mother's tea tree
When I was a child, I lived in my hometown. In front of the two adobe houses were two jujube trees. For the sake of distinction, we called them big jujube trees and small jujube trees. There are also two trees behind the house, orange trees because they are the same height, there is no difference in size. My mother is very attentive to these four fruit trees and manages them very well, never letting anyone get close to them and break their branches. When the jujubes are green and yellow, the mother of the jujube tree that has grown into a small bowl will not let us climb and pick. The mother will use a bamboo pole to lightly tap the ripe red dates, then pick them up from the ground and put them in carefully. In the basket, it is stored, and it is a fine food in times of famine. I cherish the jujube trees even more. When picking, I use two wooden ladders to bundle them into an "eight-character" shape and climb up to pick the red ones. For the two citrus trees, every spring, the mother digs two holes around the canopy, applies enough farmyard manure, waters, weeds, and insects regularly, and cultivates them like crops, especially during the annual Laba Festival. At that time, the mother used a knife to cut several openings in the citrus tree, and devoutly fed the Laba porridge with a small spoon, reciting words in her mouth, praying for fruitful fruit in the coming year. Strange to say, other fruit trees are divided into big and small, and the two citrus trees managed by my mother are full of fruit every year. The big, sweet, slightly sour fruit attracts many greedy people to come and ask for it, and the mother does not show up, so they can enjoy it. Put the rest in a jar and seal it up, take out some of it and put it in a small carrying basket when the time comes, covered with a handkerchief, tentatively let me take it to a nearby roadside pocket to buy it, it's just 2 cents a piece of golden eggs Subsidized the family's life.