Classical Prose on Rural Scenery 1 (1)
Beans and wheat seedlings everywhere, gently shaking a diagonal wind, reclusive crickets, brilliant singing and humming, make the popular rock music saxophone in the city feel ashamed.
The bright moonlight was brought into the kitchen fire by a bundle of dry wheat straw.
Parents who have lived in the countryside all their lives, just saying a rural allusion is enough to make the dim lights of the city pale.
Back to the countryside, close to simplicity.
The whole night's rural night talk was slowly filled with cups of strong tea.
Sweet in the face, drunk in the heart.
(2)
Sharp ears of wheat imitate the sunshine in farmers' hearts.
Passionate pomegranate is full of compelling charm. The flush of three flowers and two flowers on the girl's face makes you unable to give up and pick it up, leaving you with an empty heart to give up the melancholy that is constantly being confused.
Fairy tales in autumn sleep peacefully in the seeds planted one after another.
Transplanting girls, with delicate green fingers, like a mirror of rice fields, saw their simple joy and little expectation.
Walking barefoot through the field, I heard a swallow whisper under an early-blooming osmanthus tree.
(3)
Who fills my heart with tears,
There are cicadas everywhere, and the noise wakes up my buried child.
Under the old buttonwood tree in the shade, the country singer is playing the dusty erhu again.
Walking on the dusty road, I can see the unchanging smoke hanging on the roof of my hometown.
Sitting alone in the old house.
A warm soybean oil lamp stayed up all night, according to my poems spread out in sequence.
Thoughts merge with the infinitely quiet village under the night.
(4)
When spring blossoms, I returned to the country where I have lived for more than 20 years.
I know, across the river, you can see herds of cattle and sheep growing quietly along the direction of the grass, and you can see wooden houses in your hometown springing up like mushrooms after rain. ...
During my stay, I found that every plot of life is so real.
When peach blossoms are in full bloom, pear trees spit silver, and rape flowers are covered with yellow velvet carpets, I stand on the rural scenery, adjust the focal length and take close-ups of brilliant moments.
Yes, I know, whether you look up or down, the spring in your hometown in the countryside is pure and profound.
Standing in the country reminds me of a detached style and a sense of tranquility.
(5)
Rural lotus ponds, verdant fields, burning flowers, fragrance wafted from the ancient rhyme of Yuefu, infiltrated into the dream of Jiangnan, and became the beautiful and pure amorous feelings of the countryside at will.
In the bright spring water, the sharp river looks back with enthusiasm and shyness like a village girl, calling out frogs as warm as sunshine, purple swallows passing by, and oxen walking leisurely to the fields.
Lotus leaves successfully opened the summer and the love of the sun.
Water town, a lotus seed, even if it sleeps for thousands of years, can be freehand brushwork into the beauty of life in the pond, which often awakens my homesickness.
(6)
Following the grain, we can reach the center of the village. The days in the countryside have become land, pure and simple sunshine. In the depths of agriculture, we use a hoe to easily penetrate the hearts of wheat ears.
A bluestone path is an artery in the country. The old car far away, with the blessing of the country, hides its whereabouts in the dust all over the sky.
When we live in the countryside, our blood is full of strength, and tireless souls grow in the silent land.
When I slipped through the eyelashes of the city, I returned to my hometown which made me excited and proud in the form of a seed.
(7)
Swallows in the countryside, flying around, seem to have formed an indissoluble bond with farmers. No matter how far they fly, they remember the familiar lintel.
In the past years, nests made of mud still exist.
Whispering on the beam is the best annotation to the peace and tranquility of life.
Farmers care for them carefully and meticulously, and farmers add a little pride to the dance of swallows.
Stopping in the countryside, the magnificent buildings in those cities, I always feel a little lost and ashamed when I think about these. ...
(8)
An old farmer squatted on the ground smoking, and a mountain village as tall and straight as a tree rose in the smoke pot.
