Laoguo has seen the world. On his father's back, he crossed from the west bank to the east bank of the Yellow River. As long as there is a pot, life can go on. The old pot is generous: all the bitterness will be sweet when steamed in the pot, and all the ice will melt when boiled in the pot. With the pot, my mother had a bottom in her heart, covered the periphery of the old pot with sweet potatoes and radishes, and steamed sweet potato cakes or yellow corn buns in the middle of the cage. For a long time, we and Lao Guo unconditionally obeyed the arrangement of our mother! The old pot grew old when it saw the white flour buns grow up in its arms. The old pot was lying in a corner, and the rain flowed in and out from the broken hole. Mother said, "Don't cry, you will still be a good piece of iron when you are tempered in the furnace!" "
that time I saw the old pot, it was on some cotton firewood in the corner of my yard. The bottom of the pot was like a lead cloud, which was struck by lightning again and again, and I couldn't help thinking of its past.
Laoguo, as a piece of iron, is a piece of iron forged with brightness and radian. It is its pride and pride to be able to follow my parents across the Yellow River. Because when we split up, my parents got a fork and a shovel from my grandmother, and my parents decided to take the old pot with them.
Dad tied an old pot of flowers on his back, holding his six-month-old sister in his arms, and Mom swam eastward with a pole carrying bedding and a wooden box.
By the time we reached the west bank of the Yellow River, the wooden boat was being washed like a leaf by the mighty Yellow River water, shaking. Dad knows that the helmsman is steering the ship and himself with several long bamboo poles. It will take half a day for the boat to return to the west bank of the Yellow River, and my father will untie the old pot from his back. Although the ground is sandy, without any hardness, dad carefully placed the old pot on the ground and didn't let go. Moreover, the location of the old pot is a certain distance from the bank of the Yellow River. Dad will feel that the wind blows the old pot into the Yellow River, and the old pot, as iron, can't cope with the strong winds and floods from the sky. Once the old pot slips, parents don't know where the day begins.
To be on the safe side, when the boat returns to the west bank of the Yellow River, my father first carries the old pot on board, then carries my sister on board, and then picks up the burden of my mother and her. The old pot was upside down on the boatside, and it was a bit abrupt to drive with a pot in the Yellow River. The man at the helm said that he had seen people crossing the river with sheep and people and food, but he had never seen anyone crossing the river with such a big blame. A man was dizzy because he saw the river. He wanted to squat down on the old pot, and my father snapped at him: If we missed the pot, how can we live!
The four thatched cottages near the fields in the easternmost part of the village are where we and Laoguo are. The three rooms near the west belong to us, and the one near the east is used to place the old pot. Dad built a square with adobe near the east wall. In the square, he built a circle according to the volume of the old pot. At that time, I participated in this action in the form of a molecule in my father's blood. I really admire my dad. I haven't studied for a few days, but I clearly know that life needs angular things and sometimes it needs to be smooth.
dad picked up his old pot and put it in the circle of the pot table, and the old pot sat firmly. When the old pot is firmly in place, my father and mother will have the confidence to have children and start a long life on the east bank of the Yellow River.
with a crack, a match lit the firewood, which lit up the years and made the old pot full of blood. Mother scooped a spoonful of castor oil into the bottom of the pot, threw a few chopped green onion into it, and the fragrance immediately spread. When a spoonful of water was added, the old pot immediately emitted a white mist. That kind of white fog is moist, oily and gentle, with some kind of temptation. This state of the old pot makes parents straighten up when they go out and walk, and their voices are rough.
there are as many pots as there are in the village, or there are as many pots as there are in the village. Iron pot, as the iron with hardness and radian, as the iron with load, is not only connected with the smoke rising into the sky, but also connected with the bellows, warmth and hope, and the life of a family.
if a villager quarrels with another villager, they don't pull the cow of the other family, don't pull the car on the other family's land, just pick up a brick and run to the other family's house, in order to smash the only iron pot in a family. The pot leaks, just like the sky is falling, and life can't go on. The villagers would rather get a few bricks themselves than let the iron pot suffer this disaster. Dad once defended our old pot to the death in the war with several villagers.
In spring, yellow-bearded vegetables quickly cover the land like a flowing water, and Sophora japonica blooms in the sky, making people want to stop. At this time, the old pot is frequently used. Mother threw the yellow beard vegetables into the hot water in the pot, then fished them out and ate them cold, or steamed Sophora japonica cakes with Sophora japonica flowers to comfort the children's bitter childhood. Of course, sometimes bitter vegetables are thrown into the old pot, and the old pot tastes bitter after tasting sweet. Laoguo always shares joys and sorrows with our days.
in winter or Chinese New Year, it's time for the old pot to show its great power. In winter, the old pot was brought down from the wing and locked upside down in the center of the yard. Over time, the old pot was covered with thick pot ash, that is, the shape and radian of the pot were basically invisible, and it was impossible to see how the old pot was a good piece of iron. Dad used a small shovel to carefully remove the ashes from the old pot. Dad didn't dare to work hard. He was afraid of hurting the old pot. He was afraid that the old pot would be thinned by the fire of the days and could not bear the water of the years in the future.
