Pei Chen Po
Straw, threshed rice straw. In today's southern rural areas, nothing is more common and less valuable. In summer and autumn, when the rice is ripe, after harvesting, piles of straw are left in the middle of the field, beside the village road and in the corner of the field. After removing the grain, the straw has long lost its value in the eyes of farmers, just like a stone that has been peeled and discarded at will, without mercy. Dealing with garbage sometimes even becomes a burden for farmers. Whether they burn it, leave it behind or return it to the fields, they have to pay some attention.
Straws are very common, and no one will put straws in their eyes. However, if you put straw on the camel's back one by one, eventually a straw will crush the camel, so the straw is so heavy that life can't bear it. So some people say that this is the last straw to crush life. Straw is sometimes too light to bear the weight of life, so some people say it is the last straw. Fragile and fragile, not actually expected. In this way, it seems that the seemingly ordinary straw is not ordinary.
Many things have different meanings and values in different times, different scenes and different people. Just like putting buffalo in dry land and yellow cattle in paddy field, their role and value can only be truly reflected if they change their heads. Maybe straw is useless in others' eyes, but it feels different to me. I don't know how I survived the severe winter and long cold nights with four distinct seasons in my early years without straw. At that time, it was like a bean, the north wind whistling outside the window, and the indoor chill was pressing. When I was a child, I always slept with my brother and grandmother. The grandparents and grandchildren huddled under the thin hard quilt and warmed each other with their bodies. There is only a hard straw mat under them. If the thick straw mat didn't block the cold air under the bed and add a little warmth to us, I really doubt that we would be frozen in any snowy cold night and never breathe fresh air again.
At that time, everyone was poor, let alone quilts and blankets. There are two quilts weighing ten kilograms at home, and the family is well-off. My family is poor. My grandmother 18 years old was widowed, dragging her father, stumbling all the way, and it was good to save her life. I don't want to say that I haven't seen or even heard of mats and blankets. I never thought that my father not only became a family, but also gave birth to three children, my brother and sister. Although the family is poor, it finally has some vitality and vitality. Thus, what is worthless in others' eyes becomes precious in our eyes, and straw is.
At that time, winter, whether it rained or snowed, was the most difficult time for us children. At this time, we don't have to go up the mountain to get firewood or work in the fields, but the muddy water on the ground and the cold wind shuttling around stopped our lively pace. Wearing cloth shoes and thin clothes, we lost our position. At this time, the straw pile has become our warmest paradise. In the straw shed, the straw that has been softened and worn by the autumn sunshine has been tied into a "hair bundle" at the top by mom and dad, and it is honestly packed together. Some of them lie horizontally and some lie on their sides. As a raw material for making straw mats or sow delivery rooms, it is regularly piled into a hill. My siblings and I, or other children of similar age, will go into the mountain-like straw pile together, lay a nest in it, be surrounded by thick straw, sit or lie down, or even dig a hole in it, play cards, pick up stones, hammers and scissors in it, and keep the wind and rain out of the straw pile, so that our cold bodies will no longer feel cold and our young hearts will no longer feel cold. Besides lunch, playing hide-and-seek is a whole day, and even at night, I can't bear to go home.
I just cut the straw, but I'm not so tame. I'm hot-blooded, and I'm very angry. It's hard to touch, because she just picked a rich fruit for her master, and her waist is hard and her hands hurt. If she is not careful, her hands and legs will be cut and bleed by her sharp leaves. She hurt me a lot when I was a child. During the summer harvest and autumn harvest, all the children will go to the fields to help adults collect rice. Carrying the fallen rice from the ground to the threshing floor with shoulders has not only become a patent for children, but also assigned tasks according to age, taking charge of the rice cut by one or three sickles, so that we children can't be lazy. Bundles of straw have been put down, but tiny serrated rice leaves are eyeing us and ready to bite us at any time, forcing us to take many protective measures. Most children use their mothers' cooking aprons to wrap their whole faces and necks, leaving only two eyes exposed, but no matter how they defend themselves, cuts on their faces, necks and calves are inevitable, with direct sunlight and dripping sweat.
In the memory of straw, the happiest thing is to pick up straw mushrooms. In autumn, after summer harvest, the straw abandoned in the corner of the field began to rot. When the temperature and humidity reached a suitable level, straw piles began to grow straw mushrooms. Especially on the second day after the rain, straw mushrooms are scrambling to grow up. At this time, I will lead my siblings and pick up straw mushrooms with baskets. You can't pick straw mushrooms foolishly, you need some experience and skills. If it is shallow, it is easy to hurt the mushroom umbrella. If it is deep, you will miss the mushroom layer and find nothing. First of all, we should find the traces of straw mushroom withering on the surface of those straw piles. Then, carefully uncover the straw on the surface. At this time, we will see one thing after another, milky white and thumb-sized, growing in the steaming straw pile, waiting for us to pick it up. In this way, in a short time we picked up three or four kilograms of straw mushrooms. If you are lucky, you will find Volvariella volvacea in some places where the straw is completely rotten, close to the surface and full of water and nutrition. They are as big as duck eggs, and a nest will grow seven or eight, which is surprising. These straw mushrooms are all natural, without using strains or drugs. After washing, the soup is delicious and sweet, which is not only a rare delicacy in the era of high food shortage, but also a treasure in high-end hotels now.
I have been away from the countryside for more than ten years, and I have little chance to get in touch with straw, let alone straw. However, the unique fragrance of straw has always permeated my heart and never left, making me feel different warmth from time to time.