My childhood was spent in a small village by the Lixia River.
In early summer, the wheat blooms, the cauliflower blooms like gold, and the rural wilderness suddenly comes alive. So, we farm kids who were used to wild things could no longer sit idle. We lay down in the newly cultivated soil and learned how to roll like donkeys. We lay on the soft grass and watched the sheep tuck their horns. We climbed up to the big trees to pick mulberries and held hands with them. The kites passed through the cemetery and chased the swallows on the embankment... When they were crazy enough, they went into the pea fields outside the village in groups to pick pea pods.
In the countryside, "stealing melons and dates is not considered a thief" is still a fun thing for children! Walking through the wheat ridges, wheat flowers covered us, the broad bean flowers were still blooming, and the peas But it has already formed pods. The pea pods are as plump as a pregnant village woman, with her head lowered shyly, and they are everywhere. We greedy boys picked the young ones and ate them raw, crispy and sweet. As for the old ones, we had to first remove the tendons on the edge of the pea skin, and then patiently peel out the green pea kernels. , and then carefully stuffed into the pocket.
When I came home with a pocket full of pea kernels, I walked around the old grandmother who was basking in the sun, which made her laugh. Grandma, who had known my intentions for a long time, finally took out the twisting weight from the bottom of the wooden box. Under the sunlight, the dark brown weight gave off a certain aged luster. The twisting weight was spinning like flying in grandma's hands, and a ball of white cotton was twisted into a long yarn in the blink of an eye, just like the ancient and long song, floating far, far away in the wind. Grandma threaded the needle and thread tremblingly, and threaded the round pea kernels one by one, one after another, exquisite and clear, like a green pearl necklace.
When the sun was still two poles high, I started to keep looking up at the roof of my house. When I saw a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney, I hurried home to string the peas. Quietly put it into grandma's rice pot. As soon as it was time for dinner, I rushed to serve the rice, because there was still my little secret hidden in the rice pot! When I opened the lid, the aroma of rice and beans hit me, which made people salivate. So, without caring about the hot hands, he took out the string of peas and tasted a few of them first, and then carefully hung them around his neck to cover his bare head, just like a little novice monk who had just entered Buddhism.
Under the moonlight, frogs croaked from time to time in the pond beside the village, and the winds on the well platform at the head of the village also began to rumble. At this moment, it was the happiest time of our day. Gather three or five village boys to run wild, catch spies, and play hide-and-seek. Whether it's the Zhang family's firewood pile or the Li family's thatched cottage, they always dig into any place they can hide. When you are tired of playing, you go sit on the stone bridge at the end of the field, pull a few peas from your neck and stuff them into your mouth. They are sweet and sticky, and after a few chews, your mouth will be filled with fragrance.
It is late at night, and the adults are shouting at the top of their voices. Whether it is long or short, whether it is shouting or scolding, it is the most charming sound to the ears of children. , are the kindest calls. We then reluctantly said goodbye to our friends, went home, and fell asleep with the faint fragrance of beans amidst the urging of our parents...
For more than twenty years, in the blink of an eye, things have become the same thing. People are not. Thinking about it now, I really don’t understand why such tasteless pea strings are so delicious, but the satisfaction I felt back then was no less than the joy that the candied haws of sugar gave my little daughter. I will never forget the mellow fragrance of peas in my hometown, the friends who picked peas together, and my kind old grandmother buried under the loess. I love my hometown as much as I love my relatives. No matter when and where, they will always be in my heart.