1. How to write the essay "I harvested potatoes". In my hometown, after September, the potatoes are basically mature. The mature potatoes have green and yellow leaves full of black spots, which look like the ones on the face of an old man.
Age spots have an air of twilight and a sense of determination that they have weathered all the hardships.
Yellow, yellow must be thorough; black, black must be calm.
Some leaves are rolled, and the rolled leaves are really the wrinkled foreheads of the old people in the village who are struggling to survive. Hidden in the wrinkles are the unspeakable years, and the gradual aging and struggling to survive.
That kind of indifference.
Digging potatoes is a technical job.
If you don't know how to dig, you will peel the potatoes underground.
I know how to dig, follow the root of the stem, expand the area a little, gently insert the shovel, hold it up steadily, pick up the stem, shake off the soil at the root, clatter, the soil falls, and the potatoes on the roots
Take off the mud on your body, revealing your yellow skin.
One, two, three, four, and sometimes five or six potatoes of different sizes will be dug out from one root. Some are as big as a fist, some are even bigger, some are as small as steamed buns, and some are as small.
tomato.
Potatoes are very united. No matter how big or small, they cling tightly to one root, just like several children nurtured by a mother throughout her life. They grow up in order by pulling on the mother's soft vagina. The relay of love is underground.
At the beginning, the older ones learned the humility of nourishment, while the younger ones cherished the gifts given by the elders, sucked the moisture of the countryside, chewed the nutrients of the soil, kept a common promise, did not show up in public, did not chase the superficial elegance, just
Underground, grow yourself into a kind of strength, a kind of faith cultivated in the soil.
Over the years, my local experience has always told me that any fruit that grows underground has an unparalleled purity and determination. It refuses all tampering by human desires, and refuses enlarging agents and ripening agents; it breeds a kind of
Indestructible loyalty and loyalty, loyalty to the land, this kind of loyalty, just like your brother in life and death, is worthy of lifelong trust and trust.
Whenever I dug potatoes, my task as a young man was to peel off the soil from the potatoes dug by my parents, pile them together, and dry them in the sun.
The sky in September is very empty, but the land in September is very full.
Time is doing arithmetic on the land. We use the action of "digging" to fill in the blanks and do addition.
By adding seeds to the land, we gain food and clothing, and of course we also gain additional poetry and art.
By filling every day with sweat and hard work, we gain confidence, because good days are always to come.
After peeling off the wet mud from the potatoes, the mixed smell of grass and mud fills the nostrils. The appetite brought by the potatoes churns in the stomach, and saliva begins to beat on the taste buds.
The withered stems are twisted and twisted, like a snake gradually shedding its skin.
Grasshoppers danced idly on the rice seedlings, playing some vague tunes intermittently, and there were also drought-tolerant frogs panicking into the distant grass to find hiding holes.
The mouse escaped from the hole on the edge of the field, trying to avoid the blade of the shovel.
A natural tribe living peacefully in a potato field.
The slightest sound of a person's arrival is undoubtedly like a thunder to the ants and grasshoppers on the ground.
Of course, there are also some earthworms and maggots that eat potatoes in the soil. After enjoying the unearned food, they make their homes in potatoes. They attempt to continue their dream of once and for all, but it ends miserably with the arrival of the harvest season.
Perhaps the sensitive grasshoppers informed them of the message. As soon as the shovel loosened the soil, many earthworms and maggots swayed quickly and jumped out of the ground.
We have two ways to deal with these pests, either pick them up and put them in plastic bags and take them home to feed the chickens, or kill them without mercy and separate their heads and bodies.
The scene is cruel and can also be said to be thrilling.
The fathers dug from one end of the ground to the other, and behind them were piles of potato stalks and piles of potatoes.
The cool autumn sunshine makes the potatoes on the ground shine brightly. Looking from a distance, they look like eggs hatched by chickens.
In winter, we don’t have to worry about having no food to eat.
The autumn sun always gives people a trance-like feeling. It is held up by light clouds, as if it is suffering from a moderate illness and is about to recover. It makes people wonder whether the sun has the strength to move forward.
We were digging potatoes and debating whether to eat fried shredded potatoes or boiled potatoes tonight.
Before dark, we put the potatoes into snakeskin bags and hauled them home.
Leave them in the yard for a few days, wait until the water has evaporated almost before the frost, and then store the potatoes in the cellar to wait for the winter.
2. An 80-word essay on cutting potatoes into shreds. Before dinner, my mother asked me to peel potatoes.
Of course I didn’t dare to refuse my mother’s orders, so I obediently followed my mother’s orders.
I washed the potatoes and started peeling them.
After a while, the potatoes were finished peeling.
I wanted to cut potatoes, so I immediately went to my mother and said, "Mom, I want to cut potatoes."
My mother said, "Mom, I don't know how to cut potatoes, can you?" "No, I have to cut potatoes."
"Then you should do it for once."
I jumped up with joy.
My mother repeatedly told me to be careful not to cut my fingers.
It will be painful to cut.
I kept what my mother said in mind, but I still felt guilty.
To protect my fingers from injury, I put on gloves to cut the potatoes.
When my mother saw it, she was surprised and said, "You actually wear gloves to cut potatoes. I really admire you from the bottom of my heart."
After my mother finished speaking, I smiled at her in response.
The journey of cutting potatoes begins.