Jujube

There is a jujube tree growing in the yard of Sanbo's house. The earth wall covers the body of the tree, but it cannot resist the temptation of the fruit. The fruit of Jujube resembles a crooked stick, like a bird's paw, with twisted joints. This made me suspicious that the guaizao was originally called "the paw". People who have never eaten it will probably frown when they see it, as if they are facing an old woman with wrinkles on her face. However, when you put it in your mouth and chew it carefully, you will feel that it is mellow, sweet, and tastes a bit like raisins. In the autumn night, we climbed over the earthen wall of Sanbo's house, climbed the tree, and filled our bags. The jujubes picked raw must be shot in the fire to make them soft and sticky with sugar, making them sweet when eaten. In early winter, ripe jujube trees naturally fall to the ground. However, it is also a pleasure for children to pick up fallen fruits scattered on the ground.

Most of the year, the jujube tree in Sanbo’s house is lonely. From the budding and flowering in spring to the ripening of fruits in late autumn, the whole process is filled with patient anticipation. If you want to eat the bunches of sweet fruits in your mouth, you need to wait long and patiently. After the first frost, those plump fruits gradually dried under the bullying of wind and frost. The astringent fruits concentrated their essence, and finally became strings of mellow and sweet delicacies. Buddhism teaches that all things are in the heart and pursues world cultivation. Taoism advocates freedom from worries and pursuits of escape from the world. The ripening process of jujube is all about the peace and serenity outside the world.

The fruits of the jujube tree are like the course of life, with lumps and lumps. Its crown is shaped like a chicken's paw, stretching towards the sky to gather the purple air and sunshine from the sky. Therefore it has a nice name: chicken feet tree. In the information I compiled, there is a long list of names of the jujubes: tangerine taro, honey Qulu, wood honey, wood coral, chicken spatula, chicken claw, longevity fruit, golden hook, pear date, wolfberry, chicken Pear, wolfberry, etc. Each name has a certain quality and gives people an aesthetic space. In my hometown, its names include red guaizao, green guaizao, white guaizao, fat baby guaizao and Chai guaizao. Among the tree species recorded in literature, it also enjoys generous treatment. There is a poem in "The Book of Songs Xiaoya" that says "There are wolfberry trees in the southern mountains". "Lu Shu" said: "It is called honey, and it is called tin, because of its taste. It is called coral, and it is called chicken's spat, and it is called chicken's claw, which resembles its shape." Regardless of its shape and taste, it is unique. In Nian'erzhuang, it also has many names: red guaizao, green guaizao, white guaizao, fat baby guaizao, and Chaiguaizao. These names scattered in the memories of the villagers gradually disappeared with the disappearance of the jujube tree.

The villagers also know that the fruit of Guaizao can relieve hangover, quench thirst and troubles, remove heat in the diaphragm, moisten the five internal organs, facilitate defecation, and can be used to make medicine to treat rheumatism and numbness.

Saponaria

Another tree is the Saponaria tree, located in the corner of the old theater building at the east end of the village. It is like an old man, waiting alone in a corner of the theater. It knows many things, understands many principles, and understands the benefits of tranquility. After going through many vicissitudes of life, it naturally doesn't care about the children stumbling on it. The children held hands and surrounded it, playing hide and seek, jumping keys, kicking tiles, playing house... and of course, playing soap opera. The honey locust tree has thorns. Adults and children stand under the tree, aim at the saponins on the tree, hit them with bamboo poles, and throw them with stones. Raising his hand, one or two strings of soap locust fell down. Its fruit is like a lentil, seven or eight inches long. It can be mashed and soaked in water to wash clothes. Remove the soap nuts before washing, mash them with stones or wooden sticks, put them into clothes, rub them on the washboard, and beat them with a wooden stick. At that time, most of the clothes were made of linen, which was hard and rough. It would hurt your hands after rubbing for a long time. It was best to beat it with a wooden stick. The water of Fenghe River is crystal clear. On summer and autumn nights, if there is moonlight, women will carry a basin of dirty clothes and go down to the river bank to wash it. A basin of clothes and a bunch or two of soap locust will wash the clothes. After washing the clothes, the woman bent over and floated her hair into the water, then washed it with soapy water that had been crushed and boiled in boiling water.

There are many old crows’ nests on the crown of the honey locust tree. We often climb the trees to dig out birds’ eggs. At this moment, Mr. Sen Hu, who lives next to the theater, will come out and shout: "Come down, come down and play!" Mr. Sen Hu has a long beard. After dinner, he put a dark towel on his shoulders and shook his head. A cattail fan sat under the tree, tilting his head and raising his ears, as if listening to the heartbeat of the tree. Sometimes, he squinted his eyes and imagined a dream the tree had had. Now, his appearance has been blurred, but the scene is still clear and faint. When I think of the honey locust tree, music rings in my ears, and there is an old man under the tree with a beard and a cattail fan.

