The taste of the New Year in childhood

My hometown is all built with raised ridges and beams, black tiles and gray walls. It is a small building with a height of no more than two stories. The slightly more western style door will have red tiles stacked on the roof, giving it an eternal feeling. The changing rural pattern adds a touch of brightness.

There are a few poplar trees that cannot be said to be fat scattered around every house, in front of and behind the house. Because they believe that in addition to raising pigs, they also plant trees to get rich.

Every winter, the colorful colors in other seasons become monotonous, the trees and flowers in the villages wither, and even the wind blowing from the fields is bleak.

This slowly developing rural area in northern Jiangsu is like an old sweater given by an elder. The style is old and obviously outdated, but it makes people feel warm.

If we encounter such a winter day, the mist will always cover the tops of the poplar trees first, gently and shallowly, like a layer of white gauze covering the back of the entire village. When the sun rises, the sun shines brightly, and the mist quietly slips away towards the irrigation river.

Only during the Chinese New Year will some colorful elements be added to the simple winter days, from clothes and window grilles to smiles and food. What I remember most deeply is the hanging lanterns and colorful lights in every house to welcome the New Year. Posting Spring Festival couplets, it was full of joy and excitement.

My father was too strict with me. He never let me stay in bed no matter when I was in school or on vacation. Only on New Year's Eve would I be allowed to sleep until I woke up naturally.

When I woke up that day, I turned over and saw a ripe persimmon, plump and shiny. My grandma prepared this for me. I like this feeling.

Just like the person who loves you can't bear to wake you up from your sleep, and can only wait calmly by the bedside, giving you the first kiss in the morning with a blushing face.

When my grandma and parents are preparing for the New Year, I naturally can’t be idle. Today’s task is to post Spring Festival couplets.

The Spring Festival couplets at that time were not machine-printed like today. Instead, they bought several pieces of paper painted red on one side from the market and cut them into different lengths, widths and sizes according to the specifications and number of doors and windows. Because my uncle is literate and can write beautiful calligraphy, people in the village asked him to help write their hopes and wishes for the coming year on the red paper.

The ink on the newly written couplets is not completely dry yet, so it needs to be placed in a dry place for about half an hour. When the ink is completely absorbed into the red paper, the couplets will become thick and delicate. The Spring Festival couplets, which are strong, natural, humane and artistic, are completed.

To perfectly display the Spring Festival couplets on the door wall, they must be resistant to wind and tearing and must be firmly adhered, which requires special sticky paste. The process of making paste is not complicated, but it is not light either.

You have to use cooked rice, put some into the pot, add an appropriate amount of water, start a fire, wait for the water to boil, slowly sprinkle in the prepared flour, stir with a spoon, and observe the addition of flour The final thickness controls the amount of flour. When it becomes thick and sticky, turn off the heat, take it out of the pot and put it into a basin. Then put a homemade brush made of straw into the basin. When the paste cools down, you can stick the Spring Festival couplets.

The time for posting Spring Festival couplets in our family is usually after lunch at noon, when my father and I divide the work.

I first straightened out the Spring Festival couplets, turned the side with the words face down, and then used a brush to apply a thin layer of paste on the belly, brushing from one end of the Spring Festival couplets to that end. Because the paste was too sticky and my hands were small, I would smear it all over the table.

After finishing a Spring Festival couplet, I would hold both ends of the couplet, tilt my head to read the front and back of the words, determine the direction, and hand it to my father. My father had long since cleaned up the pieces of paper that had become mutilated and faded due to wind, rain, and sun. He stood on the bench and compared the entire Spring Festival couplets on the wall. He asked me if it was skewed. After adjusting the angle, he first placed it on the wall. Fix one section, then slowly fit it to the other section, and finally press the Spring Festival couplets on the wall with a big hand.

After pasting the windows and then the door, throughout the entire process of pasting the Spring Festival couplets, my father was like a general directing me to run forward and backward. I would also give my father some small suggestions, just like a little staff officer.

In between postings, my father would touch my eyebrows with his hands dyed red by Spring Festival couplets. A red mark would be engraved in the center of my forehead. He said that I came out of the portrait. Fuwa.

After all the Spring Festival couplets are pasted, my mother will bring out the boiled hot water, and my father will gently put my hands in the water to wash them. Jing, his big hand wrapped my little hand, giving me a rough warmth.

When my mother saw the "red makeup" on my face and forehead, she laughed and scolded my father, pretending to be angry and scolding me.

Looking up at the neighboring houses in front and back, in the bleak winter, there are so many dazzling Chinese red horizontal or vertical colors on the black tiles and gray walls standing tall in the cold wind. This may be the charm of life. and continuation. That touch of red colored the turbulent years.

Compared with my joy, what my father saw was more hope and hope for the coming year.

After I become proficient in "business", in the next few years, my father will also let me become a general. From the beginning, I stood on the bench fearfully, slowly and laboriously stood on tiptoe, and then to I can climb up and down freely, as if I have grown from a swaddling baby into a man who stands tall and tall.

My father’s affirmative eyes and huge hands gave me courage and encouragement.

Now we also post Spring Festival couplets.

But it is no longer the softness and freehand brushwork of paper dipped in ink, but the thick paper with neatly gilded characters hung all over the streets by vendors in the market.

I bought one from the market, pulled off a bundle of tape, and put it on in half an hour.

It’s boring to think about it, and the formality is too heavy.

I called my father and asked if the brush and ink that had been sealed for a long time were intact. I planned to become a general and staff officer with my father again.

The older I grow, the more I realize that whether we live in family, society, or country, we all need the continuation of some sense of ritual. Culture will not disappear with the passage of time and environmental changes, but more will be melted into the bones and blood of children.

The older they grow, the more they will understand the warmth of passing down the fire from generation to generation.

The benefit of posting Spring Festival couplets at home was not that my thin body got a workout, but the greater significance was that it allowed me to completely get rid of the shackles of the title of "child" and firmly Remember that growing up is just grafting your father's abilities onto yourself and continuing to do so.

It also gave me the more adventurous side of my personality. I like this part of myself and have deliberately retained it to this day.

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