In the quiet place, the oxen ruminated with the attitude of their masters and looked blankly at the long road. The plow behind him, like a bow, shoots into the hardened soil, winning the joy of germination and making the farming season move.
Looking at the words written on the ridges and ditches in the season, they gradually mature into the hope of nourishing a nation.
In the face of the picture of the old farmer and the old cow looking at each other, I had an epiphany: the history of a farmer was thus yellowed by the smoke pot of years.
(9)
Corn is an elegant local crop. In the season of corn germination, the children in the village were ecstatic, smiling and stroking its purple, white and yellowish tassels, which were fresh and tender beards of corn, and the children in the village became little old men.
Corn is the totem of my hometown and the Santa Claus of my lonely hometown children.
Corn is like Buddha, corn is like Buddha. The brilliant smile of corn reveals the sacred teeth of Buddha.
In fact, all food is the Buddha of all beings.
( 10)
A village, hidden in the countryside surrounded by green trees, has beautiful orchards and wheat fields, rape flowers and ziyun flowers are in full bloom, and dirt roads stained with yellow mud haunt the country roads.
Walking alone, with oil-green peach branches beside him, he held his head high and hoed, writing fields without wild flowers on his relaxed face.
Streets and alleys move in the shadows, and birds fly down from apricot trees and land on jujube trees, making the yellow but not yellow May jingle.
This village is very quiet. Occasionally, one or two croakes of hens came from the fence of a yard, and with the thick birdsong, it became a chorus.
In the dead of night, looking at the golden full moon in the sky, I fell into deep memories, which spanned thousands of miles and the sky.
My motherland! Can you still remember me in the distance? I know I miss you deeply and long to come back to you. Even though I am a fallen leaf in your autumn, there are golden leaves everywhere, blowing cold autumn wind, but how warm I am with you in my heart!
Every time I meet you, I always have to change trains, cars, plains and mountains to get to your side and witness your face. But no matter how tired I am, there are always bursts of smiles on my face. Looking at the quaint scenery and familiar people in my hometown, I feel the warmth in my blood.
I can't forget the mark you carved in my heart, and I can't forget the one you injected into my blood. Today's autumn wind blows me so sad that your shadow fills my heart.
On the muddy road in rainy days, the grass on the roadside is growing sturdily, one by one, laughing and singing in the rain. The sky cleared up, the sun showed a long-lost smiling face, and the light shone on the rugged path. I stood on tiptoe and looked into the distance, and one mountain after another extended into the distance, interlocking; In short, a beautiful river winds around you like a snake. Where does it lead? I don't know. How long is it? I don't know. All I know is that it is quietly waiting for you. It raised me and my parents and elders.
In spring, everything in the whole mountain village is awakened by the sound of swallows. Swallows crossed a large green wheat field, turned over neat mud without vegetables, flew under the eaves of thousands of families and began to build their own beautiful houses. In the small ditch on the dirt road, there are often swallows holding sticks and mud. If there is an afterlife, I would like to be a swallow in my hometown. My tail was cut off on the hillside and cut into a green hill. The lovely goat began to eat fresh and fat grass, which was always white. Seen from a distance, it looks like white clouds.
In the spring of March, the peach trees in my hometown add a little joy to the hillside, with a hint of pink, as if the hillside was drunk, revealing its gentle side. Colorful butterflies and screaming bees have become frequent visitors to peach trees. It didn't take long for the rape flower to be stingy with its golden color, and it was dyed all over the hillside piece by piece, until I was fascinated and stood on the roof of my house and took a deep breath. The rich taste of rape flower seemed to get into my insides.
In May, golden wheat rolled in the fields like waves. When the wind blows, you can hear the sound of ripe wheat and call your parents to wave their sickles. In those days, parents seemed to be racing against time. Sweat rolled down from their heads, faces and arms like rain, swaying in the sky and slowly evaporating. The threshing machine in the wheat factory makes a rumbling sound, as if life is a powerful cry.
