In an instant, there was no figure in the field or on the road. I just hope for a cold rain. The scenery in the distance gradually blurred, so I had to turn around. The dreamlike scene tells me that late autumn is coming. The villagers harvesting rice in the field cut off the long-awaited fruit of the year with a sickle.
Golden ears of rice are whispering in the wind, and golden ears of rice are my mother's dream, hazy and charming. Thick fragrant rice scattered from the fields, flowing in the blue sky and drifting farther away.
"Dragonflies are flying lower and lower in rice fields, and I am afraid of heavy rain." Mother put down the cut rice and said. I fantasize that I can suck the most holy rain dew in the rain and carry bundles of rice cut by my mother and my second sister in the field anxiously and happily in the rain. Mother raised her right hand, wiped the sweat from her forehead and muttered, "It's still sunny and sultry in the morning. Why is the sky full of dark clouds now? " Mother said as she waved the sickle at an accelerated speed. The sickle stuck tightly to the rice and forced it into her arms, making a sneer. Rows of rice fell evenly on the straw, and bundles of rice pressed against bundles of rice. I quickly jumped into the field from the ridge, faced the wind, learned the way my grandfather moved rice, quickly picked up the rice cut by my mother, put it on my young left shoulder, and waddled in the rice field with a bundle in each hand.
I was only eight years old, and my shoulders were not strong enough. I can only carry a few bundles of rice for my mother. Every time I think of the picture of cutting rice and moving rice in the rain with my mother and my second sister, I always feel how strong my mother is in the ups and downs. How can she not know that she is just a woman? She also needs her husband's love and a warm home. I often think that my mother, the watchman of the rice fields, just like a woman in the countryside, has relied on the full grains of rice grown in these golden rice fields to support herself and her family all her life.
One day, my mother got up, opened the window, looked at the dawn on the horizon, looked at the sky, listened to the wind, and watched the hen's reaction in the henhouse. She would say to herself, "It's sunny, the chickens don't crow, the stove can't smoke, and it must rain." She will forecast today's weather, then cook for us, feed the pigs and work in the fields. When I was a child, my mother and I lived in the village. I still remember my mother's life of "going out early and coming back late", especially on the day of cutting rice in late autumn, my mother was as busy as a bee.
During the autumn harvest, before dawn, I saw my mother's busy figure in the pond in my sleepiness. Mother scooped two spoonfuls of water from the water tank and put it in the pot. Then she brought firewood of different lengths and thicknesses from the patio and put it in the stove to make a fire for breakfast. The water in the pot is boiling. She scooped several spoonfuls of glistening rice from the rice jar, washed it with water, poked the rice with her hand and put it in the pot. Mom said, every time after washing rice, we should take the water to the backyard to water mango trees, litchi trees, pomegranate trees and longan trees, so that the fruit of fruit trees will be sweeter. A pot of porridge was cooked in less than an hour; Mom went to chop pork dishes again. A small bucket of pork dishes didn't take much time in her skillful movements. My mother will wake me up when the porridge is too full. I always don't want to climb out of the warm bed, and I always get up to eat porridge with a "hmm" sound. I sat on a rectangular wooden table, and my mother brought me a big bowl of pickled cabbage and melon skin, which was black and tasteless. I saw that the porridge in the bowl was cold, so I said to my mother, "Mom, I don't eat cold porridge. I like hot porridge. " Mom would say, "You leave that bowl to your second sister, and you put a hot bowl in the pot yourself." . After dinner, my mother and my second sister and I went to cut rice. Third sister always refuses to listen to her mother and stays at home to wash clothes and cook. Big sister dropped out of school early to work outside. On the other hand, my father left this house long ago. For him, this home is just the foothold for him to come back at any time. At that time, my mother had a divorce agreement in her hand. What could she do?
