Father put the grinded sickle into the cart, took a pot of cold sweetened mung bean water, took off the straw hat from the branch, put it on his head, and dragged the cart to the wheat field. He looked at the cart coming back from the field along the road, which was full of wheat stalks and ears, and there was a man sitting on it, staring at the man who picked up wheat in one hand. He was always like this at that time.
I watched a wheat cart pass by, quickly ran a few meters ahead and pulled it down from the wheat pile. I didn't expect to prick my hand, but I gained a lot and tore off a lot of ears of wheat. I quickly stopped my father. He pulled a cart in front to listen to me, and quickly stopped to watch a pile of ears of wheat fall to the ground. I turned to look at me again. I told him that I had pulled them out of the car just now, thinking that dad would be very happy.
Looking at the ears of wheat I dragged down from the shelf car, why can other children do this, but I can't? I felt particularly wronged when I thought of this, so I just threw the ears of wheat out of the car. My father immediately stopped the cart and looked at him more angrily. He asked me to pick up the ears of wheat one by one. I was a little afraid of him and had to pick up the thrown ears of wheat. My father told me to go forward and kept urging me to go forward. We didn't say a few words along the way, but I heard my father keep saying, "Picking up the ears of wheat dropped by others is to save food." I kept trotting ahead, not wanting to hear my father's voice.
When I got to the wheat field, I sat in the shade of a tree, and my father didn't call me. He parked his cart beside the ridge and looked at the endless wheat fields, showing the joy of harvest on his face. He picked up an ear of wheat, rubbed a few grains of wheat into his mouth, and then chewed it. This kind of dried wheat has everything, but his father eats it with relish.
At this time, when the sun was shining, I saw my father take off his coat, put on a white towel around his neck, put on a straw hat and began to cut wheat. He picked up a lock of wheat straw in his left hand and waved a sickle from the root of the wheat straw in his right hand. Wherever the blade goes, all the wheat straw falls in his arm, and his shoulders pass by, and the wheat straw is neatly called a row. Then he walked on and began to cut wheat. Then I went back to cut wheat, and I only saw my father cutting wheat. I bent down for a while, straightened up for a while, and wiped my sweat with a towel from time to time. When my father was cutting wheat in the middle of the wheat field, he sat in the field and called my name. I ran quickly.
Looking at my panting father sitting on the ground, it seems that I have some heatstroke. I quickly ran back to the shade and handed him the pot of water. My father picked up the kettle and gulped it down. I watched his face sweat and his back sweat. Sweat is dry and wet, wet and dry, and his dry skin is peeling off. His palm is covered with calluses, forming several blood bubbles.
Father looks better after drinking mung bean water. After a while, he sat up again and continued to cut wheat. I followed him and helped my father put the cut wheat together. I want to give up in five minutes. It's too hot to stand in the shade, let alone do farm work here. I packed my father's newly cut wheat and prepared to go to the shade.
My father turned to look at me. He saw my idea at a glance, and then turned to continue cutting wheat. He said: "I am still young and can't eat this bitterness. what can I do? I don't know how hard people work. "
After listening to my father's words, my face turned red and I felt a little ashamed, which also aroused my indomitable spirit. I muttered in a low voice, "It's just harvesting wheat!" " What's the big deal? I can't accept it with you. If you are not afraid of suffering, what am I afraid of? I'll take as much as you cut, and I won't rest until you rest. "
It's really not easy for me to implement these words. My father has been cutting wheat constantly. He skillfully waved the sickle in front, and the wheat was cut one after another. I can't keep up with him when I harvest wheat. Only when I feel that the soil is a little hot can I really appreciate the true meaning of the poem "It is full of rustic heat and the sun is shining on my back". I watched my father go all the way, just like a young man.
"Dad, you have a straw hat to shade the sun, which is not fair. You have to give me the straw hat. " I shook the wheat in my hand and soon caught up with my father.
"Ok, here you are." Father turned his head and smiled. He took off his straw hat and buckled it directly on my head.
My father gave me a straw hat. I thought it would be better to bring a straw hat, at least to keep out the sun, so it wouldn't be so hot. Actually, it's not. In such hot weather, wearing a straw hat feels the same as not wearing it. Sweat is still flowing downwards, and there are still some stubble in it, which makes it particularly uncomfortable to wear. I still feel heavy. The inside of the hat was soaked with my father's sweat, so I wore it for a few minutes and returned it to my father.
My father wears a straw hat on his head. When it is hot, he takes off his hat and shakes the brim to cool off. In fact, the main function of my father's straw hat is to absorb sweat. He sewed a circle of cloth on the inside of the straw hat, so that sweat was sucked into it. When the forehead sweats less, the eyes are not easy to narrow. Needless to say, salty sweat flowed into his eyes.
It is false to say that the wheat harvest is not tired. It's just that cultivators are used to this kind of hard work and regard work as a kind of enjoyment. Father didn't rest much when he arrived at the farmland. He didn't rest in the shade until the sickle was blunt, but he was not idle. He took out the stone for grinding the sickle and reopened the blade of the sickle, so that it would be easier to harvest wheat.
Father went back to the middle of the wheat field and continued to cut wheat with a sickle, watching more and more wheat on the ridge. Pull it at least two or three times with a cart, and the rest of the wheat will be cut tomorrow.
Father pulled the cart to the middle of the field, put the collected wheat into the cart, stepped on it, tied it with hemp rope, tied the rope of the cart to his shoulder, and walked slowly with his hands on the handlebar. I pushed it in the back, which was heavier than when I came. Stop-and-go, climbing mountains several times is very difficult. The straw hat on my father's head shook a few times before I saw the traces left by the dirt road run over by the wheels.
It was almost an hour before I got home. Father unloaded the wheat into the clearing and looked at the cloth in the straw hat. All of them were soaked with sweat. He dipped the straw hat directly into the water, controlled the water, and then put it on the branch. The water stain dripped on the ground from above and soon dried up. Father washed the towel with water, wiped his sweat, drank a spoonful of well water and pulled it up again.
As time goes by, the sun has set and the sky is soaked by Xia Hong. Rack car slowly walks in the track of time, the shadow of my father in his later years is getting shallower and shallower in the sun, and the wrinkles on his forehead are getting deeper and deeper. You have to grind your teeth even if you bend over. My father and I are getting more and more practical on the dirt road, which is the joy of harvest.
On the way back, I heard teacher Ma Jinfeng's Mu Guiying in Command playing on the street corner. My father closed his eyes and hummed a few words, feeling that his hard work of the day was gone. Looking at the fried dough sticks at the entrance of the village, the cauldron and stove in the yard pulled up the bellows, all of which improved their lives through this harvest season. Smoking uncles, talking aunts, children chasing each other and bustling.
The summer wind is blowing and crickets are chirping. The wheels of my wheat field and shelf car are rolling along the ears of wheat. I can hear the sound of wheat seeds falling to the ground. Father hummed a tune and walked around the wheat field. Look at the straw hat on the branch. The water has run dry. A gust of wind blew and the straw hat fell to the ground. My father hurriedly.