Today is May Day, and I'm going to learn to transplant rice seedlings.

When I came to the stadium, I couldn't wait to take off my shoes, roll up my trouser legs and step into the water. I only felt that the wet soil in the field was soft and cold, and my feet suddenly sank in, and my body was wobbly. Grandma quickly hugged me.

I walked carefully to the middle of the ridge and gently planted a seedling. But as soon as I let go, I found it floating. Grandma told me: "The seedlings should not be inserted too deep or too shallow in the ground, but should have a good sense of proportion, like this." After carefully watching grandma's demonstration, I seriously inserted it. This time, the seedlings can stand firm.

After a while, I heard grandma's laughter, and I looked up. Ah, the seedlings I planted are crooked, like earthworms loosening the soil in a rice field. Grandma inserted it neatly, and I blushed. It turns out that transplanting rice seedlings is not an easy task. I decided to do it again. At this time, the burning sun shone on me, sweat ran down my face and forehead, and my waist was a little sour. "When weeding at noon, sweat dripped down the soil." Now I know how hard it is for the farmer's uncle to farm. I must cherish food in the future.

I don't know how long it took, but I finally inserted a line, which is quite neat. Grandma praised me for my ability and my heart was full of sweetness. I continued to "fight" with my grandmother until noon, and I reluctantly left the rice field.

Today, I learned to transplant rice seedlings, and I also realized the joy of labor. This Labor Day is really meaningful.