In my memory, the winter fire is especially kind and warm.
The other day my friends were talking together, some said they liked spring, some said they liked autumn, and of course some liked summer, but I was the only one who said I liked winter. My friend said, “Huh? That’s terrible! How can you like winter?
Why? I can’t seem to say exactly. I always seem to look forward to winter in the pale cycle of sun and moon.
I love the snow, the ice, the purity and the scenery of winter. What fascinates me in particular is the fireplace in winter.
I think this may be related to some memories from my childhood. I grew up in my grandmother’s house in the countryside during my childhood. The winter in the countryside is really a beautiful and charming season.
I remember the winter, as if it was extra cold, and there were many snow days. The high well platform at the edge of the village was always covered with shiny ice, looking like a small iceberg, and we, a group of children, loved to skate around the well platform to play. The village courtyard, the roof, often covered with a thick layer of white snow. Occasionally, a group of foraging sparrows, chattering in the courtyard of the small tree branches, fluffy snowflakes drifted down into a small whirlwind of white hair, refreshing and attractive, full of childish fun. This real and dynamic winter landscape, has been engraved in my childhood memories.
I always feel that such a snowy and icy winter is charming and more like winter.
Outside the house, the north wind whistles and snowflakes fly. Inside, the fire was red and warm like spring. The adults are sitting on the hot bed, flying needle and thread, chatting casually about trivial family matters. The children, on the other hand, like to gather around the stove because there are often some delicious things grilled on it.
The most interesting thing for me was to eat the fried bush flower on the stove. Watching the golden grains of rice rolling up and down in the small iron pot, we were eager to try and salivate. Suddenly, there was an explosion and a small, crispy white flower rose into the air, followed by a crackling barrage of sweet little white flowers popping out of the hot sand and popping up all over the sky. We, the children, were so ecstatic that we scrambled to pick up the budding flowers all over the ground and eat them.
During the Cultural Revolution, my grandfather went to the countryside to a place called Yimatou. During a fierce winter, my parents asked me to visit my grandparents for the Spring Festival instead of them. At that time, a PLA medical team was also stationed in the village, and the captain was learning kung fu from grandpa. A few young nurses who loved to get involved in the fun dragged me into the training course they were running for village doctors, and after the class, they went home with me as a matter of course, and then mingled with grandpa’s family.
The reason why they love to run to grandpa’s house is because of the good food and hygiene habits of the family. Grandfather as a local very famous old Chinese medicine senior dean, save the lives of the sick to treat disease is his job, but in the countryside is particularly welcome and respect, life also received special preferential treatment and care. On the day of the Chinese New Year, the community sent a large aluminum pot filled with sesame oil, which I had never seen so much oil. I had never seen so much oil before. The neighbors sent me so many rice cakes and bacon that I used a small jar. Sheng.
The little girls, who loved to bake frozen rice cakes on the stove, put the sliced rice cakes on the iron cover of the stove and baked them until white bubbles puffed up on the top, then turned them over, so that the rice cakes were hot, sticky, crispy and fragrant.
Our favorite dish is stewed sauerkraut in a casserole. Stir-fried sauerkraut with bacon, topped with vermicelli and frozen tofu, is a unique and delicious dish. Guarding the stove, I watched the casserole gurgling and steaming, the strong aroma coming out from between the cracks of the lid, swirling and wafting, the heat and aroma so warm that it was intoxicating.
And so without realizing it, I fell in love with the winter fire. With a fire, there is life at home, with a fire, life is burning with hope. The fireplace melted, we walked through a lonely winter day, the fireplace melted, we walked through the coldest three ninth cold in the world.
In winter, I always like to sit by the fire with a thick book and enjoy the warmth of the fire. I remember the stove at home, often put a steaming kettle, intentionally or unintentionally quietly listening to the whistle of the water, from the whispering to the euphoria, until the splash rolled hot boiling waves. The white water vapor in the house ting curling, lingering diffuse, the window glass covered with ice, steaming water mist, dense and misty. That is a rare life enjoyment.
I also like to open the lid of the stove when the fire is at its peak, to see the burning flames in the furnace hall. The fire with a golden-red quality and blue charm, dancing enthusiastically, non-stop rising, fountain-like pure, silky smooth, light and shadow intertwined, graceful, magical and romantic, seduced how many dreamy thoughts ……
The fire is red, the heart is warm, the family sits around the table, talking and laughing, eating and drinking, full of warmth and affection, this is a kind of rustic quiet happiness feeling, especially fresh and beautiful, especially poetic.
The snowflake winter night, the fire is red, the pot of water is boiling feeling, I do not seem to have fully enjoyed enough, the mid-seventies, after I started my own family has not too learn to make a stove, the city began to centralized heating, the stove was replaced by heating. But that beautiful fire, from time to time, from the depths of my memory ignited, with ardent hope and a beautiful vision, in my mind flip flashes.
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