Cattle cart out of the village, after a century-old banyan tree, looking at the dense leaves and dense canopy, my mother always said to us: "When will you be like that big banyan tree, not afraid of wind and rain?" I just laughed and didn't know what to say. My second sister was usually afraid that her mother would scold her, but she didn't say a word. When I got to the stone bridge, there were reeds, creeping weeds and mimosa all around. I really don't know their names. Mom can't tell. I think these grasses are really pitiful. They are like children in the wilderness. They don't have a warm home. They have to endure the scorching sun every day and have no place to rest. Stone bridge is where they stay and grow. On this stone bridge, they grow in their own posture against the wind. They look forward to the future, looking forward to the late autumn rain and sweet rain and dew. These unknown grasses were washed clean in the heavy rain in late autumn, waiting for the violent and rapid growth in the next spring.
The grass in front of us caused countless reverie. Life is so real, right in front of our eyes, in the grass growing around the stone bridge. At that time, I was sitting on an ox cart, so I was not a lonely teenager, and my mother was not a lonely woman struggling for a living in the field.
I sat on the ox cart and looked at my mother's back and the place where the ox cart ran over. After more than an hour, the ox cart stopped at the roadside of our one-acre paddy field.
Mother took my second sister and me to the field and pointed out that this small piece of rice is ours and should be cut as soon as possible. It would be too bad if it rains heavily. Mom also said that when cutting rice, you should bow your head, hold a sickle in your left hand and an ear of rice in your right hand. With a turn of your wrist, cut off the ear of rice and put it flat in one place. Mother put on a straw hat, picked up a sickle and went to the field to cut rice. The second sister led the old buffalo to the overgrown wasteland, tied the cow rope out of the nose of the old cow with a long rope, then found a wooden stick, inserted the wooden stick deeply into the ground and tied the cow rope on it. My mother told me something about my grandparents when she was cutting rice.
Mother said that grandpa is a down-to-earth cultivator with little education. The family was poor, but grandma married grandpa without hesitation. In the past ten years, my grandparents have had ten daughters and one son. There are many children at home and there is not enough to eat. When the harvest is not good, my mother will take her brothers and sisters to dig bamboo shoots and find bark on the ridge to eat. When my mother talked about eating bark, she only said it in a gentle tone. It can be seen that my mother has been a hard-working child since she was a child. I was born late. My grandmother died the year I was born. I asked my mother if my grandmother was good-looking, and why there were no photos of my grandmother at my grandfather's house? Mother said, "Grandma is a beauty lover. She has a beauty mole on her face. Among the children, Jiugu is the most like her. " I asked again, "Isn't that great aunt beautiful? Grandma should be beautiful, why doesn't grandma take pictures? " My mother was confused by my question.
My mother is my grandfather's second child, so she is more sensible than ordinary girls, and she has to take care of her younger brothers and sisters when doing housework. When sowing in spring, in the early morning, before the cock crows, the cold wind blows hard, and my mother and grandfather pull the ox cart to plow the fields. Grandpa always likes to smoke a few mouthfuls on the ridge of the field, and then his mother continues to plow the fields that Grandpa didn't finish. Mother trimmed the rope pulling the plough share, put it on the old buffalo, and beat the old buffalo with branches. The buffalo plowed side by side in the direction pulled by her mother all morning, and then plowed the field to be sown. Seen from a distance on the ridge, the paddy fields cultivated by my mother have been thoroughly ploughed. On the fertile soil, there are many pale water drops. The sun gradually climbs up and shines on the rice fields, reflecting a series of halos of different colors, much like rainbows after rain. After sowing in spring, my mother will go to the field to water and fertilize the seedlings as my grandfather told me until they head. In late autumn, my mother took her sisters to cut rice. After the rice was cut, my mother taught my sisters to dry the grains, sieve them and pack them with dustpans and dustpans. With the help of wind or big electric fan, poorly grown and withered millet is screened to the ground, leaving full millet.