The crown of the Chinese honey locust tree is like a giant umbrella, quietly opening over the old theater building. Its leaves are oval, ovate-lanceolate or oblong-ovate in shape. It blooms in May every year with pale yellowish white, oval or oblong petals. Let the blooming warmth make every day beautiful, and then drift and wither. In the dog days of summer, I was lying under the shade of the trees. The leaves and fruits of the honey locust tree collided in the wind, making a chirping sound, like the sound of a flute from nature, which touched my nerves. The beautiful melody and melancholy tone lead me into a pure and beautiful piece of music. As the wind changes, the sound of the music sometimes sounds like fish swimming in the water, sometimes like the breeze blowing on the face, sometimes like the twittering of birds, and sometimes like the scattered floating clouds... It's like listening to the famous classical song "Jackdaws Playing in the Water". When the mind is calm, the Buddha land is still. Unfortunately, it was difficult for me to realize such a state at that time.

The old theater building in Nian'erzhuang was demolished thirty years ago. Mr. Sen Hu also died that year.

Without his care, the saponaria tree withered and was burned by the villagers as firewood.

Ginkgo

A ginkgo tree is hidden in the Empress Temple in the village. Its branches and leaves cover the ground, blocking the sun and rain. We gather under it and play a game: hawk war. , kicking tiles, skipping rope, rolling hoops, hitting four corners, and playing apricot kernels. If it's night, do hide and seek. Five or six meters above the ground, its main trunk is divided into two branches, one pointing upward and the other diagonally tilting out to the east. On the branch facing east, there is an old crow's nest hanging. We took off our shoes, climbed up the tree, and dug out the crow's eggs. There is a big hole under its roots. When the weather was so hot that we couldn't breathe, we would hide inside and play cards. It seems that it is a kind of game called "being a queen", where there is no winning or losing. It's raining. We don't like to stay at home. The only place to go is under the ginkgo tree.

I can’t recall the complete growth process of Ginkgo. Under our hurried figures, it sprouted a green bud yesterday, a leaf today, and a green fruit tomorrow. I vaguely remember that spring has begun, and its buds are dyed green on the variegated branches. At first, there was almost nothing visible. I just felt that the branches of the ginkgo became much softer, stretched a lot, and became brighter in color. Looking again the next day, a layer of soft green appeared on the branches. Later, those thin buds popped out one by one, stretching and getting bigger day by day, until the sparse branches were wrapped layer by layer by dense leaves. stand up. Summer is here, and the ginkgo trees suddenly bloom and bear fruit. However, we never pay attention to the shape of its flowers, but we are only greedy for the orange-yellow clusters of fruits. In autumn, the fan-shaped leaves turn golden yellow as soon as you open your eyes. When we put on the cotton clothes sewn by our mother, the ginkgo tree turned into a golden hill, gathering thousands of flying "yellow butterflies". The late autumn sunshine shines on its body, and its light gray branches and yellow leaves hug each other tightly, like golden rockets reaching into the sky.

Under the tree, there is an inscription with vague words on it. It records that the tree is over a thousand years old. No one knows how many natural and man-made disasters it has experienced over the long years. Its body is covered with cuneiform writing that no one can read. Old people say that it has a longer history than the Empress Temple. Which came first, the temple or the tree? Issues like that are not what our children care about.

One night in the summer when I was in junior high school, a loud noise woke up the sleeping people in the village. After dawn, the villagers discovered that the ginkgo tree in the temple had been struck by lightning. The upper end of its main trunk was broken, a large piece of the tree crown was torn off, and broken branches were scattered all over the ground! This incident was recorded on the torn stump in the middle of the big tree. And no one knows how many times this has happened.

After I started working, when I was reading the county annals, I saw the ginkgo tree in the temple in my hometown in the chapter "Old and Valuable Trees". There are seven ginkgo trees recorded in the chronicles, all of which are over a thousand years old. But the others were destroyed in the great steel-making movement. The other six trees either grow on the roadside or are displayed in front of the ancestral hall to attract attention. The ginkgo tree in our village can continue its life because it is hidden in the Empress Temple in the center of the village. The villagers affectionately call it the ginkgo tree. On days like temple fairs and Chinese New Year, they would set up red cannons and worship reverently, not even breaking dead branches.

Elm tree

An elm tree grows in the backyard of my house. The lumpy bark resembles the vicissitudes of my grandfather’s face. Countless ants crawled up and down its body.

