A composition about loving labor.

-mother bent over, changing her shoulders from time to time, carrying a pole in her hand,

It's like holding my life, my home and the whole world. ...

The joy of labor

-Thinking about Winter Holidays (2)

Throughout the winter vacation, I seem to have formed an indissoluble bond with the rain. Only one day is sunny for more than a month.

That afternoon, the sun was fine. Although there was a little cool wind, people could hardly feel the sun. Mother said: take advantage of the fine weather today, go to the cowshed to collect dung. I said yes. Mom found two bags, good shit. I said, mom, you go first. I walk very fast and will catch up with you soon. So my mother came out with a shoulder pole pressed into an arc. I clearly see that although the dung in my bag seems to be more than my mother's, it is all dry straw, and most of my mother's dung is the kind of weighed cow dung. So I put some wet on the fluffy dry dung and strode out. I saw my mother changing her shoulders from time to time, hunching her back, holding an arc-shaped shoulder pole, and walking small and steadily step by step. At this time, I couldn't help thinking of one thing in senior three, from which I really realized the joy of labor: my mother was sick and went home on holiday in senior three. When I arrived in the village, I heard that my mother was ill, and my heart sank at once, so I hurried home. My mother was still lying in bed, saying that she was a little sick, but when she saw me, she suddenly felt much better. She also said that the cypress (a kind of soil) raised by cotton at home I don't know what Mandarin is called. I haven't finished playing. I know my mother's temper. I was silent for a while, drank a cup of warm tea with my mother, and then went to the fields with her tools. It was a fine day, and the sunshine in the afternoon made people feel warm and comfortable. We were all in the field that afternoon. I told my mother about me when I was playing cotton and raising cypress trees (my mother was in charge of picking up and sorting). Talk about school, classmates, and all my happy topics to make her as happy as possible. The afternoon passed quietly like fine water. Maybe the sunshine in the afternoon is warm, maybe labor makes her sweat, maybe my coming home makes her happy, maybe my words make her feel relieved ... In short, our work in the afternoon makes my mother very ill. When I got home, I had another meal carefully prepared by my mother. From then on, I know that my mother likes to work with me, listen to my gossip and like my little things. Therefore, I must go home every winter and summer vacation. I know: my unskilled farm work is my mother's favorite …

Mom's figure is getting bigger and bigger. You can see her crystal sweat and white hair, and you can hear her strong heartbeat and heavy breathing. I quickly caught up with him, and my mother gasped and asked me if I was tired. I said no, mom pulled over and let me go first.

When I carried it to the field, my mother was not far away, still changing her shoulders from time to time, bending down and holding the pole with both hands, as if holding my life, my home and the whole world. I rushed over and said, mom, I'll do it. Mom said no, I insisted on holding the pole and strode forward. Mom said, baby, slow down. When I got to the ground, my mother took out a towel, wiped my sweat, put it away again, and wiped the sweat on my face with her hands.

I was lying on a ridge full of hay, and my mother was unloading the farm manure I had just collected. I broke a withered grass with my hand, but I was delighted to find a piece of green in the withered grass. ...