Every June 6th, the wheat fields in my hometown are everywhere. With the faint Xia Feng, layers of golden wheat waves appeared, and the earth was dyed golden by mature wheat. Waves of wheat fragrance came with the wind, and the drunken old man stood on the edge of the wheat field with a bright smile. He couldn't wait to pick up a few ears of wheat and rub them in his hand. Then, he took a deep breath and blew them into his palm. The wheat coat drew a beautiful arc in the air and flew everywhere, leaving only golden wheat in his hand. He piously held the wheat in his heart, put it on his chest, looked up to God, and silently thanked God for his care for the cultivators! At this time, the grasshopper puffed up his cheeks and sang a hymn of harvest loudly. Wheat cicadas tirelessly blow intoxicating rural summer songs, and a golden sun is embedded in the blue sky, reflecting the simple smiling faces of farmers. ...
"The wheat is ripe" is what I expected to hear most when I was a child. It means a bumper harvest and the fulfillment of wishes. June 6th every year is the brightest day for my mother's smile and the happiest day for our family. When I was a child, because my family was poor, my mother frowned all day and often sighed, except June 6.
I remember in the early 1980s, the land had just been devolved to families. Although the life of the villagers has hope, their life is still very tense, and the shadow of poverty and hunger still hangs over the villagers. Every family has a hard time all year round. The crops harvested throughout the year are only enough for half a year. Every spring in March and April, when the food is green and yellow, it is the most difficult time for villagers. Almost every family has no food and is starving. These two months have become a nightmare for the whole village, and my family is no exception. Therefore, the whole village is eagerly looking forward to the rapid maturity of wheat and eating delicious new wheat flour buns in the unbearable famine.
When the lunar calendar comes in June, the village will show a busy scene. On the sixth day of June, I don't know when it was handed down, and this day became the sickle-cutting day before the villagers harvested wheat. At the end of May, the villagers were busy sharpening their knives, and the wheat cicada played a song of victory and harvest in the tree. The cuckoo in the sky reminds people from time to time that the villagers have been dusty for more than half a year, and the children's cheerful nursery rhymes have also been sung in the wheat field: "On June 6, the wheat turned yellow, and the wheat cicada woke up my parents; On June 6th, when the wheat turned yellow, Mom branded us new buns ... "
In the nursery rhymes of cuckoo and children, parents are also preparing to harvest wheat. They discussed it and planned to buy some bags of fertilizer, add some furniture and sew some new clothes for their children when they finished cutting the wheat. A few days before the sixth day, my parents eagerly cut some yellow wheat in Yangshan and put it in the wheat field. After my father beat the wheat with a wooden stick, my mother repeatedly dusted it with a dustpan, letting the wheat coat drift with the wind, leaving only golden wheat grains, and then dumped them in the sun to dry. After drying, my father hurriedly put the wheat into his pocket and carried it back to the mill to grind new wheat flour. On June 6th, before dawn, my mother got up early and baked us new wheat flour steamed bread in the kitchen.
In my young mind, I always feel that my mother has a pair of clever and magical hands. According to the village custom, she can bake steamed bread in the shape of wheat cicada. After mom kneaded the steamed bread, our brothers and sisters gathered around the pot and looked at the steamed bread that had just been put into the pot. As long as my mother's steamed bread is out of the pot, we won't be hot. We grabbed a steamed bun from the pot and ate it with relish, while happily singing the familiar nursery rhyme: "On June 6, the wheat turned yellow, and the cicada woke up my parents;" On June 6th, when the wheat turned yellow, Mom branded us new buns ... "
At this time, my father would sit on the threshold, smoking one cigarette after another, and his eyes would crack with laughter. He would happily say, "My mother, bake more for my baby so that she can eat well. In recent months, my baby has suffered a lot from us. When the wheat is yellow, we will harvest it! " Mother shouted to her father in the kitchen: "His father, you should eat more, and you will have strength when you are full." The dolls are still young. It's up to you to harvest wheat this year! "
After eating the new buns, my brothers and sisters will carry a small basket and send new buns to their neighbors according to their mother's instructions. Because I am hungry on weekdays, my family does not support my mother's practice and often blames her. Our own lives are very tense, how can we give them to others? Mother patiently enlightened us and said, "my baby, remember to help others more on weekdays." You respect others one foot, others respect you one foot, and help people who are poorer than us. " Neighbors, everyone helps, there is no hurdle! "Slowly, we understood my mother's mind, and from then on, we rushed to send buns.
With the passage of time, by the 1990s, the life of rural people was getting better and better, and the villagers were no longer hungry. Mechanization has gradually replaced manual labor. Therefore, by the sixth day of June, the custom of cutting wheat, opening sickles and branding new buns gradually faded out of people's memory, but on the sixth day of June, my mother still silently branded new buns. At first, the whole family tasted it and put it aside, which made my mother cry several times. She often nags, "alas! The child is big, his wings are hard, and he hates the buns I branded! " We often advise my mother not to cook steamed buns any more, and buy some ready-made steamed buns, which are delicious and convenient.
The new century is coming. I graduated from college and got married. From then on, every June, my mother eagerly called and said that she had ground us a bag of new wheat flour and asked us to go home and get it. Whenever my family lives in our hometown for a few days and wants to go back to the city, my mother repeatedly reminds us to bring new wheat flour. At first, I felt nothing. After being a parent, I realized that this is a mother's deep concern for her children! This bag of noodles contains the mother's deep affection for her children! So every year on the sixth day of June, I will call my mother on time. The first sentence: "Mom, are you flipping wheat cicada buns?" My mother smiled brightly and said, "I'll just make a few and try them myself ..." When I answered the phone, my mother was laughing at the other end and I was laughing at the other end. ...
On the sixth day of June this year, my mother answered the phone. The first sentence was: "Third son, do you want new wheat flour? When the wheat is ready, I will grind a bag for you. " I replied, "Stop grinding. Let's talk about it at home. We are on our way home. " As soon as my mother heard that we were back, she said eagerly, "why didn't you say so earlier?" I bake some wheat cicada steamed stuffed bun for my grandson to taste ... "
Cars are speeding on the road in my hometown, the wheat fields are shining all over the mountain, and the mature ears of wheat humbly bow their heads to enjoy the sunshine. A burst of Xia Feng, blowing intoxicating wheat fragrance, refreshing; A newly paved cement road, like a silver ribbon, dances in the fields; A lush cornfield, raising a powerful hand, opens a blue sky; Harvesters after harvesters are busy swallowing golden wheat. ...
A few minutes later, we returned to our hometown. The family sat in the yard, eating the wheat cicada steamed stuffed bun just made by their mother, and listening to their mother's nagging: "Third, in school, we must do good things and be good to students." Teaching is a serious job. Don't delay other people's babies ... "
Listening to my mother's tireless exhortation and tasting the taste of my long-lost hometown, my thoughts returned to my childhood, and my ears faintly sounded: "On June 6, the wheat turned yellow, and the wheat cicada woke up my parents; On June 6th, when the wheat turned yellow, Mom branded us new buns ... "