When I was a child, I often saw my grandfather squatting under an elm tree and measuring its waist with his palm. When my grandfather planted this tree, he had a hope: when it grows up, it can be used as wood for building houses.

Under the sunshine of spring, the young leaves of the elm tree cast a layer of green on its branches. The bird flapped its wings in an arc and flew there, singing happily. Grandfather's palms bloomed, and he put them on his forehead to look at them, as if he had never seen branches sprouting. Seeing him like this, I deliberately threw things in the house. Washbasins, small stools, textbooks, throw whatever you get. I just want to make noise and make my grandfather restless. "Wow, you have never been pitied." Grandfather muttered alone in the yard.

The sunshine is getting warmer, and the leaves of those elm trees are filled with bunches of snow-white flowers. Every year when the elm trees bloom, my grandfather would move a ladder, set it up on the tree, and pick fresh elm flowers. Grandma washed the flowers, wrapped them in cornmeal, spread them with a little butter and made them into pies. As soon as the hot corn pie comes out of the pot, the sweet taste fills the Tsuchiya. My grandfather forbade me from climbing trees to pick flowers. He said: If you are really not hungry, let those flowers hang on the tree.

In the backyard, summer has faded away. The sun, cool and messy, passed through the branches and leaves of the elm tree and fell stubbornly on my grandfather. On the ground, layers of elm leaves fell. Finely broken, withered and yellow, each leaf is dotted with insect-eaten round holes. Grandfather sat on a small stool and sat there for a long time. After a while, my grandfather picked up a handful of dead leaves and sniffed them vigorously. After a while, rub it with both hands until the complete leaves are crushed into fine pieces. The autumn wind blew my grandfather's beard, trembling and helpless.

Grandpa is old, and his footsteps are no longer so heavy and steady. Sometimes, he didn't even have the strength to walk under the elm tree, but stood at the back door and stared quietly.

Under the spiritual comfort of his grandfather, the elm tree seemed to have telepathy, groaning and swaying.

Due to the continuous rain, the wall of my old house collapsed. My father had the old house demolished and a new house built on the original site. The body of the elm tree is enough to be used as a purlin. But when the carpenter came to cut it with a saw, my grandfather waved the carpenter away.

"Let him die of old age."

My father worked in a photo studio in the town. He brought the camera back on his bicycle to take a picture of his grandfather. My father asked my grandfather to sit at the door of the house. Without saying a word, my grandfather walked to the yard and stood under the elm tree. I quickly moved the stool to the foot of the elm tree and let my grandfather sit down. Grandpa stroked my head, coughed, and sat down with a bright smile on his face.

In spring, the bright and transparent sunlight left an eternal image on me. Grandfather sat crookedly under the elm tree, as if taking a nap. On the tree, lines of ants rush to convey a message to the leaves of the elm tree. Suddenly, the leaves on the tree started to flutter together, as if they were seeing off my grandfather.

With an elm tree as the background, my grandfather’s mediocre life took on a unique scenery.

Walnut

There is a walnut tree in the yard of my great-aunt’s house. At the beginning of spring, green fruits always appear. As soon as my aunt went out, she raised her neck and looked. When I was a child, my stomach was always empty, so I loved going to my aunt’s house in the summer. Walnuts, hanging in the air beyond reach. My aunt brought a wooden ladder and went up the tree to pick it for me. She used a stone to break open the green flesh wrapped around the walnut, and then broke open the walnut skin to reveal the white and pure walnut kernels. My aunt fried the walnut kernels in an iron pot. They were lightly golden and exuded with the aroma of walnuts, and they were crispy and crispy.

My uncle said he planted that walnut tree. He smiled and said that he threw a walnut on the ground and the tree grew. The uncle said, stroking the tree's body with his calloused palms, as if it was his child. At the end of July, before the walnuts were ripe, I went up to the tree to pick the walnuts. My uncle was very sad. He muttered: "It's still tender. If you leave the tree, you will die young." During the summer vacation, the walnuts were ripe. I'm staying at my aunt's house. I love watching walnuts being cracked. The uncle waved the bamboo pole among the branches, and in an instant, the walnuts fell to the ground with a clatter.

Walnut fruit is not the kind of thing that is easy to eat. I placed it on the smooth washing stone by the river and used the stone to smash off the cyan shell. Don't hit it hard. The green juice of walnut skin splashes on clothes and is difficult to wash off.

