Mother's emotional beauty of cooking smoke, living in a city made of reinforced concrete for a long time, will inevitably think of the warm cooking smoke in her hometown and miss the fresh taste. Cooking smoke is the most beautiful scenery in the countryside. Let's see the emotional beauty of my mother cooking cigarettes with me!
Mother's emotional beauty of cooking smoke 1 Mother's life is inextricably linked with cooking smoke. Throughout the year, the first thing in the morning is to go to the kitchen to carry cigarettes. Soon, there was a grain fragrant group in the quiet small courtyard. The last thing I do every night is to collect firewood and burn the pit. Soon, the cold bed will warm up. Day after day, year after year, the smoke in the kitchen became the evidence of food and clothing in the mother's heart and the destination of her soul. It has also become a faint homesickness and a deep maternal love in my heart. When I saw the smoke, I seemed to see my kind mother.
When I was a child, cooking smoke was a constant scenery for me, but it was a constant job for my mother. In the mother's mind, a home with fireworks is a home, a life without food and clothing, and a stable life. Otherwise, as soon as you enter the house, curling will be cold and empty, and that day will be frightening. So my mother pays special attention to collecting firewood. She not only picks up firewood when she sees it, but also sweeps it when she fills the kang. She often urges us to pick up firewood and sweep the kang. Anyone who has experienced hardships knows that whoever can't get through firewood can't live and will be punished by hunger and cold. In order to make the kitchen smoke grow permanently on my roof, it almost exhausted my mother's life's hard work. My mother always said that a family needs to live, and there is nothing to burn in the kitchen. How can you live if you are not diligent? Therefore, my mother collects firewood all year round, especially in summer and autumn, when everything is ripe and the vegetation becomes firewood, it is a good time to collect firewood. At that time, my mother not only had to take part in the labor in the production team, cutting wheat, grinding fields, dusting grain and drying autumn fields, but also missed any opportunity to collect firewood and sweep the kang. As soon as she was free, she quickly picked up a bundle of firewood, swept a backpack and poured it on the kang. Our brothers dare not slack off. After school, they quickly took a rake made of wire and carried backpacks, shoveling firewood all over the mountain in the wheat stubble field. They often see the smoke rising at home and hear their mother's call before they go home in moonlight and step on frogs. Autumn is the climax of firewood collection. At that time, sorghum was red and corn was ripe. Sorghum stalks, corn stalks and firewood in the mountains and rivers have become excellent firewood. Cooking with them, chasing kang and filling kang, not only the firewood is burning, but also the fire is booming. Unlike wheat straw, it burns well, but it has no firepower, like a person without connotation. Therefore, we should not only take home the sorghum stalks, corn stalks and even sorghum stubble from the production team bit by bit, but also go to the mountains to collect firewood. The best firewood is Artemisia annua. It was raining heavily and there was a man in the depths of the mountain. We all know where there are many Artemisia annua. We often cut Artemisia annua with some friends. Cut enough, we will fight war, play hide-and-seek, play enough, be crazy, be hungry, and return home with my mother's wailing like smoke. I always feel that my mother is like that smoke, soft and weak, clear and white, but as tenacious as running water, propping herself up, penetrating the confused years and trying to climb up.
Cooking smoke is spiritual and closely related to mother's life. When life is good, it smells full of smoke, but when times are hard, it smells light. In my impression, every holiday is the most intense and prosperous time for cooking smoke, and it is also the busiest and happiest time for my mother. At that time, on the roof of every household, smoke billowed like fairy's dancing sleeves, some were milky white, some were gray, and some were blue and black. They walked arm in arm, chatted side by side, and even hugged each other, just like villagers reunited after a long separation. Suddenly a gust of wind blew, and they quickly merged and lingered at the head of the village for a long time. This elegant picture of Gu Zhuo cooking smoke in the countryside has been cherished in my heart for a long time since I was a child, and it is unforgettable so far.
However, with the progress of the times and the development of society, this picture gradually faded out of my sight. Since the reform and opening up, people's living standards have improved rapidly. Young people have gone to other places to work, and there are few children at home, so there are only three or five people in the average family. In addition, with the adjustment of agricultural industrial structure, fruit trees began to be planted in mountainous areas, and greenhouse vegetables began to be planted in Sichuan and Shuidi. There is less firewood and less appetite. Pot rice reluctantly withdrew from the family, and simple honeycomb briquette stoves quickly spread. Mom uses honeycomb coal. Although the stove and cauldron in the old house are still there, they are rarely used and covered with dust. Mother often silently carries a basin of water, wipes it and washes it, with a gloomy face. I know my mother's attachment and gratitude for cooking smoke. Cooking smoke has taken root in her heart. When I saw the smoke, I saw a down-to-earth life and a fiery home. However, I know more clearly that no one can stop the rapid progress of history. Later, the honeycomb coal stove was replaced by liquefied gas and induction cooker, and the original houses were also replaced by bungalows and brick-concrete buildings. The younger generation seldom set kang in bungalows and buildings, and the smoke is getting thinner and thinner. Fortunately, my mother also has a heatable adobe sleeping platform, which allows her to keep history, tradition and heart for the time being. Because of this heatable adobe sleeping platform, when my mother was over 80 years old, she often swept the fallen leaves in front of the house and shoveled the adobe sleeping platform. I often marvel at my mother's perseverance. I have worked hard all my life. When I was in my 80 s, I was still strong and took care of myself. People are not cold when they are old, so mother's kang is always warm and comfortable except in summer. Every time I go home, I always sleep on my mother's hot kang. I think it is the warmest and most comfortable place in the world. Only by sleeping on my mother's hot kang can I feel safe and quiet. I really feel at home. Although the buildings in the city are bright and clean, I always feel that they are hanging in the air and in a rootless state, which is a temporary nest. However, the wisp of smoke in my mother's kang eye is getting thinner every day, timid and powerless, walking quietly on the roof like a child who has done something wrong, not as upright as the smoke on the stove. The last wisp of kitchen smoke in the countryside is slowly disappearing. I know that one day, the countryside will be replaced by the days of modernization, and the smoke will eventually disappear from my eyes. I know better that the wisps of smoke will eventually become homesickness, a scenery and relatives in my memory.