Every time I listen to my mother's story, I always listen attentively for fear of missing some important details. Unconsciously, we have cut more than an acre of rice fields. Second sister is second only to her mother in cutting rice. If my sister were here, we would be very relaxed. My mother and my second sister cut rice. Because I am young, I am not skilled in cutting rice. My mother only asked me to put the cut rice flat on the cart. Mother saw that the ears of rice were almost cut, so she let us have lunch. Say it's lunch, but it's actually porridge and pickled cabbage and melon skin. We sat cross-legged on the straw. Sometimes we forget to bring chopsticks. We will run to the ditch to find branches and break them off to make natural chopsticks. I like my mother to put some pickled peppers in the skin of sauerkraut, which tastes delicious. But my mother has stomach trouble and can't eat Chili, but she brought us a small bottle of garlic. Mom's pickled garlic is crisp, sour and delicious. I can eat some garlic porridge. I like to take a garlic and peel it off slowly by hand. When I am not satisfied, I will put my finger in my mouth and lick it with my tongue before giving up.
After lunch, I staggered past bundles of rice. Although I am very young, I have great strength. I can take three bundles at a time. Mother loves me dearly and makes me carry two bundles at a time. After mom and second sister cut the rest, they picked up the laundry list, which was quick and labor-saving.
Mother looked up at the northwest sky, and one cloud after another was playing wantonly over us. From time to time, there was a "before" sound of sickle cutting rice in the rice field. When the wind blows, it is so cool! Mom says it's going to rain. My mother asked my second sister and I to move the cut bundles of rice ears quickly. There is an uncle driving sheep home near the rice field. I bleated like a sheep, and my second sister couldn't help laughing.
Dark clouds are stacked on top of each other. I don't know when many dragonflies flew over the rice fields. I think it's really going to rain. Despite the dark clouds, the ears of rice are still flying freely in the call of the wind. My mother's sickle turns faster and faster, and I can hardly move. Second sister picked up the laundry list, and bundles of rice ears were put into the basket by her clumsy hands. Car after car of rice passed by the roadside rice fields, and more and more sheep were rushing home. I can still see the wisps of smoke rising from the kitchen from a distance. This dinner is too early! I wonder what Third Sister will cook at home tonight. A delicious burst of rice seemed to blow head-on. Mother put down her sickle and the second sister picked the ears of rice. At that moment, when will it be fast? Autumn rain is not weaker than summer rain. After a burst of thunder, the rain poured down, big enough, bigger than my mother's tears at night. I put down the ear of rice in my hand and shook it gently. A string of rain beads rolled into the field and formed a bright rain flower with the water on the ground. Perhaps you have never experienced a day of heavy rain, nor have you seen spectacular raindrops hitting rice fields, but you can imagine the pain of rain hitting your body, face and palms. Rain falls on the earth and hits everything in the world, from light tapping to heavy tapping. There is rain on the eyelashes, so I can't open my eyes. I rubbed my eyes full of rain, and the straw hat could not resist the courage of autumn rain. My mother's raincoat made of transparent plastic was also wet at this time, and my mother's and my second sister's clothes were wet by the autumn rain. I accidentally slipped on the ridge and fell into another field where the ears of rice had not been cut. Before mom could react, the second sister shouted, "Aaron, where have you been?" Help the second sister move rice! " Mom came back to me. I didn't cry at that time, but I couldn't stand up at once. At this time, I was really soaked, and my clothes were covered with mud and millet. Mom didn't say anything and asked me if I had touched anything. It's raining harder and harder, but fortunately the rice has been harvested.
The clouds are getting denser and denser. Although the rain in late autumn is not as fast and violent as that in summer, it is not gentle at all. The rain beads made me unable to see the road in the distance, and even slipped. Rain came at us from different directions, and in a short time, there was lightning and thunder in the sky, accompanied by unexpected thunder. I rubbed my eyes again and subconsciously looked up. The second sister came up from the ridge in the northeast with the old buffalo, and the rain flowing down the horn was mixed with the rain in the rice field. This heavy rain of deja vu flows into my thin body. In my view, my mother didn't care about the huge raindrops that hit her. She picked up a big cloth and covered it with rice on the cart, and tied it with a rope. I stood in the paddy field, watching the autumn rain pour down, and there were more and more ox carts on the road. I stepped up, picked up the last bundle of rice and walked in the direction of the ox cart. It is raining harder and harder, and there is more and more water in the field. On the ridge of the field, the pot floated into the rice field, and my mother told me to take the pot to the cart quickly.
