Good weather reminds you
The weather today is particularly good. The thin layer of light fog in the air in the early morning, after the sun penetrates through the clouds and spreads rapidly, it turns into a dry grass on the ground that looks a little withered but can still bear the weight of dewdrops.
The air without a trace of wind is filled with the softness of sunshine, and the comfortable temperature makes people feel a little confused about what season it is.
The warm feeling of facing the sun reminds me of the day before yesterday when I went back to my hometown to dig sweet potatoes for my father. The same weather was also true for washing sweet potatoes.
Back to my hometown
Early the morning before yesterday, I started to arrange the meals I went home for lunch. On the way back, I bought my father's favorite Beijing-skinned roast duck.
It was quite good to arrive at home and it was only 10:00. I quickly put the dishes I should cook in a firewood pot and cook them.
My father came back a little late at noon. Maybe he was in a hurry to go to work and have dinner and he only chatted with us for a few simple words, then quickly put down his bowls and chopsticks to work.
I, who usually eats the slowest, quickly followed him. He suggested that I and him dig potatoes in the field. Although I agreed, I muttered uncertainly that I could not dig it!
Before digging potatoes, you must clean up the vines of the potatoes first. Don’t just cut them with a knife. The potato vines that grow in the ground, which are tangled in the front, back, left and right directions, are like weaving a natural ground net in the ground.
I want to separate them from me and I feel reluctant to leave. I also have to be steady and accurate. I also have to lean forward as much as possible when I am plowing the fields. It is definitely not enough to be reluctant to let go of your strength. I was tortured by them in a while/: [Smile] sweating profusely.
But I just want to do more during the whole process, so that my father can do less.
After my father suggested stop cutting vines, put down the sickle in his hand and rushed back to wash the potatoes. After a while, it was evening.
Just now leaving the village entrance, a few sunsets with rays of light have quietly hung in the sky.
It is the busy farming season for autumn harvest again, and I finally helped my father harvest some of the crops that I couldn't bear to leave in the good fields.
The car was galloping on the small road in the mountains, the breeze gently blowing in my ears, the air was mixed with the unique rural atmosphere of the countryside, and the dog in front of the door of the house opposite the river was barking happily...
