In the early morning of mid-June, 1986, I was lying on a wooden bed under the buttonwood tree in my yard, sleeping soundly. The summer heat only made me feel a little cold in the early morning, so I slept soundly, because the hot air last night and the endless mosquitoes really made me unable to sleep peacefully. Although my mother tried her best to disperse it with a cattail leaf fan, I was suddenly awakened by my father, "Wa, go to the field to cut wheat, while it is cool in the morning."
I struggled to sit up reluctantly, and my mother said, "The child is still young, let him sleep!" " "That's no good. That's all he has to do in the future, boy. He has to exercise since he was a child."
"Right?" My father turned to me and asked, "Yes," and I reluctantly agreed.
I rubbed my sleepy eyes, jumped down from the cot, put on sandals and slippers, walked to the pressure well in the corner of the courtyard, washed my face with cold water at will, and suddenly felt sleepy. Only then did I see that my father had already prepared the flatbed, sickle, hemp rope, hemp bag, straw hat, etc., and my mother also brought two bottles of hot water from the pot room, and a lunch wrapped in towels was also brought up.
In the early morning, the wind was cool, the poplar leaves on the roadside were blown away, the early birds began to sing, and my mood gradually became happy. My parents and I played with each other casually, and my parents smiled and cooperated. In half an hour, we arrived at the wheat field. At this time, the morning glow was dazzling, and the wheat field was particularly magnificent. My father parked the flatbed car under the willow trees in the field, and my mother took down the sickle, one for each person, and the harvest began.
"Baby, I'll make a sample for you. First, cut this point, and then you can cut the lines on the edge of the field." My father said, bent down, held a handful of wheat straw in one hand and brushed it with a sickle in the other. In a short time, the wheat field cut a hole. I also picked up a sickle, bowed down and cut it with a sickle.
It seems that this simple action is actually extremely tiring. First, the palm of your hand rubs against the straw for ten minutes, and it has been blistered, bulging and watery. When you touch the straw slightly, the pain is terrible. Once again, you can bow your waist for a few minutes. The more you face it, the sore waist will not stand up. I simply sit on the straw with grievances. "Baby," "I'm so tired, I can't keep my back straight.
""A child doesn't have a waist, so cut it quickly. After a while, when the weather gets hot, he doesn't want to move! "
Look, I really don't want to move. "Then you can bundle the wheat that has just been cut into a bundle. This job is lighter." This job is really lighter. "Good!" I found a handful of blue wheat straw from the wheat straw, knelt on the wheat straw and began to bundle them into buckets of wheat, and then stood on the ground. The diabolical sun gradually rose and scorched the earth. On the towering telephone poles in the field, several big black birds began to scream. The wheat field was as hot as a briquette stove, and there was no wind. The sweat on my body was mixed with wheat rust and wheat thorns, and I couldn't say how uncomfortable it was.
My parents were already half kneeling on the ground, and the clothes behind them were covered with white sweat and alkali, rickety bodies and tattered clothes, but the sickle in my hand didn't stop, and rows of wheat ears fell down quickly, cutting a big hole in the wheat field abruptly. As the sun rose higher and higher, the temperature in the wheat field became white-hot. "Baby, give me your sickle, this one is not happy.
"Good mile", I ran over and gave my father the sickle. "Have a rest, there is water in the flatbed", "Good mile".
The boiled water filled in the morning is still very hot at this time, but it doesn't feel as hot as usual. The willow leaves are drooping with the sun, and there is no wind. Countless sparrows are chirping and flying from the canopy. When the wheat is ripe, they should be the happiest. They fall into the wheat field and eat the wheat greedily. I have to scare them away with small stones from time to time. They also know what I mean. After flying away,
sitting in the shade, I can't move my legs any more. No wonder my father said that I can't stop working, and I don't want to do it when I stop. My parents didn't urge me. They were harvesting in the wheat field. I only ran out of the shade when the straw cut by my parents could be tied into a wheat stalk, and then I quickly returned to the tree to enjoy the cool.
At noon, the earth is almost scorched by the sun. Looking at the wheat fields, it seems that there is a dense heat twisting and floating in the air. At this time, parents will come under the tree to enjoy the cool, take out the steamed buns, salted duck eggs and pickled garlic brought in the morning from the scooter, and put them under their pockets. The whole family will sit on the floor, eat happily and occasionally fly around.
after several decades, the field is still the same field, except that the willow tree in the field has long since disappeared. The wheat has been planted year after year, green and yellow. Now it is the wheat harvest season, but the laughter and laughter of harvesting wheat in that year can't be found. Although it is bitter, it is very happy. Do you still remember the scene of harvesting wheat with your parents in that year?