In my childhood memories, the most unforgettable thing is the wheat field in the countryside.
In that era, almost every village had several wheat fields several times larger than a basketball court, just like there are always several decent squares in metropolitan areas today.
For the countryside at that time, having a few decent wheat fields filled with round wheat straw stacks could fully represent the living standards of the villagers.
The village I live in is not big. There is only one wheat field in the village with less than 200 people. The wheat field is on a flat piece of land on the beam in front of the village entrance. A small road extends from the village directly to the wheat field. In addition, there are extremely steep crop fields on three sides. Farther away, a large river called the Yellow River flows from a bend at the foot of the mountain. Come here and flow from another bend to a place we don’t know.
In my memory, the wheat field is the most lively place in the village that can bring people happiness.
Every year in the fifth month of the lunar calendar, early-maturing wheat grows all over the fields on the banks of the Yellow River. Although the northern Shaanxi Plateau with its vast valleys and deep mountains is not suitable for human beings and crops to survive, God has left such a group of people here, and then given a few seeds and a few pieces of thin land, and the rest is all up to God. . God is happy, if it rains a little and snows, this group of people will have hope and gain this year. Of course, there will be a few more wheat straw stacks on the wheat field this year. But for northern Shaanxi, which has experienced nine droughts in ten years, such good years are really rare.
No matter how old they are, most people living here will not complain about others. They work at sunrise and rest at sunset, just like the sun that rises from the wheat field at the entrance of the village and sets from the top of Xiangyan's cowshed every day. Everything seems to be in order to cope with the sunrise and sunset every day, sowing in spring, harvesting in autumn, and then sowing the seeds harvested last year into the soil of another spring again and again. The wheat field, like a silent accountant, calculates the annual harvest and also carries the joys, sorrows and joys of the people.
But no matter what, the wheat field is really a good place for ordinary people. At least, in the eyes of the children, it is their childhood paradise.
On the day when the summer harvest begins every year, the whole village rushes to the wheat fields. No matter what the harvest is, it is always harvest time. Therefore, early in the morning, the men began to hitch the ox cart and saddle the donkey. Before leaving, they did not forget to touch the sickle blade with their thumbs to test its edge. In fact, the sickle has been sharpened to a razor-sharp angle. It seems that they have been sharpening the sickle all summer for this day. The women swept out the last bit of white flour from the noodle basket, baked the pancakes early, wrapped them in old cloth and placed them tightly in the basket.
At dawn, the mighty wheat harvesters set off.
The usually quiet countryside suddenly seemed to be in chaos. The crowing of chickens, barking of dogs, and the sound of cows mixed with people's footsteps, talking and laughter formed a lively tune in this morning.
In the countryside, harvesting is indeed a big thing, a big thing. Naturally, we children would not miss such an important day, so we were often arranged by the adults on donkey backs and bullock carts, becoming an indispensable part of the scenery in this team.
I remember that the first day of harvesting wheat every year starts from a wheat field in the river bend. Because the terrain here is low and the temperature is high, the wheat ripens earlier. While the adults were bending down and harvesting in rows and rows, we children were playing games on the fine sand by the Yellow River. One by one, we stepped on the fine sand with bare feet as if we were walking in place, while shouting: Old sow, old sow has given birth, old sow, old sow has given birth... The fine sand under our feet followed. Then it slowly becomes softer, and then spreads outward in circles, soft and soft until the seeping water submerges the feet, and we will jump to another place and continue to be called the old mother. Pig game.
After a while, the adults shouted from afar: We are sending wheat... We children suddenly stopped playing and did not bother to wash off the mud and sand on our feet. The cloth shoes went straight to the wheat field. What we want to strive for is to lead the donkeys carrying wheat for the adults.
We lead the donkeys so that we can ride them on the way back from delivering the wheat, while the adults want to save some labor in transporting the wheat. Seven or eight children each led their favorite donkeys and walked along the winding mountain road, huffing and puffing like donkeys, with big beads of sweat hanging on their young faces.
An adult followed at the back with a smile on his face as he held a cigarette in his mouth.
As many times as a donkey runs a day, we tireless children also run as many times a day, although riding a donkey is not a very comfortable thing. The happiest thing for us was that when we finished work, the adults praised us one after another: "What a good baby, he can do a lot of work."
Within a few days, the spacious wheat field was piled up. There are stacks of wheat like yurts. The wheat field suddenly seemed much smaller, but at this time the wheat field became a real paradise for the children.
During the day, a group of children ran around and played hide-and-seek among the wheat stacks. When they were tired of running and playing, they lay on their backs one by one on the newly recovered wheat, looking at the sky, clouds, and clouds. A few birds were circling high in the sky.
At night, there are always a few restless children who will sleep on the wheat field with the adults in charge.
