There are two rows of locust trees by the roadside of the town. To be exact, those two rows of locust trees were planted on the sidewalk on my way to and from work.

July is the flowering period of Sophora japonica. Walking under the tree, the yellow-green fallen flowers fall from the top of the head and fall into the arms of mother earth, without any nostalgia for the tall branches. In the morning, the fallen flowers will rebound and fall again because they fall too fast. In the afternoon, every fallen flower will become extraordinarily quiet because of the exposure of the sun or the company of the same kind. Even if you step on it in high heels, you can eliminate the collision between the heels and the road. Summer flowers bloom brilliantly and end up quietly, no less than autumn leaves.

This silence, which can accommodate noise, reminds me of the story told by my grandmother who died for many years. I once struggled to lift the bamboo pole and unscrew the bud of Sophora japonica, and my grandmother told her stories related to Sophora japonica.

In my hometown, Sophora japonica existed earlier than Sophora japonica. Before it officially became a street tree, it appeared in front of and behind houses in rural areas. Picking flower buds, and drying to obtain medicinal Sophora japonica. In the era of underdeveloped business and few sources of income, a few cents a catty of Sophora japonica is a big source of income.

Grandma's preparation for picking the seeds of Sophora japonica was completed bit by bit with the appearance of the flower head of Sophora japonica. She took out the carefully collected slender bamboo poles early, wiped them clean with a wet cloth, carefully checked whether the wire hooks at the top were loose, rusty and broken, and then put them back in their original places, although it would take some time to really use them.

Later, when passing under the locust tree, she often stopped and looked up to see how much the locust tree had grown and when it could be picked. The Sophora japonica, which she cares about, has also been concerned by others who are equally eager to increase their income.

In the eager eyes of her and others, the size of flower buds on the tree changed from rice grains to mung beans and wheat grains, and the color gradually changed to yellow with green. When half-opened yellow-green flowers appear on the branches, it enters the picking period of Sophora japonica.

Early in the morning, I followed my grandmother out of the door in confusion. When I got to the tree that I was optimistic about in the early stage and laid the cloth list, my grandmother began to hook Sophora japonica. She upturned her face, raised her arm, held the bamboo pole with both hands and hooked the tall flower branches with iron wires. When the bamboo pole was turned with both hands, a bunch of hooked buds fell off. I picked it up while waiting, scraped off the remaining leaves and threw them on the list.

Grandma's feet are small, her head is straight, and the posture of holding hands is not suitable for her. Many times, she can't hook a few sticks, and her body will shake when she turns the bamboo pole again, but she never stops to rest. One morning, my grandmother and I picked up a bunch of Sophora japonica in the repeated actions of bending down, picking it up, bending down and bending down to pick it up.

In order to get rid of the pedicel of Sophora japonica, my grandmother licked Sophora japonica on a small bench, and her fingertips and palms were stained yellow, so it was difficult to wash them clean. Throughout the summer, the yellow dyed by Sophora japonica will remain on her hand.

After removing branches and drying Sophora japonica, grandma is happiest when she gets paid. With that meager reward, she bought me popsicles, melons, watermelons and sugar, and I enjoyed it very much. While she was watching me happy, she didn't forget to tell me again and again that only more work can bring more food.

Sophora japonica, bought by native products company, is said to be medicinal. I don't know how to use it, but from my grandmother's yellowed palm, I know that Sophora japonica can be dyed. My mother said that when I was a child, my grandmother used the water boiled by Sophora japonica to dye the torn white coarse cloth into a light yellow lining and let her carry it back to Shanxi to eat. I think it must be a desperate year. I have never seen my grandmother dye cloth with Sophora japonica.

When my grandmother and I hooked Sophora japonica flowers, we often saw "eating goods" hanging in the air.

It is a green carnivore, living in trees and eating leaves. When suddenly frightened, it will spin silk and hang itself on a branch to protect itself. When it is suspended in the air, it is like a single arch bridge. When it crawls on the ground, its tail moves forward, arching in the middle, turning itself into "Ω", then sticking its head out with its front legs, straightening its body into a "one", and so on until it climbs into a nearby soil crack or weed.

At that time, I was particularly afraid of bugs. Every time I see food hanging down or crawling on the ground, I will shout, "Grandma, there are bugs!" " Grandma heard me cry, threw down the bamboo pole and rushed over, trampled the bug to death with one foot, and read a sentence "Amitabha". Grandma, who usually doesn't eat meat or kill animals, also fights for her baby granddaughter.

Many years later, I learned agriculture by mistake, and I learned from textbooks that when I was a child, "eating food" was called "inchworm" because my body was like an arch bridge when I crawled, and I was also called "bridge builder". But this is only limited to what I have learned in books. To this day, I'm still afraid of bugs, and I haven't figured out whether it hangs upside down or upside down in the air.

The connection between grandma and Sophora japonica is not only Sophora japonica, but also the fruit of Sophora japonica.

The locust tree has fallen leaves, and clusters of mature and dry pods hang on the tree, which is very conspicuous. What you can eat is the membrane inside the pod and outside the seed. Grandma lifted the bamboo pole and unscrewed it, peeled off the dried pods and soaked the seeds in water with white film. The seeds swell after absorbing water, so that the film can be wiped off. Change the water several times and continue to soak until it is almost completely transparent. Wash it and cook it with some salt and pepper. Salted gluten is slightly bitter and cornmeal paste is much more delicious than the old pickles fished out of the jar.

It says "Fighting with Lotus", and I think of a story told by my grandmother, which is specious, just like a dream imprinted in my memory. The main idea of the story is "when the prince swept across the north, he killed all the people in Hebei who didn't support him." Later, I immigrated to this area from Shanxi, and people didn't want to come, so the government cheated everyone. At a certain time, they don't need to move. People believe that they really gathered under the big locust tree to get married and have children, but they were forcibly sent here by the government. "

As if to prove what she said is true, my grandmother once untied the foot wrap and pointed to her cracked little toenail and said, "Look, each little toenail has two petals, both of which were moved from Shanxi." I looked at my little toenail, which also has two petals. After marriage, I found that my lover is different from mine. He told me half-truths that his ancestors were not from Shanxi, so his toenails were not two petals.

When I was a child, I always thought my grandmother just told a story. I didn't know until I grew up that although "the prince swept across the north, killing people like hemp, leaving nine villages and thousands of miles empty" was just a folk rumor, there was an exact record in the historical materials about Shanxi immigrants to the Central Plains in the early Ming Dynasty, and it was also recorded in Feixiang County annals. Feixiang people were mostly descendants of Hongdong immigrants in Shanxi. As for whether the toenails are two halves or intact, it is only a genetic difference, which has nothing to do with immigration.

On the way to work, I walked alone under the locust tree, and the tall and dense branches and leaves blocked the burning sunshine for me. Walking among the flowers in its dense shade, I suddenly felt that some memories blurred by time were as clear as yesterday, so I couldn't help but pick up a pen and write down this flowering tree.

Perhaps, it is the local feelings that pervade my soul that remind me of what I think and inspire me. My roots are under the locust tree in Hongdong, Shanxi.