I remember coming home on National Day, the door was locked, and my neighbor told me that my mother went to pick cotton on the slope. When I panted up the slope, I saw a green cotton field on the overgrown wasteland. Red and white flowers bloom brilliantly, cotton balls are dyed as white and dazzling as snowflakes by autumn wind, and those cotton peaches that have not broken their shells hang high on cotton branches like olives. The mother with messy white hair hunched over her back, and a pair of big hands covered with calluses, such as the claws extended by the eagle, quickly hooked up clouds of white cotton and threw them into the baggage hanging around her waist.
I called my mother. My mother saw me. Smiling face full of sweat, like cotton blooming in autumn cotton field. Mom said to go home after picking cotton, and I'll help her. Because the staff were unfamiliar, I was quickly pulled down by my mother, and I was stabbed by a sharp cotton ball shell from time to time. I advised my mother not to grow cotton any more. This is difficult and laborious. Mom said that this is the last year. After harvesting cotton, it will be enough for me to make a new quilt I can't plant any more, and I can't see the stitches in my eyes. My mother's words hurt me like cotton balls.
I remember when I was a child, my parents planted an acre of cotton every year. After the first soaking rain in spring, my mother raked up the turned ground covered with pig manure, covered it with plastic film and began to grow cotton. Cut a hole in the plastic film every three or four inches, and then plant six or seven carefully selected cottonseed to ensure the emergence rate. It's easy to say, but it's not that easy to do. The hole should be dug evenly, the seeds should be put in no more or less, and the fill should be neither deep nor shallow. Any improper operation will affect seedling emergence. When the seedlings in the cotton field spit out, the mother began to "separate the seedlings" and "fix the seedlings". After continuous screening and survival of the fittest, two or three best-growing seedlings were left in each nest.
When the wind meets the rain, the cotton fields will soon be green. Those green cotton trees, like rebellious teenagers in adolescence, are not worrying at all. If they are left alone for a few days, they will go crazy. Throughout the summer, my mother seemed to grow up in a cotton field, busy pruning, raking grass and spraying pesticides to prevent insects, without a moment's rest. Under the careful care of my mother, those bulging cotton peaches that changed from turquoise to purple-brown began to bloom one after another, and cotton picking followed closely, otherwise it would become qualitative once it rained.
Autumn is crisp, white clouds are floating in the blue sky, and white velvet cotton is blooming in the cotton field where the buds burst. The family is scattered in the cotton field, nervously picking cotton. A pair of hands, swimming, jumping and singing happily in the cotton field, soon, the baggage at the waist bulged like pregnancy. With the cotton harvest, the family will have food and clothes.
After my father died, my brothers and sisters went their separate ways, and the land in the village was used up. My mother who insisted on living in the countryside opened a cotton field on the hillside abandoned by the villagers. Every year before winter, we will receive the children's new cotton-padded clothes, fine stitches and soft cotton-padded clothes from our mothers on time, which contain great love. Although these cotton-padded clothes can't be worn several times because of the heating, my mother insists on making them and mailing them every year.
"Flowers warm the world, flowers cool the world." Sunshine-fed cotton is always soft in the eyes of mother. She taught me to be as humble as cotton, not to hurt others or myself, not only to resist the cold for others, but also to make myself as warm as the sun.
Being a man is to be a Chinese cabbage.
"Meat is not as good as pork, and vegetables are not as good as cabbage." When I first heard my mother say this, I was a little confused. But when the dew turned into frost, the golden wind turned into the north wind, and the humble cabbage became hot in the countryside. Although there are radishes, I always don't know how to change them like a fool. Chinese cabbage, as white as porcelain and as yellow as topaz, has ever-changing tastes in the mother's hands, warming the lonely and long winter. It was not until many years later that I realized that it was not just me. Chinese cabbage has always been a frequent visitor on the winter table of thousands of families, whether it is a deserted country or a busy city.
Speaking of which, Chinese cabbage is my old friend. As long as I can remember, I have been following my mother to grow Chinese cabbage year after year. In the eyes of mother, cabbage is an important image in civilian life. Reconciliation with Chinese cabbage will lead to life.
As the saying goes, on the head of radish, cabbage comes second. Bathed in the sun and rain, with the body temperature of the earth, in a few days, sesame-like Chinese cabbage seeds will emerge from the dark soil and stand in a green flower bed, illuminating the whole vegetable garden. Chinese cabbage, which has sprouted among seedlings, dances in the wind, making it more attractive in the rain and growing brilliantly and willfully. Finally, like a silkworm spinning silk, it spits out one green leaf after another, layered on top of another, rich and fresh, like a blooming flower, even bees are confused and fly around from time to time. At this time, the mother, like a rebellious child, tied the scattered leaves with straw. Bundling cabbage is not discouraged. They are obsessed with inner innocence, accepting heart and nourishing, and grow fuller. When the bright tomatoes are eclipsed, the climbing beans fall, and the noble eggplant droops ... The once humble Chinese cabbage hides the sunshine, just like a plump country peasant woman, standing more energetic until the white dew is frost. Looking at the Chinese cabbage stuck to my body in the cold wind, my mother told me earnestly that being a man should be a Chinese cabbage, stand up to experience and remain pure.
Mom's words gave me a new understanding of Chinese cabbage. The ancients called Chinese cabbage "fermented grains" because it is "elegant, green and white, does not fade in winter, and has the function of relaxing exercise." "Early leeks want to compete for spring, and late grains break the cold first. There is no positive taste in the world, and beauty is difficult to achieve. " Su Shi, who was exiled, realized a thought-provoking philosophy of life when planting Chinese cabbage. In the eyes of the poet Yang Wanli, Chinese cabbage is "the reed is over the knee, and the north wind is fragrant all the way". And in the book "Chinese cabbage is named after refined water dishes", it is called "refined water dishes", which shows that the title of "king of all dishes" is not groundless, but has its name. Since then, the word cabbage has been known to the world. For the painter Qi Baishi, cabbage is even more meaningful. He drew a persimmon and a cabbage, which was called "Innocent Life". Draw a bunch of persimmons and a few cabbages, which is called "Everything is Innocent".
Of course, it is "radish and cabbage, each has his own love." Although many people think that cabbage is a vegetable that can't be served on the table, it doesn't affect its position in the hearts of ordinary people. Whether it is cold, dry-fried, roasted with vinegar, braised in brown sauce, or stuffing, side dishes and pickled sauerkraut, it has a long taste. Whether it's the spicy hot pot in Chengdu, the pig-killing dish in Harbin or the braised dish in Xi 'an ... Chinese cabbage always plays an important role, filling the withered stomach of northerners in winter with its rich nutrition. In Sichuan cuisine, cabbage is the first dish. There is a legendary dish called boiled cabbage on the "State Banquet". A clear soup with an oil missing is served in a white bowl with a few cabbage hearts inside. A vegetarian dish that seems to be the least tasteless can be eaten in the mouth, but the taste buds are all blooming, which makes people stunned.
Although it has been weathered by the sun and cold, it is not eye-catching or greasy. It not only cultivates itself into a three-dimensional landscape with rich and profound connotation in the vegetable garden, but also guards the immanence with its heavy body, which is spotless and flawless, and surprises people in the plain. Being a man is to be a Chinese cabbage. My mother's words benefited me a lot.
This column is edited by Chunfeng Li.
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