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The disappearing orchard

memory

By dawjacksonPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
2

That orchard, it's been seven years since I left it.

For me, that small orchard of nearly two acres has a special meaning. We came to this earth almost at the same time. But when I crossed the second year of my life, the fruit trees, which had been grafted several times, could not escape the fate of old age after all. There was no guarantee that they would bear fruit, and it seemed like a certain fate that they would be cut down.

I can still remember the past, apple blossoms in the spring, everyone in the orchard to thin the flowers, the young me under the tree burrowing around, often not long, face, hands sticky soil, and even by the new branches hanging broken skin. Some budding yellow dogs were lying on the ground and growled from time to time. People were joking with each other while working. At that time, the flowers were in full bloom, the bees were flying and the butterflies were dancing, and everything in the orchard was like the last idyll. Although I later understood that this is full of the hardships of life ......

The process of tending to fruit trees is much more tedious than growing wheat or corn for money. Around mid-autumn, apples started to be available. From then on, everyone is busy picking them, fearing that the results of a year of hard work will be taken by hand. This happened to my family when my father was at home recovering from an injury, and my mother was the one who was busy in the house and outside. When she sent the apples to the purchase point and returned to the orchard, a fruitful tree had been picked by someone. My mother, who was always strong, could not help but sit on the ground and cry, angry and helpless.

Of course, this was just an unpleasant episode. Most of the harvest time, the whole family was mobilized. I, too, had the mindset of having fun, just wanting to climb up high and watch the plowed land and the ever-transforming village not far away. Later, I became a strong laborer, picking apples one by one and carrying them out by the bag. After a busy day, I was often so tired that I fell asleep ......

In the winter, the farmers would also be lazy and buy plastic bags and fill them with 20 or 10 pounds of apples and load them on the truck to sell. In the winter morning, the village woke up early to the roar of the engine. As a child, I was often responsible for "escorting" the car, which actually meant helping my father watch the stall. I walked around the streets, shouting and selling, just like the pear seller in the Water Margin. Bargaining, arguing, no one asked or looted, there is always something to make this trip unforgettable. Often the face is frozen red, often looking forward to the noon time to sell the end of the work, often the return journey on the opportunity to eat some good "open meat", often home when the mother asked a ......

Of course, there are also cases where half a cart of apples is pulled back and it's already dark, so I have to go back. At that time, I always feel very frustrated, walking at night will also make me very scared, my father will give me whistling, singing, so that the dim headlights illuminate the road home suddenly become gentle.

I also encountered a low price forced to buy, we did not dare to provoke the local snake had to give in to get out. On the way back, I cried. My father reprimanded me gently, what are you crying for, what is it? Many years later, I began to mix with society, I finally understood, yes, what is this? Life was originally so hard and difficult. Just like a poet said, people only live to the point of helplessness, only to live a little human taste.

Later, the village people went out to work, my family's trees have been considered late cut, in the surrounding a large corn field, my family's orchard like a stubborn flag. However, in the end, this flag fell.

Due to the many things, I have been back home less these years. My daughter, who is about to turn two, has returned home only a handful of times, and has never met with the orchard. This always reminds me of my own lines from years ago -

Every gust of wind makes me sad / It reminds me of your wandering / Spring has come / Where will you build your nest / Where will you look at your hometown / The elm trees at the entrance of the village are getting old / The sunset has dyed the old courtyard barren / The handwriting on the tombstones of your ancestors is blurred / Have you forgotten to migrate? /The migratory birds who have left their hometowns/the villages in their memories are like ancient boats that have run aground on the sands of time/will there be a day when our children will glance through the car windows in silence/and then quickly forget/this strange site?

A prophecy. Goodbye, orchard!

Classical
2

About the Creator

dawjackson

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