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? Yimeng mountain minor, have you heard it? That melodious song awakened the hard sun and moon and sang the whole country. The simple people in Mengshan wrote carols with simplicity and echoed in that era! A local accent and a touch of homesickness all shake the homesickness complex in the distance. When a girl marries in a foreign land, leaves her native land and sets foot on the black land, there is always a trace of homesickness floating in her heart, looking back at her only homesickness! The figure of hometown is always in homesickness, igniting faint thoughts. My dream hometown is calling me, and the voice of the wanderer is watching the direction of my home. Listening to Yimeng Mountain singing the songs of the motherland, the hardworking Yimeng Mountain people did not forget that hard suffering, but only gave birth to this land with simple feelings.

? Yimeng's pancake fragrance shoulders the responsibility of nurturing life and dedication. That Zhang Yuanyuan pancake, how many truths are rolled up! The vivid colors are nurtured by the simple Yimeng children, who move forward in the pace of the times.

I remember when I was a child, my mother lay in the pot house all day, rolling round spheres. Let it slowly turn into sweet pancakes for us to eat under the evaporation of heat. In those days, the machines without grinding were all mothers who got up early, pushed the sweet potato skin thick with a stone mill, and then soaked it in clear water for one night. Before dawn the next day, my mother would catch up with the afterglow of the stars and push it again with a stone mill. When the stone mill swallows the thick sweet potato skin, she will spit out layers of fine grinding and white grinding paste, and twisted pure feelings will flow out under the strong extrusion of the stone mill.

Is to use a rake in the tobacco, turn a big circle, mother heats the tobacco, and then put the spoon on the hot tobacco, turn it from the inside with a rake, and the fire will not stop. Use a spoonful of sweet potato skin paste and bake it into pancakes. When I came down in the morning, I baked a set of couplets, and the hot pancakes were fragrant under the evaporation of hot air. In those years, the sweetness of pancakes, accompanied by our empty stomachs, will eat pancakes branded by several mothers, which will exude fragrant charm for our growth. In those pancakes, there are mother's sweat, happy smiles and smiling faces watching us grow up, just like the pancakes baked by mother, which are as comforting.

The pancakes baked by my mother are different from those baked by my neighbor's aunt, because the melon seeds baked by my mother are cold and thin, and they will be crisp to eat. I like to eat sweet, crisp and hot pancakes that my mother just baked. In winter, the cold wind whistling outside, my mother's boiler room will be very warm. Watching her use the shuttle of years to pick up the spoonful of mushy sweet potato paste and take away the food that breeds life, it is a rotating annual ring, sketching the hope for the future and yearning for a better life in her mother's rake. It is the rolling life that is the cornerstone of our growth and paves the way for our growth.

Pancakes follow the pace of the times and slowly have the roar of machines. In the roar of the machine, the sweet potato skin was ground into powder. Mother sent away the rake era and baked pancakes with flour. Soak the flour in water and drain it, then put it into a flour bag, tie the mouth with a rope and squeeze it with stones for an afternoon, and the water inside will be drained. Mom finished the pancake that dragged her dreams with a rolling cake. With the birth of burritos, my mother lost the hard work of the stone mill and suffered more from her hands. Roll the dough back and forth around the seeds and rotate like the earth to complete the energetic pancakes. Driven by steam, a mature pancake was born in the hard-working hands of my mother. The pancake that makes life grow, like the mother's arms, is planning the future vision and dreaming of the prosperity of the world, but in its birth and encouragement, it can finish the scenery! Xiang Xiang was born in mother's arms, which can be eaten in our anxious expectation and become the richest food in our stomachs, supporting our growth.

There are many kinds of pancakes. After a long time, my mother will put corn flour on them, both sides. Mother will bake pancakes, fold them into square rows and put them neatly in the basin, waiting for us to taste its faint fragrance. The fragrance left on the tip of the tongue will awaken the sun and moon of that era.

When my sister grew up, my mother's job of baking pancakes fell on her shoulders. Big sister repeats her mother's work and bakes pancakes day after day to support our lives. The sun and the moon shine together, and the smell of pancakes spread to her traditional pancakes. She walked through the four seasons with young shoulders, and the branches of spring revealed a faint green. In spring, the smell of pancakes always hangs on the branches. The heat of summer burned all the pieces of Xia Hong and the boiling sweat on badminton. The golden color of autumn affects the color of a season, and the hot pancakes are full of golden autumn harvest. The urging of cuckoo birds makes tobacco mellow and has the hope of a bumper harvest. Snowflakes in winter make the heat warm, burn warmth on tobacco and taste sweet.

Time flies, the second sister has become the second heir to her mother. With her mother's footsteps, the second sister lingered around the woodpile, with her thin body, opened the heart of the pancake, opened the dream that the girl yearned for, burned the pancake and sang the girl's song, kept the spring season and burned the girl's dream. In the cry of pancakes, the simple monologue of girls' dreams boiling in pancakes in spring and autumn, with the sweetness of pancakes, infected girls' dreams in one season. The north wind roared and roared, and the boiling heat did not stay in the eyes of the second sister's youth. She spent a season in the sweetness of pancakes. It was the heat given by pancakes that year that made the sallow and emaciated face rosy and the mature smiling face bloom in spring.

Girls in my hometown have to learn to bake pancakes, but when I was old enough to learn to bake pancakes, my mother was reluctant to let me learn. When my sisters got married, my mother went back to baking pancakes. At that time, there were steamed buns, and fewer people ate pancakes. Everyone was infected by the whiteness of steamed bread and forgot the smell of pancakes. Slowly, pancakes were forgotten in those days. Mom said, "Sanni, you don't learn to bake pancakes either. I don't bake pancakes when I get married. What can you eat? " ! "I said: I can't bake pancakes, so we won't eat pancakes." Mom sighed, yes! I can't bake pancakes, but what can I do? I can't always ask my mother to bake pancakes, but I also want to learn. My mother won't give me a chance. Time flies, and I have become a woman who can't bake pancakes. Like my sisters, I didn't roll the round earth in my nest and roll out delicious pancakes, leaving a simple image for myself! But a girl who can't bake pancakes. The years passed at a brisk pace. Pancakes have a faint fragrance and are now sold in the streets and alleys. Pancakes in my hometown have become a landscape of Yimeng Mountain! Walk into the counter of the supermarket and melt into the cries in the street. From manual operation to machine operation, there is always no mellow and sweetness branded by my mother. That kind of rolling has degenerated on the stage of history, and the simple side of that generation has disappeared, just like the mellow taste of traditional pancakes.

Yimeng pancake is the richest reputation in my hometown, and it is rolling with a feeling in the long river of years. However, this skillful pancake technique did not bring me wealth, but left me with the most beautiful sweetness on the tip of my tongue, calling me at the crossroads of life forever, my hometown on the tip of my tongue! Taste the offering with lingering fragrance. ...

201515 book