The old pot whose ashes have been scraped off is still so capable, so tough, so generous and even so cute. Dad put the old pot in the pot table in the first room. Throughout the winter, the old pot lived up to its mission in the main room. When a handful of firewood was filled into the stove chamber, the old pot immediately turned red, and the heatable adobe sleeping platform connected with the old pot also warmed up. At the position of the old pot, parents can't sleep. Give the hottest place to the sister with bronchitis first, and then arrange it in order from small to large. On the warm kang, no one wants to fly away from the warm bed or heatable kang. We didn't get into it like loach until mother baked our cotton trousers and cotton jackets on the stove fire.
It's the same with other families. There are only elderly people on the kang, or people who are seriously ill and bedridden. It seems that sleeping in a warm kang for a winter can prolong life, or can eradicate a serious illness that has not been cured for a long time.
In winter, the fields are deserted, and no one in the village cares, which fields are frozen, which fields are blown out of the vortex by the wind, or which fields are not full of wheat seedlings. They surround the pot, and it seems that they can see the things in the field at a glance, without too much worry. In the spring, the wild flowers in the field will still bloom brilliantly; The land that should be turned over is still soft. As for those wheat seedlings, when the first water is poured, they will be green, tall and vigorous.
Niang, like everyone else, slowly scooped a spoonful of lard into the old pot, threw the chopped green onion into it, chopped the cabbage into it, stuck it to the water, and pasted sweet potato cakes around the pot. For the first time, it was a big hot air, with the fragrance of cabbage soup and the bitterness of sweet potato cakes, which spread around the house. Wait for the second time to emit a smaller amount of hot air, and you will smell a cooked smell, so you can lift the pot. When I take the first bite, I bite the part near the soup first, because the cake is covered with a lot of oil and water, and it tastes particularly fragrant. Originally, the cake was bitter, but it became fragrant and sweet after a bite. When everyone finishes drinking all the cabbage soup in the pot, I also take a cake and rub it around the bottom of the pot. Not only do you wipe all the remaining oil and water on the cake, but you also want to wipe it inside the pot. The old pot has been cooked by the mother for a long time, and there must be a lot of accumulation. Every time my dad sees me greedy, he pats my * * * for fear that I will make a big hole in his old pot.
When the Spring Festival comes, we feel happy, and the old pot begins to feel happy. Every family, the stove chamber is booming, and the iron pot is also burned red. The lard accumulated in a year is scooped into the pot from the jar, and once the white is stained with the iron pot, it will disappear in an instant. Until the pig is half-oiled, the wrapped wheat flour is coupled with the stuffing and cut into strips of tenderloin, and then the pot can be cooked. The oil flowers rolled, the golden color appeared, and the aroma was tangy, which hooked us in a hurry to go out to play and led to the greedy insects in our stomachs. Before the temperature of the fried goods drops, our little hands can't wait to reach them. Even though my mouth was twisted and twisted, I still wolfed it down. I firmly believe that as long as we have this old pot in our family, I will grow up and our family's days will surely come to an end.
In the summer of my college entrance examination, rain washed away the floodgates of the sky and soaked the earth in a sea of Wang Yang. Before I could steam a pot of steamed bread, the old pot leaked. The iron at the bottom of the old pot has turned into ashes, or into my body, or during my long study career, I think this is a code word or a curse of the old pot. Not only can I not face my elders in Jiangdong, but I also lose the courage to look at Laoguo. Because the old pot is also a hard and strong support for my life, for my failure, the old pot refused to accompany me.
After wandering around the city, most people use stainless steel pot, and occasionally use a small iron spoon, which looks like an old pot. It is impossible to stay in the narrow space in the city. Although stainless steel pot seldom leaks, and it is light and bright, I still miss my old pot as much as I miss a countryman. Whenever I meet an iron pot as big as my old pot in a local product shop, I always want to knock it a few times to see if there is any hoarse sound of our old pot; Touch it several times to see if it has the brightness and radian of our old pot. Some shopkeepers once regarded me as a butcher in cook the meat, and once regarded me as a serious village woman.
Actually, only I know. I want to find the echoes and traces of the past years, the hardness and warmth of a piece of iron!
Ying Ning, formerly known as Zhang Xueqin, is now a member of Shandong Writers Association. Deputy Secretary-General of Binzhou Writers Association, Deputy Director of Prose Creation Committee, and member of 16th Prose Advanced Study Class of Shandong College of Literature. Some works have been published in Poetry Magazine, Youth Literature, China Poetry, Prose, Selected Prose, Shandong Literature, Liaohe and other periodicals and magazines.