the mother branded buns out of the pot, the hungry we simply do not care about the hot hands, from the pot to grab a bun, while eating with relish, while happily singing the familiar rhyme: "June 6, wheat yellow, wheat cicada woke up our father and mother; June 6, wheat yellow, mother branded a new bun for us ...... "
At this time, the father will sit on the threshold, bar bar bar smoking a dry tobacco pipe, eyes smiled into a slit, said happily: "Wa he mother, to the baby more brand some, so that the baby to eat well, these months, baby with us suffered a lot of crime, and so the wheat all yellow, we will harvest it!" Mother shouted at her father from the kitchen, "His father, you eat a few more, eat enough to have strength. The dolls are still young, this year's wheat harvest depends on you!"
After eating a good new bun, next, we siblings will carry a small basket, according to the mother's instructions to the neighbors to the right and left to send a new bun. Because of the weekday hunger fear, our family do not support the mother's practice, often blame mother, our own days are very tight, which have to give other people's? Mother patiently guided us, said: "my baby, you remember, you must help others in the weekdays, you respect people a foot, people respect you a ten feet, more than us to help the poor people. Neighbors and neighbors, we help more, there is no threshold that can not be crossed!" Slowly. We understand the mother's mind, since then, it is scrambling to send buns.
With the passage of time, turn to the nineties, the rural people's days are better every day, the villagers no longer suffer from hunger, mechanization slowly replaced manual labor. Therefore, the sixth of June, cut wheat sickle, the custom of branding a new bun, slowly out of people's memories, but every sixth of June, the mother is still a person silently branding a new bun. At first, the whole family tasted it, and then threw it aside, which made the mother sadly fall into tears several times, she often nagged: "Alas! She often chattered, "My children have grown up and become hardened, and they dislike the buns I made." We often advise our mothers to stop cooking buns and buy some ready-made buns, which are both tasty and not troublesome.
The new century came, I graduated from the university, and got married right after. Since then, every June, my mother eagerly called, said to us grinding a bag of new wheat flour, let us go home to get. Whenever we had to go back to the city after a few days in our hometown, my mother reminded us to bring the new wheat flour with us. At first, I didn't feel anything, but after becoming a parent, I realized that this was my mother's deep concern for her children! This bag of noodles contains a mother's deep love for her children! So on the sixth day of June, I called my mother on time, and the first thing I said was, "Mother, are you cooking wheat bread?" My mother smiled brightly and said, "I'll just make a few for myself to taste ......" When I answered the phone, my mother laughed at the other end, and I laughed at the other end as well ......
This year, on the sixth day of the sixth month. The first thing my mother said when she answered the phone was: "San'er, do you want new wheat noodles? The wheat is beaten, I'll grind a bag for you." I replied back, "Don't grind it, I'll talk about it when I get home, we're on our way home." As soon as my mother heard that we were back, she said eagerly, "Why didn't you say so earlier, I'll immediately brand some wheat cicada buns, so that my grandson can taste ......."
The car sped along the road in our hometown, and along the way, the hills and mountains of the wheat fields shone with gold, and a piece of ripened wheat ears humbly bowed down to the ground. The wheat ears humbly lowered their heads, enjoying the sunshine; a burst of summer wind, blowing the intoxicating smell of wheat, refreshing; a newly paved concrete road, like a silver ribbon, dancing in the fields; a piece of lush corn, rising millions of pairs of powerful hands, Prime open a blue blue sky; a roaring harvester, busy gulping the golden wheat. ......
A little work, we returned to the old home, the family sat in the yard, eating the mother just made wheat cicada buns, listening to the mother's nagging: "three children, in the school, you must do a good job, on the student child a little bit better, teaching is a conscientious work, don't delay people's children! ......"
Listening to my mother's tireless exhortations, savoring the taste of my hometown, my thoughts went back to my childhood, and my ears faintly rang: "June 6, wheat yellow, wheat cicadas woke up our parents; June 6, wheat yellow, Mother! The new buns will be cooked for us. ......"