my farmer brother
When working has become the fashion of farmers, doing business has become people's yearning. When people leave their homes and go out to dig for gold and silver, you still follow grandpa's teaching: land is the lifeblood of our farmers and cannot be abandoned. What is lost cannot lose land. Rub youth into the long years and punctuate the yellow land with salty sweat. The finely ground hoe handle records the hardships of facing the loess and facing the sky, and the bare share tells the vicissitudes of life. For the sake of daily necessities and children's tuition, you should leave early and return late, let the sun kiss your back strangely and let the mountain wind bite your skin wantonly. The bright head reflects your gloom, the slightest drought burns your bitterness, sweat drips, grains are your blood and salt, cold comes and summer goes, and you are bitter and tired every day. Crops are your favorite and fields are your hope. Whenever swallows whisper in spring, birds call yellow wheat, magpies peck corn at the foothills, and your eyebrows fall like lotus flowers. Only on the first day of New Year's Day, when the rich migrant workers returned home in suits and shoes, did the drought-stricken pot show a little loss.
The weather is dry and there is no rain, the land is cracked, your brow is wrinkled like a torn wound, and the field is filled with your smoke-like melancholy. Facing the large-scale crops that wither day by day, you are worried, burying deep sighs in pots and pots of dry bags, looking back at the western world, the sunset is like blood, and gestating tomorrow's expectations with nihilistic beliefs.
: farmers want to say
Today, a 7-year-old boy passed by my rice field and asked his mother, "Mom, why do farmers plant grass in the rice field?"
Listening to the little boy's words, I didn't hear my parents' feelings about the educated youth going to the countryside to distribute wheat and grass, but I felt inexplicably sad and sad.
When I was as big as a little boy, my mother taught me in the paddy field: "Transplanting is like writing, horizontally and vertically, transplanting with my left hand and transplanting with my right hand."
In my young mind, my head is under the scorching sun, my back is bent with the blue sky, my face is facing the land, my feet are stepping on the hot rice fields, the pain of sweat flowing into my eyes and the pain after work. I hate working hard in rice fields.
I didn't know my parents' hardships until I grew up. In this society where the amount of money equals the success of life, who would have thought that it was the farmers who supported the cautious urban residents in China, who were hardworking. Kindness, simplicity, simplicity and hard work, in the eyes of urban residents: farmers' work is humble; Farmers have humble status and low income. They are just backward, ignorant and ignorant second-class citizens.
The children of farmers have become migrant workers, living in simple sheds and factories in the corner of the city, doing dirty, tired and poor things, making the city more beautiful every day. But some bosses make a lot of money. City people say that migrant workers are uneducated and will not use magic to safeguard their legal rights, but we farmers also know our legal rights. 1000 yuan salary, we will not spend 1 and February. During this period, the expenses of food, clothing, housing and transportation, as well as the inaction of the local people, made our migrant workers brothers doomed to be losers in terms of time cost and economic cost.
In fact, we are just migratory birds in the city. In the city, we only farm in spring and summer, but we don't share the fruits of autumn. In winter in the city, we have to fly back to our hometown.
Sometimes people ask me what I do at school. When I return to being a farmer, they will say that farmers can surf the Internet and write essays. I am very angry. How can you look down on farmers?
At school, I never hide my identity as a farmer. I think farmers are noble, kind, simple, honest and hardworking. Some people think that the work of farmers is humble; Humble position, meager income. But they have the hard work of farm work; Self-improvement. What farmers lose is that they have no right to talk about the distribution of social wealth, education ... resources. We farmers lost at the starting line.
I am a farmer, so I don't have to wash the dust off my hands after working in the fields. I sit in front of the computer and write down what I want to say. Because farmers are not ignorant. The label of poverty and meanness.
Praise you, my hometown farmer friend.
Farmers have a very valuable spirit-like a gear in a machine, constantly running, hardworking and hardworking; Like a stone lying quietly between ridges, stubborn and heavy; Like a rainbow on the horizon, simple and beautiful. This is the farmer in my eyes! In this past holiday, I witnessed the valuable spirit of farmers' friends.
In fact, a long time ago, I wanted to use my own language to praise those migrant workers who have been working hard and silently contributing, but I always felt that my language was popular and my writing was poor, and I didn't start writing. Now I have the courage to write because their spirit touched me and made me admire them.
Winter in my hometown is very cold this year. Compared with last year's Spring Festival, everyone wore short sleeves for the Spring Festival. This year, the villagers in their hometown are all around the stove for the New Year. However, after the New Year's Day and the second day, the villagers began to get busy again. Some people don't even want to rest on New Year's Day and are eager to cut sugar cane. A few days before the Lantern Festival, it rained lightly in my hometown and spring thunder sounded. It rained for several days, and I was so cold at home that I could hardly leave the stove. You may think that everyone is resting at home in this situation, but farmers in their hometown put on raincoats, shoes, hats and sickles, braved the wind and rain, and braved the cold to go out and cut sugar cane. How difficult it is! I was moved by their behavior! For farmers who grow sugarcane, winter is the harvest season. In this cold season, the villagers leave early and return late, exhausted, but also happy, tired and happy. A few days before returning to school, following my parents, my brother and I also picked up sickles and strode into the sugarcane field. The weather was not very strong that day. It rained a little, so we put on our raincoats. Because of the rain, I'm cold all over, even sugar cane, and my hands are numb with cold. But on the battlefield, everyone
I talked and laughed, and the simple and humorous jokes of the villagers made me laugh. How rare! Their spirit shocked me! In my hometown, the agricultural labor of the villagers mainly includes: cutting sugar cane, planting sugar cane, picking sugar cane leaves, planting corn and so on. Maybe you will say that almost all the working objects are sugar cane. Yes, sugar cane is the main cash crop in our hometown, and sugar cane is our livelihood. Throughout the year, villagers' lives revolve around sugarcane: sowing in spring, feeding in summer and autumn, and harvesting in winter, among which spring and winter are the busiest times for villagers. When spring came, the villagers began to cultivate land; When summer came, the villagers began to weed the fields again; Autumn is coming, and the villagers have to dial sugarcane leaves again; When winter came, the villagers began to cut sugar cane.
From planting to harvesting, every procedure is not easy. There was a joke before: "Sugarcane is delicious, but slag is hard to swallow." Now I want to say: "Sugarcane is delicious, but it is difficult to grow." Whether it is hot or rainy, villagers should get off work on time.
Farmers, standing on the shoulders of history, look for brilliant sunshine from the land. Although they dress simply, they have a simple and kind heart. They came by the wind and went by the rain. They are busy with their lives all day, but they work hard.
The beauty of geese is in the sky, flowers in the green bushes, words in truth, and people in labor. Farmer friends in my hometown, I am proud of you. You're great.
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