I can’t forget the walnut tree at my great-aunt’s house, which is also related to a cricket. During the summer vacation of my fourth grade year, I caught a cricket in the ditch. It had long beards, shiny wings, and a crisp cry. My uncle doesn't like me playing with crickets. He said that playing with things makes one lose one's spirit. But I just like crickets. I put it in a can and hid it in the grass under the walnut tree. The vigorous branches are full of dense fruits. When my uncle was not at home, I would dig up the grass and feed and water it. When there is silence, it crows for me. I just lay on my back, looking at the fruits of a tree, enjoying the joy of listening. The cricket's cry, amidst the groaning of the fruit, is slow and short. For example, I later heard the third song "The Walnut Tree" in Robert Schumann's song collection "Myrtle". The melody of that song is mostly "short breath" short sentences, beautiful arpeggios, and the poetry of rustling leaves. As the crickets' cries gradually became deeper, I fell asleep.

Walnuts are also called walnuts. Together with almonds, cashew nuts and hazelnuts, they are collectively known as the "Four Major Dried Fruits" in the international market. It grows in deep, moist, loose and fertile soil, and has a colder character. Walnut kernels are a good nourishing food. It is said that one pound of walnuts is equivalent to the nutritional content of 5 pounds of eggs or 9 pounds of milk. Walnut kernel is a medicine that has good curative effect on kidney deficiency, low back pain, lung deficiency, chronic cough, asthma, constipation, post-illness weakness and neurasthenia. When I was in college, my aunt gave me a bag of walnuts. "Walnut kernels look like human brains and can supplement the brain." My aunt said.

After going to college, it is difficult to see walnut trees in the city. However, its fruits are displayed in fruit shops or fruit market stalls, making me see the shadow of walnut trees.

Toon

When I was eight years old, I spent some time at my grandma’s house. There is a toon tree in the yard of my grandma's house. It grows outside the window and against the window. It's the kind of wooden lattice window that is covered with newspapers in the winter. During the Chinese New Year, grandma replaces it with white paper and puts on window grilles. The weather was getting warmer, so I took advantage of my grandmother not paying attention and used my fingers to pick the paper on the broken window to see if the tree had sprouted.

The temptation of toona leaves permeates the entire spring. But always, when spring is deep, grandpa will let uncle go up the tree and break off its leaves. I know that its leaves that have just bloomed are the most tender and fragrant. In this way, my eyes hang on its leaves for a long time. Seeing my demented appearance, my grandfather always repeated one sentence: "You greedy cat." I knew what my grandfather was thinking. He not only wanted me to eat the fragrant leaves, but also wanted the whole family to eat a bowl of toon rice. At that time, it was rare to eat sesame oil. My grandma boiled the toona leaves in water, mixed them into the steamed millet, sprinkled some salt, and stirred for a while, and it was a rare lunch. It was a big iron pot, full of rice. Grandma gave one bowl to this family and one bowl to that family, so that everyone on the street could try it.

On that street, only my grandma had a toon tree.

The leaves of the toona tree are thick and dense, and the dense layer of small black spots under the tree is the testimony of moths defecating everywhere. Grandma had to clean and scold her every day. The silkworm excrement that grandma swept was not poured into the latrine, but buried under the roots of the flowers and plants in the yard. It is a rare fertilizer for summer flowers and plants. The leaves of the Ailanthus tree fall late. It is late autumn and it still refuses to finish falling. Swayed by the wind, the leaves fell heavily to the ground. If the wind is stronger, even the branches will be broken, and a series of "crack-click" sounds will be heard.

During the summer vacation, a cicada crawled on the toon tree and screamed tirelessly. Grandma allowed me to play in the yard, but the cicada climbed very high. I could see its body, but I couldn't catch it.

In winter, the sunshine is dim, cold, and long. If my grandpa and grandma go out, they will lock me in the house. At this time, my only happiness was to tear the newspaper on the window with my fingers and look at the bare toon tree and the occasional birds flying in the sky. They have wings and will land on the branches of the toon tree and cry as if no one is watching.

My grandmother’s life was less than a year old, and my father was sent to a new school, but my eyes were tempted by the high branches of the toon tree, and they were stretched infinitely... When I returned to my parents, I still saw the newspaper-covered window of my grandmother’s house, the hole in the window that I tore, and the branches of the Chinese toon tree.

Grandpa did not break his promise. Not only did I eat the toon leaves he sent me as I wished, but I was also picked up by him to eat a bowl of toon rice. When the toon tree saw me, it was like a friend who had been separated for many years. It happily shook its remaining leaves, like a welcome applause. I wanted to say a few words to it, but I couldn't think of words, so I stroked it for a long time. It seems to have grown thicker and taller, and there are some pimples on its body.

The small courtyard of my grandma’s house was filled with the kind of fragrance I yearned for. Until I entered the threshold of middle age, the fragrance of toon leaves still radiated and lingered in the body of my life.