On a windy night, sleeping on the wheat field is a very comfortable thing. If there is a full moon night, the whole wheat field will be covered with white flowers, like snow. As we lie on the fluffy wheat, we can smell the fragrance of the wheat grains. It is an indescribable aroma, a bit astringent, but it makes you feel happy and sweet, like eating new noodle buns.
Lying on the wheat field and looking at the stars, you can see the stars most clearly, and it can also make you dazzled. The sky is filled with twinkling stars just above the wheat stack, as if you can pick off a basket with just one hand. While we innocently swam in the sea of ????stars, we listened to the adults telling us those ancient and mysterious myths and stories. Sometimes when I listen, I feel like I am floating in the sky and turned into a star. We always hope that the brightest star is ourselves. For this reason, in order to fight for a bright and big star to be ourselves, several children often quarrel for a long time, and some even fall on the wheat straw on the ground. A few falls. At this time, the adults did not try to dissuade us, but laughed and watched us playing, just like watching a few puppies having fun.
In the dead of night, the wind seems to come slowly, blowing gently and quietly on our naked faces and bodies, cool and crisp, like starlight caressing your body. , holding the dried sweat stains, it was cool, itchy and extremely comfortable. At this time, various insects will slowly crawl up the wheat field from the grass. Some will hide on the wheat stacks, some will hide on the treetops, and some will even get into the wheat straw under you, making a cooing sound. , chirping, chirping, who knows how many kinds of insects are chirping happily. You feel like you are sleeping on the chirping of insects, and then being swayed by the wind, like a ray of flowing moonlight floating on the wheat field.
I always fall asleep with such strange thoughts. I don’t know if I have a dream, but I can’t remember it now. I just remember that it was so quiet that night, with only the chirping of insects, the roar of the wind, and the sound of wheat running out of the ears and falling on the straw. Oh, and the beautiful and somewhat unsmooth snoring of the uncle. .
Actually, the busiest time is when playing.
When the weather is nice, the huge wheat field is covered with thick layers of wheat. Five or six donkeys pulled the stone wheel and rolled it in circles. This grinding field also seems to be very particular. It starts from the middle and grinds outwards in circles, just like grinding rice on a stone roller, and then rotates outwards in circles. While the adults were busy grinding the field, we children were not idle either. We each held a wooden shovel in our hands and stared eagerly at the donkey's butt. Once we find a donkey stops and slowly raises its tail, we will run over quickly and put the shovel under the donkey's butt. At this time, when the donkey exerts its strength, eggs of donkey dung will fall out one by one. It will fall on our wooden lift obediently. At this time, the child holding the wooden basket will often put the donkey dung eggs into the basket with pride on his face. Anyone who collects a lot of donkey dung will always be praised by adults. Of course, children will only be jealous.
As the afternoon approached, the adults were whistling on the wheat field one by one. It is said that this can summon the wind. Then, five or six people gathered around a pile of wheat grains that had been removed and began to winnow them.
People lifted the wheat grains mixed with wheat leaves several times high. Occasionally, the wheat grains fell down like raindrops, while the wheat leaves fell to another place under the influence of the wind. During this period, several people wearing straw hats used brooms to gently sweep the wheat leaves remaining on the wheat pile while the wheat grains fell. Many times, the raising of the field and the sweeping of the wheat leaves are all carried out at the same time. At this time, the grains of wheat fell and still sprinkled like rain on these people's straw hats and clothes. Thinking about it now, it must be a very pleasant thing to enjoy a rain of wheat.
Of all the things going on in the wheat field, the one I like to watch the most is the wheat field. I can’t describe the feeling, I just feel that the wheat leaves flying in the wind and the transparent wheat grains falling like raindrops in the sunset are extremely beautiful.
In fact, everything in the wheat field is so beautiful and makes people full of nostalgia. There, it is filled with our infinite joy for the harvest and our innocent and happy childhood. Although my naive friends and I don’t have much understanding of the relationship between farmers and wheat fields, we have understood the importance of food to these suffering people since we were young, and we are well aware of the year-long struggle of our elders and neighbors. Just to do a free and easy hard work on this wheat field. Looking at it now, I prefer to think of that scene as a carnival dance.
Nowadays, many villages in northern Shaanxi are becoming deserted and lifeless day by day. Many wheat fields have long lost their former plain appearance, and are no longer the most conspicuous and eye-catching places in the village.
When I returned to my hometown last year, I went to the wheat farm at the entrance of the village. Like all other rural wheat fields, the grass in the fields has long barren of this beautiful place in my memory. There was not a single wheat straw pile left, but even so, the wheat field in front of me still looked so small, like a piece of land that was seriously ill, so thin, so heart-wrenching.
Perhaps, I shouldn’t drive my thoughts on a sad wandering through such a place. I wandered in the wheat field for a long time, and the only reason I found some solace was time. I would rather it be a trace of ashes left behind after time has passed, and it has nothing to do with anything else.
When necessary, I think I can use this ashes to sprinkle on the wounds of the soul to stop the bleeding and relieve pain.