In summer, showers become the main characters of the season. A rain washed the hillside clean, washed up the river fiercely and washed away the high temperature like fire. In the hot summer, the cicadas on the buttonwood kept barking, the cattail leaf fan in the house kept shaking, and the cries of my friends called me to the river. There are abundant aquatic plants in the river, and all kinds of fish and shrimp under the water are as clear as looking in the mirror. We jumped into the water like ducklings, breaststroke and backstroke in the water, and swam out with splash and ripple.
The intermittent autumn rain in autumn can often write down many thoughts in my heart. Walking on the muddy field path, the red sorghum head has already been cut off, leaving only the tall trunk to look from a distance. Rows of corn extend far away, and the line of sight is blocked by corn stalks, with no end in sight. By the river, poplar leaves are falling, some on the ground, some in the river, and with the current, they float to the invisible distance. The scenery on the way must be beautiful, too.
When the autumn wind blows away the autumn rain and countless thoughts, winter will come slowly with its own steps, but the winter wind is like a knife, like a sword, across everyone's face. Winter snow often brings a different flavor to small villages, and the snow in the village will not fall; Either it is vigorous, the wind blows, and the rolled snowflakes float in all directions and go straight into the sky. The room is full of parents and elders, recalling the past years and planning a bumper harvest next year.
The autumn wind is still blowing, blowing the picture of the countryside thousands of miles away into my mind and lingering. I just want to shout loudly: I love you, my simple motherland, and your children will never forget you!
You have melted into our bones and flowed into our blood. We love you! The original scenery of my motherland!
Classical Prose on Pastoral Scenery 3 In rural areas, farmers are familiar with the saying that dung is the treasure of crops, and crops can't grow well without dung; A flower in a crop depends entirely on feces. This refers to farmyard manure. Before the 1980s, there were no cesspits in rural areas, and there was a cesspit beside the latrine in every yard. Without permission, people will laugh at it. This family is not a farmer.
In fact, crops growing in fields and hillsides, and rice seedlings in rice fields are Wan Ru's own children. If you don't get enough nutrition, you won't be able to grow into a whole grain food in Qiu Lai, and you won't be able to change from Cui Fei in summer to golden rice. As the saying goes, people mix with crops for a while, and crops mix with people for a year.
When I was a child, I often went to my grandmother's house every winter and summer vacation to accompany my lonely grandparents. Not far from grandma's house is the production team. What impressed me the most was that there was a big puddle more than 50 meters long and 20 meters wide outside the team site. Out of curiosity, I often watched the members cut down green Vitex negundo from the mountain. The tender branches and leaves that grew in that year were like fields, throwing bundles of Vitex negundo into puddles. Regardless of the diabolical sun, the players' faces were tanned and sweaty, and sweat flowed down their faces to their necks. Sometimes it is very uncomfortable. When they wiped it with their big hands with thick cocoons, they picked up a bundle of Vitex negundo and threw it into the water. They are older young boys, and older girls also work with boys. It's just that the clothes I wear are a little pink, and my face, like that young man, is covered with sweaty makeup.
I'm curious to ask what adults are doing. I just know that the members call this pressing green manure. At that time, I didn't understand the meaning of this word, that is, composting and pressing green manure was a local name. There is also a process of pressing green manure, that is, putting all the highland barley such as Vitex negundo in a puddle, filling it with water, draining it after the water sinks, pressing a layer of soil, and pressing Vitex negundo. When the pit is full, highland barley such as Vitex negundo will be covered with soil, and in a few months, maybe all summer, it may rot and be pulled out.
At that time, perhaps there was little industrialized production of chemical fertilizer, or perhaps modern agriculture had not developed to a certain extent, and it was all collective agriculture of the production team, so it became an important and arduous task for the production team to accumulate farm manure. The farmyard manure accumulated by the production team in summer and autumn is like a hill. At this time, the production team leader will also step on the dunghill, bulging his stomach and saying that as long as the rain is good next year, the harvest achievements of crops will not be mentioned.
