Text: Ye Baitao

Figure: Source Network

When I am old, my mood is often dominated by nostalgia. In the past few days, I have been looking through those past years over and over again, and the smoke from my hometown will always rise from time to time. The fragrance of my mother's big pot of rice also quietly floated into my heart and permeated my whole childhood.

I was born in a small town on the northern shore line. Although I have been away from my hometown for decades, I have been immersed in a homesickness complex from time to time. I remembered the small courtyard and my childhood friends. The old house in my memory is a row of ridge-connected "foreign-tiled" houses. At first, my family lived in a mansion at the corner, and later moved to two small rooms near the east. No matter how you move, you can see a big earthen stove at first sight when you open the door. This is the stage where my mother shows her cooking skills. Most of the earthen stoves are made of adobe, bricks and mud. They are square, some are stupid and bloated, but they carry the heavy responsibility of a family of men, women and children for three meals a day. As long as I can remember, I saw my mother working beside the pot. She tried her best to prepare sweet and delicious farm meals with her hardworking hands. Mother's corn porridge with kidney beans, eggplant stewed with small rice, red sorghum rice, delicious cornmeal pancake, a pot of potatoes, green onions mixed with pure northeast sauce pickled by her own, a fresh cabbage leaf, and a rice bag … Suddenly, a peaceful atmosphere permeated the old house. At that time, when I was full of hunger, I revolved around my mother or the stove every day. I often stare at the soup in the black iron pot. At that time, everything that could satisfy the hunger came to all, and all of them were stuffed into empty stomachs. You can eat two or three popsicles for three cents a year, and eating one or two watermelons is quite extravagant. One autumn, my mother sewed the window, leaving some paste. My mother put in some saccharin and gave me something sweet. At that time, my father worked in the county party Committee, and his monthly salary was only 48.5 yuan. My father only kept 18 yuan's board expenses, and gave the rest to my mother. Mother is always careful when she takes care of our four brothers and sisters. The first thing to do is to bring back the grain supply. The main grain supply is corn flour and corn dregs. Sorghum rice and millet can supply 1-2 kilograms per person per month, and soybean oil is two ounces per person per month. Therefore, every time the whole family goes out to collect grain, although the quantity is small, there are many varieties. You carry one bag and he carries half a bag, just like a miscellaneous army. It is far from enough to fill our stomachs just by supplying food, but my mother, like a magical magician, always tries her best to dig up ingredients and use the simple prop of the earthen stove to create rich food for us who are growing up. Dig wild vegetables in spring and pick up "crops" in autumn. In spring, the wife-in-law, the lettuce, the salsola, the amaranth, the wheel-in-wheels, and the wormwood buds are all "delicacies" on my dining table. In autumn, my mother's eyes widened. Picked up turnip roots and tender pepper leaves, pickled pickles, beet tassels and radish tassels can be served on the table at that time, and the rest are braided to dry vegetables. Mother often grinds the picked-up soybeans, small beans, hemp seeds, cabbage and other ingredients together and cooks them. Mother gave it a nice name, called "Little Tofu". The small potatoes that came back in autumn were put into pieces by mother with a chopping board, and steamed on the pot, which became a delicious "potato mill". At that time, pickles used to be the main course on the table of ordinary families. My mother always pickled all kinds of pickles, such as garlic eggplant, mustard pimples, and put them into her pots and pans. There is also a kind of pickles, which is the most common in our family's dining table. It can be called cauliflower, which is a hodgepodge of kohlrabi root, Chinese cabbage leaves, pepper leaves, carrots, green onions and other raw materials, and it is colorful in butterflies. The endless years and long stories are constantly enriched under the witness of my mother's cauldron. The music played by rice, oil and salt, pots and pans has accompanied our family through a hard life. A harmonious family that delights in suffering, laughter and laughter waft through the old house from time to time. Rough tea and light rice will last forever. As long as there is an earthen stove in the house, as long as the earthen stove rises to make room for hot air, life will be full of vitality and hope. My mother cooks the bittersweet and sweet things in life with relish, which always gives people great psychological comfort.

Today, the earthen stove still stays in the warm memory, and I feel the deep maternal love and faint homesickness in the dream of smoke curling up again and again. The original ecological flavor of coarse grains and wild vegetables is the most memorable taste in the home. Mother's cauldron rice is an eternal poem in my life!

About the author: Ye Baitao, male. Retired cadres of Agriculture and Rural Bureau of Beilin District, Suihua City, Heilongjiang Province. Member of Suihua Writers Association. There are many essays and political articles scattered in local newspapers and WeChat official account.