Chapter 29: Harvesting the Wheat

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“There are few idle months for farm families; in May, everyone is busier than ever.”

The village lay beneath a faint morning mist, with the occasional cry of a bird drifting through the air.

In the stillness of dawn, those calls sounded especially clear. Listening closely, one could hear the cuckoo:

“Every household, reap the wheat and plant the beans!”

It was urging everyone to harvest the wheat as soon as possible.

The whole family arrived at the wheat field. Seeing the full, golden ears covering the ground, their joy at the harvest season was impossible to hide.

As usual, Yang Chunsheng plucked a single grain from an ear of wheat, squatted down, and put it into his mouth to chew.

“It’s about ready. Let’s cut it!”

With that, he rose, took a sickle from the handcart, and held it in his hand. He draped a towel around his neck. Seeing this, the rest of the family hurriedly took sickles from the cart and put on long-sleeved shirts.

There was an old saying: “The needle point against the wheat awn.”

That was enough to show how sharp wheat awns could be. Long sleeves offered effective protection. The awns broke easily and could readily pierce the flesh. Since everyone spent the day working, there was no time to remove the splinters until nightfall. By then, the hours they had remained embedded in the skin made them especially unbearable.

They were even more irritating than the corn leaves encountered while stripping ears during the autumn harvest. Corn leaves merely scraped the skin, whereas wheat awns pierced the flesh and tormented the body. Neither was pleasant, of course, but wearing long sleeves was certainly the safer choice.

Experienced old farmers did not need such precautions. Take Yang Chunsheng at that moment: he had removed his shirt, revealing skin the color of burnished bronze. The structure of his lean body showed plainly, and the slightest movement made the veins on his arms stand out.

He had taken off his outer garment not because he feared being pricked, but because he could endure it better than most. He also wanted to keep his clothes from being worn through by the work.

Yang Xiaohong was still too young to help much with the harvesting. She pushed the handcart beneath the shade of a tree, poured water from the thermos into a bowl, and left it to cool. When her parents and older siblings grew tired, she would bring it to them to drink. Afterward, she would also have to gather the ears of wheat that had fallen to the ground.

Once everyone had made their preparations, each took a place, and they began cutting the wheat.

Even reaping wheat had its own ritual. Yang Chunsheng clamped the sickle between his legs.

“Cough, cough—ptui, ptui.”

He spat several times into his palms, then rubbed them together. Only then did he take up the sickle in his right hand. Bending at the waist, he gathered a broad handful of wheat with his left hand and swiftly cut it with the sickle in his right. Repeating the motion again and again, he soon had a small pile of wheat at his feet.

Yang Chunsheng casually pulled out a stalk from the field and gathered the small pile together. He threaded the stalk beneath the wheat straw, tied the roots and ears into a knot, and before long a sheaf had taken shape.

Once the entire field had been harvested, they would only need to lift each sheaf to carry all the wheat home.

Yang Chunsheng had been harvesting wheat for more than thirty years. Long ago, he had mastered the work and developed a method of his own.

If one viewed the field from above, it would be clear that Yang Chunsheng was progressing the fastest. In no time, he had advanced several yards. Close behind him was Yang Xingwen. At twenty, Yang Xingwen was already a strong young laborer by village standards. Though he worked hard, he still could not match his father’s wealth of experience.

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After him came Wang Zhaodi, followed by Yang Xingwu, and finally twelve-year-old Yang Xiaolan.

Although Yang Xiaolan was young, she never shirked work. When it came to the farm chores at home, there was hardly anything she did not know how to do.

The wheat field was hot. Before long, everyone’s face was covered in sweat.

Sweat slid down Yang Chunsheng’s cheeks and fell into the soil, breaking apart into several drops.

Busy with his work, Yang Chunsheng paid no attention to it. His eyes held only the wheat before him. Only when the sweat became too heavy did he straighten, take the towel from around his neck, wipe his face, rest for a moment, and then bend down to resume cutting.

Yang Xiaohong watched as her family worked on. The water she had poured into the bowl had been cooling for quite some time.

She rose, picked up the bowl, and carefully made her way toward her father, afraid of spilling any of the water.

When she reached Yang Chunsheng, she called out:

“Dad, have a bowl of tea!”

Hearing his daughter, Yang Chunsheng drove his sickle into the soil, took the bowl she held out, and drained it in one gulp.

When he finished, he let out a watery belch. Then he took his towel and wiped the sweat from his face. It was so soaked through that its original color could no longer be seen.

After drinking, Yang Chunsheng rested for a while before returning to work.

Once she had brought water to her father, Yang Xiaohong went back to the handcart, poured more water from the thermos into the empty bowl, and carried another bowl to her mother. She ran back and forth five times, bringing water to everyone, before finally stopping.

More than half the field had been cut, and the sky was already bright.

Wang Zhaodi took her youngest daughter and pulled the handcart home to prepare breakfast.

During the busy farming season, even three meals a day became a rare luxury for the villagers.

The remaining four continued working in the field until Wang Zhaodi and her daughter returned with food.

Yang Xiaohong ran to the edge of the field and called to her father and older brothers and sister:

“Dad! Big Brother, Second Brother, Big Sister! Time to eat!”

She called several times before everyone heard her and finally stopped working.

They carried their sickles beneath the shade of the trees and sat down wherever they happened to be.

Wang Zhaodi lifted the thick flour soup from the handcart and set it on the ground.

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Yang Xiaohong helped hand out the bowls. Yang Xingwu went to the handcart and carried the steamed buns and vegetables over to the ground.

The basket holding the buns had been woven from sorghum stalks.

During the busy farming season, everyone exerted enormous effort. Only a full stomach could provide the strength needed to work.

Wang Zhaodi had steamed the buns the previous evening. With the farming season approaching, there would be no time to make them during the day. Yet in such weather, buns spoiled easily, so they were generally prepared the night before.

Breakfast was far more abundant than usual.

The staple was cornmeal steamed bread. The soup was a thick mixture made from wheat flour, and the side dish was fermented soybean relish.

The local soybean relish was made by steaming soybeans in a pot, fermenting them, and then leaving them under the sun for several days until they dried. Salt and chili peppers were added, after which the beans were placed in a ceramic jar to ferment for about another month before they were ready to eat.

Unlike the northern style of bean paste, there was no need to grind the beans into a purée, which saved a great deal of trouble.

Add a drop of sesame oil to a spoonful of the soybean relish, and the flavor was exquisite.

The entire family had been working hard all morning, and no one held back at mealtime. Each took a large bun and began eating it with the vegetables, pausing now and then for a mouthful of soup.

Yang Xingwu picked up his chopsticks and placed a soybean in his mouth. It was savory and fragrant, with a faint bite of spice and a pleasant texture.

No wonder the village elders had eaten this dish day after day for decades. Even now, many villagers still enjoyed it.

Yang Xingwu stuffed himself with soybean relish and buns, taking great, eager bites.

Whenever he choked, he drank a mouthful of soup. Before long, two large buns had disappeared into his stomach, and the sharpness of his hunger had eased considerably.

After finishing the two buns and a bowl of soup, Yang Xingwu slowed his pace.

Looking around, he saw that the rest of his family had done the same. Their earlier ravenous eating had been meant to fill their stomachs; now they drank slowly and leisurely, using the meal as a chance to rest.

They chatted as they drank their soup. Only after finishing a second bowl did they rise and return to the wheat field to reap.

Looking into the distance, one could see scattered clusters of people moving through the golden landscape.

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