After the household contract responsibility system was implemented in rural areas of China, farmers began to enjoy this modernization under the influence of modern agricultural planting concept, and few people were struggling to make farm manure. Take money to supply and marketing cooperatives or agricultural products sales points, and high-quality fertilizers will be shipped home. With the spring sowing with small agricultural machinery, pearl-like fertilizer is gently sprinkled into the newly plowed black furrow with earthy smell, which is both time-saving and unique. It can be said that farmers are really willing to use modernization.
It takes a lot of manpower and time to apply farm manure to make manure. It may take half a year or a year to get the spring broadcast time of the new year. Even if people are not afraid of being tired and have no complaints, they should bear it silently. There is enough manure, and it is also a lot of labor to transport manure. In the 1990s, chemical fertilizers were basically transported by horse-drawn carriages. Flat land is ok, but in mountainous areas, transporting fertilizer is another scenery. No one who saw the scene of transporting fertilizer will forget it.
One winter, I went to my grandfather's house and watched him and some other members transport manure. Because it is a hillside, of course, the carriage can't get on. The members specially sewed a long bag similar to canvas, about 2 meters long and 30 centimeters in diameter. Riding up the mountain with donkeys and mules, the members bowed and led the donkeys forward, just like the militia in the mine war, which left a deep impression on me.
In the Lujia production team where I went to the countryside, manure accumulation has other characteristics. The production team fattens up by raising pigs and cattle. In summer, the pigsty is always covered with new soil, pigs and cows shit together, and it rains, cows trample and naturally stir. One or two months after the dung started, the production team leader didn't know when or which production team leader had a wonderful idea. At the beginning of the dung, dozens of circles were set up, and the team leader called the male members together, just like the house auction. It is said that in the first circle in the east, there are 20 working points, and in the second circle, the larger one is 30 cm. When the members saw the value or thought it was good, they rushed to answer and took the job. Sometimes the days are counted according to each lap. In the western pigsty, there is a job (a day's work). You take this job and finish it in two hours. You can sleep at home the rest of the time. It's like a piece-rate system in a factory.
After the feces come out, they have to be transported together. There is also a process of luck. Members picked them together with earth baskets and slowly piled up hill-like dung piles in the yard. Later, it took a lot of effort to pick up dung and climb uphill. In winter, the cooked manure should be scraped off with a pick and then transported to the ground by a carriage.
In those years, every family in the countryside was like this. As long as there are private plots or plots in front of and behind the house, pigs will be raised, pig manure will be made, and the manure will be discharged from the toilet. Only when the manure is released can the manure be dumped and the crops will not be burned to death. Otherwise, it will produce maggots or burn seedlings.
Farmers all know that farmhouse music enriches the land, which has been handed down from generation to generation, so that the land will be nutritious, fertile and cool. Moreover, using chemical fertilizer instead of farmyard manure, in the long run, the land will be less nutritious and clean, and crops will not grow well. Although compound fertilizer is better than chemical fertilizer now, it is not as good as farmyard manure.
With the progress of modern agricultural production technology, the land has changed from traditional manual operation to mechanized farming. Scientific farming and fertilization have led to breakthroughs in grain output year after year, and more and more varieties of grain have been produced.
But I still can't forget the farm manure with earthy smell. The grain, meat and rice produced by applying farmyard manure are fragrant. It is a pure green product, and there is no fertilizer residue in the grain. Long-term use of farmyard manure is more conducive to the improvement of soil quality. Farmhouse manure makes the soil fertile, and crops grown on the land are resistant to lodging, drought, pests and diseases, and have strong growth ability.
Every time I eat such a pure green product, there is even a lingering fragrance in my mouth.
Now, I don't know when this simple and beautiful pastoral scenery will appear again.