"It is estimated that rice will be washed away in such a heavy rain," mother said anxiously.
Ears of rice, in the autumn rain, fall one by one, follow the running water out of the paddy field, into the ditch, and some are sent back to the hole by crab pliers as winter food; Some stay further in the ditch; Some of them took root and grew in passing places, and the next spring they were covered with ears of rice.
Soon, my mother packed her things, and my second sister and I followed the ox cart. I have several empty water bottles in my hand, my second sister is carrying a laundry list, and my mother and the old buffalo are leading the way. The road was full of water, and my little feet turned white again.
The rice fields in late autumn are surrounded by a mature scene. Corn and peanuts are also ripe. It began to rain over the rice fields, and the rain really shouldn't have come at this time. When the heavy rain comes, people in the village are scrambling to collect the rice in the field, waiting to go to the brigade to pay the food, and leave the rest for themselves to eat.
After cutting the ear of rice, dry the grain again. After drying, mother sifts the grain again with a dustpan. The flat grain will be picked up and fed to chickens, and made into rice bran for pigs. Every time food is distributed, my mother will whisper for several days that there is not much land at home and the harvest is not good. The brigade (former village Committee) distributed grain according to the population of each household. Every time I pay the food, there are not many meters left at home. My mother couldn't help watching the car full of rice handed over to the brigade. I don't understand why we should hand over the hard work to the brigade. My mother just told me that the land is not our own.
Until I was in the third grade, due to the change of policy, we no longer had to go to the brigade to deliver food, and we were also assigned to the fields.
"Autumn has come, and it beats the earth with its fruits ..." Many years later, I read a poem written by the poet Wang Jiaxin many years ago-it always reminds me of the joy of autumn harvest. Throughout the autumn harvest season, the rice in the rice field is getting more and more golden and lower. The sound of my mother cutting rice and sifting millet can't be concealed. At this time, I will sit not far from my mother and help her carry out the screened millet and pour it into the patio for drying. Later, I will sort out the vegetables and white radishes that Second Sister picked from the garden. I will remove the mud, sort it out, then wash it and take it to the patio to dry and pickle it in the jar. When I do farm work in the underground next year, I can eat them as food.
The fragrant rice in the wind is intertwined with my youthful memories. Year after year passed, my mother came to the city and began to do odd jobs. I always hope that my mother can go back to the countryside. No matter how hard and tired the days in the countryside are, she won't starve to death by growing her own rice. Mother said, "When you graduate and have a stable job, I will go back to the countryside." My mother doesn't know. I just don't want her to go to school alone and earn money for me. Although I don't earn much money, I really can't bear to watch my mother get up early and work hard every day. I would rather spend less money on my own than make my mother so tired again. My mother asked me that if she remarried regardless of my sister and me, she wouldn't be angry with her father. I don't know what to say to my mother. All I can do is write down my mother's bitter experiences over the years. I hope I can support my mother one day. I hope that in the future, I will earn money to support my family. My mother doesn't have to go to work alone to make breakfast. She comes back late every day to cook and wash clothes.
Autumn has come, and it is the harvest season of the year. This will be the last autumn of my college life. I hope that when autumn approaches, my mother can take her grandson under the big banyan tree at the entrance of the village to talk about the experience of cutting rice in the rain.
My mother spent half her life in this paddy field. She supported our four brothers and sisters with her rice cutting hands. I will never forget the scene when my sister went out to work and my mother looked at the distance in front of the door; I can't forget the scene where my mother watched me and my second sister pick rice in the paddy field in the rain. ...
I have written about rice fields in the countryside more than once. I miss the years that passed away with my mother. The twelve years in my memory have always inspired me to move forward. My mother repeatedly said in her ear, "People, don't be afraid, just have courage and you will see hope." Stay with me forever.
This heavy rain, this fragrant rice, from the past to the present, people have grown up in this return, from fragrant rice, from the sound of rain. I can't help thinking of the past, of my mother, and of cutting rice in the rain in those years.
Looking back, there will be a smell of fragrant rice floating around me, and I can vaguely smell it no matter where I am.