A Qingxi flows from one side of the village. The old people in the village say that this feng shui is called "Left Qinglong, Right White Tiger" and it is also a treasure trove of feng shui. But all this, dad seems to be not interested, he is more concerned about weaving baskets for his mother, because our family has several acres of lemon land.
He picks lemons twenty times a year, but he knows that he is going to travel far away. I remember it was a month before his death. I went home to see him. He is thin, his thighs are only the size of fists, and his eyes are deep, dull and dark gray. I can't believe he was a strong father! His voice is very low, more like a voice from the ground: "I told you to learn to weave a laundry list, but you didn't." No, you still have to do it yourself. " Living in the city, it's not easy to have a big family, and your mother doesn't have the retirement salary of city people. These acres of lemon land can sell for ten or twenty thousand a year. If you really live in the city, take your mother over! While I am still alive, I can weave some baskets to solve the timely needs. "Father said, my nose is sour, and I can no longer control my feelings. I hid in the bathroom and let my tears sweep away.
A month later, my father left, leaving only those "young people" he felt around, moaning in the wind! There is also a laundry list lying on the firewood floor, filled with the joys and sorrows of the years! When my father was alive, those bamboos were his treasures. I still remember the heavy snow that winter.
The winter wind rolled up dust, clouds began to roll, and the sky slowly turned dark yellow. Eucalyptus and birch forests shivered in the cold wind, and the leaves danced with the wind. Euchari seemed to show contemptuous eyes: "Leaves! Do you know that the wind is sentimental? Didn't you hear the footsteps of snow from Siberia? " I don't know who shouted "It's snowing". My father looked up and could see Hongyu floating in the air. His hand tried to catch it, but it melted. It was getting dark and a black curtain was pulled down. At night, the north wind roared and overturned the tiles on the roof.
I still fell asleep quickly, and I don't know when the wind stopped. The explosion in the middle of the night woke me, and my father was no exception. Mom and dad next door are talking: "What a heavy snow! There will be a good harvest next year. I only heard my father sigh: I don't know how many bamboos were crushed to death by heavy snow! " The next morning, I was still in the lazy bed, and my father got up early. I can hear him shaking the snow and planing bamboo. I still want to see the snow, it's still early. I walked down the hall. Qian Shan silver makeup, snow on the branches. Some branches are covered with transparent silver flutes, which make a pleasant sound in a gust of wind. At this time, my father has turned bamboo into a sneer and started knitting laundry baskets and other household items. In this way, my father stayed up until twelve o'clock at night and finally woven the usable bamboo parts into bamboo utensils.
The next day, sometimes, Dad went to the market to sell his laundry baskets and other bamboo products. When he came back at noon, he said happily, "Look what I bought!" " "My little sister and I opened our pockets and found it was pork." We can remember it again. "Dad smiled. Dad is like this, an optimistic person. Occasionally, he also told us that bamboo is a metaphor for human style, honest and not afraid of evil. The image of a gentleman who dares to climb snow.
I remember when I was a child, I often watched my father weave a laundry list, as if he was weaving the silk thread of time, love and all the five flavors of life.
Generally speaking, bamboo is more suitable for weaving laundry list, and bamboo is the key to weaving laundry list. My father will choose the straight "Geyang" as the spare material. Annual bamboo has good toughness and durable weaving equipment. Breaking bamboo, shaving head, lifting layers, and crossing the cloud knife, the scorn in my father's hand has no sharp edges and corners, and it gives in and is quite round. Father's laundry list, even small rapeseed will not leak. In Sichuan, the laundry list can hold all crops, such as corn, wheat, sweet potatoes and soybeans.
When I was a child, my little sister and I loved to stick to our parents, and we had to follow them when we were working uphill. My father will let us sit at one end, take us up the hill, and then swing. When we see the edge of the path, we are inevitably nervous. Father always comforted us and said, "Nothing, who am I?" I'm your father. "I look at the white clouds, the clouds are smiling, the branches and leaves are slipping on my face, and the fragrance is pleasant. In this way, the wheat in May, the rice in July and the sweet potato in September are all between my father's shoulders, day after day, year after year, bearing the livelihood of the family. The years in the mountains have lengthened and shortened my father's back. ...
I remember one year when someone was repairing a building, he heard that others needed to pick bricks, so he went because there was no village road at that time, and his father just wanted to earn some money to subsidize his family. When picking the last one, the soft mud on the ridge collapsed, and the person who walked in front of his father fell to the ground, and his father was behind. Unexpectedly, my father sprained his ankle, but he still insisted on picking up the brick. When his mother saw his lame father, he took the money and said to his mother, "I made thirty dollars today." Tears welled up in my mother's eyes.
In the village, my father can knit many things, such as baskets, drying cages, silkworms ... If he can't knit, he will ask my father to help knit one or two, and my father will naturally agree. When others came to learn from him, he took pains to explain with his hands. But there's a difference on a day like this.
As soon as my father left, it became a much-told story among the villagers, and he talked about it after dinner. As for me, every time I go home, I prefer to touch his favorite "young".