Last spring, my 85-year-old mother died peacefully. A year later, the last heatable adobe sleeping platform in the old house was also demolished. From then on, I will never see the smoke from my hometown again. People often say that where mom is, home is there. Now, without cooking smoke and mom, is my home still there? Is my hometown still there? "The village is far away, and there is smoke in Yiyi market." Is the poem still there?
Emotional Beauty of Mother of Cooking Smoke 2/ Zhao Ningfei
For my mother, I dare not write easily for a long time, because talking about my mother with a little knowledge is really like an ant looking up at a towering tree. It may take a lifetime, or it may not understand the true meaning and mind of the tree.
When my aunt died, my father turned his back on his mother and sighed deeply. "ah! Your mother's dearest person in the world has passed away. And the only only daughter and sister. Poor! " Yes, when my grandmother died, my mother was only thirteen. The night my nine-year-old brother died, my mother told me all her life. What a terrible night it was! The kerosene lamp in the dark cave went out almost in an instant.
Without any hope of turning over, the younger brother who drank Guanyin soil died on the kang with his eyes wide open because of diarrhea and dehydration. The night under terror is more gloomy and silent. The cries of my mother and my two-year-old aunt penetrated the suffocating night and spread far and wide-Grandpa's shiny black bristles seemed to turn silver overnight.
The long years are like a torrent. Although she can't read, like her father, she never believes in ghosts and gods. Mother's memory Mother's belief in life is as firm as a pillar, never wavering and never forgetting.
Ding Lang carves the mother, Wang Xiang lies on the ice as his mother, Xiang Li lies on the ice as his wife, the flower pavilion meets, three drops of blood, Meng Jiangnv, the tiger's mouth, and so on, all of which cover the stories of simplicity, firmness, truth and great love. It affects every child's childhood, adolescence and adulthood.
Of course, my mother will remind us more to thank Chairman Mao and the * * * production party, because my mother's grandfather was killed by bandits in the old society. Mother hates the strong wind in the northwest and awakens her painful memories again and again. The sudden death of my third child, my four-year-old brother, was a great blow to my mother.
Because of a cold, the second-rate doctor of the production team made the wrong needle and quickly took the child's life. The wind blew mercilessly for three days and nights, and the mother blamed the hatred of losing her son on the unique spring breeze in the northwest. In that backward society and ignorant age, who can tell?
Since then, my mother's spirit has been intermittent for 50 years, and the medicine for calming and sleeping has not stopped for 50 years, all because of the strong wind! When the wind blows, my mother hates to scold the sky and the ground, feeling as if she had been scratched by a cat. A mother's love for her children will be remembered for a lifetime in just one sentence. "The child is a piece of meat that fell from his mother, and his fingers are connected! Therefore, the mother's heart for each child is absolutely equal. "
Although thousands of miles away, she is nearly eighty years old, but her mother never forgets her homeland, her clear childhood and her relatives in her hometown. Although all her relatives are waiting in line in front of her to die one by one, she can vividly show us the voice and appearance of every relative, even every grass and tree in her hometown. Wild flowers and wild vegetables in spring! Summer sour apricot walnut, autumn persimmon soft jujube!
There are two pepper and acacia trees in front of my grandfather's house. Mother loves the land and often teaches us; Land is wealth. You pay, it will repay you and give you harvest. The reclining Buddha on the Lingshan Mountain in the west of Fengxiang City has always been "visited" by his mother.
My mother, after hard training since she was a child, was praised by the neighbors of the production team and created a set of food culture in our own home.
All kinds of Shaanxi-style pasta have never been seen by Ningxia locals during the production team. Therefore, although our brothers and sisters were born in Ningxia, they have developed the habit of eating' Laoshan' pasta. Wherever they go, they will miss their mother's' mixing soup, mixing noodles, minced meat noodles, dough, hot oil cakes, pancakes, buns, jiaozi, steamed bread, flower rolls and steamed buns' ... The reason why we call our mother' philosophical mother'.
That's because our mother's strong perseverance and tenacity in the face of life are incomparable to us as children. It is because my mother's diligent teaching and regret for our life always reminds us and guides our life trajectory. It is our children who deeply admire our mother's thinking logic!
Of course, maternal love in the world is great, but my mother, who knows nothing, is full of practical philosophy of life. She talks about the past and the present, and she educates her children with her own life track; Diligence, forbearance, no struggle, self-reliance, everything in Dont Ask For Help, no ups and downs.
Self-made treatment helps us to alleviate the pain, so when I catch a cold, my eyebrows will be pricked red by my mother with a needle. My palms and fingers will be pinched repeatedly by my mother. Then take some medicine and run to play when you have a cold.
I want to express my love for my mother by actions and words, but I feel ashamed and deeply useless in the face of my elderly mother. My words,' careless', are really not enough to express my clever mother's thoughts and philosophy of life. On the contrary, we have to let the old people worry about us and "nag" about our time.
I believe that all ordinary children in the world have a great love as heavy as a mountain mother. Motherly love in the depths of the ocean. Mothers don't need children's return, just need to be children's' understanding' in this world!