Summer Hoe

01

It’s mid-summer and the temperature is soaring, with days of scorching sunshine and unbearable heat. Even after years of living in North America, the heat was always the same as when I was a youth in Inner Mongolia during the summer hoeing season, and the heat was always stubbornly twisted together.

It was the summer of more than 40 years ago.

The summer hoeing season had arrived. Under the scorching sun, the hot loess slopes stretched out, and the air was suffocatingly hot. Inhale a breath, the hot air flow into the chest, burning pain, the internal organs seem to be burning. When I breathed out, it was also hot, like a fire dragon spewing fire.

Working on the hillside, I leaned on the hoe and pestle and stood at the edge of the long ditch at the head of the field, with a headache so bad that I dared not open my eyes. But with my eyes tightly closed, I saw a sky full of searing flames. I tried to block the direct sunlight with my arms, but the burning sun released millions of red-hot steel needles, burning my cheeks, nose and forehead, my bare arms, my shoulders and neck were licked by the burning, and my whole body was in hot pain.

When I rested, I lay drowsily on the dirt, my head against a rock, my straw hat covering my face, and I did not want to move. The hillside, the wilderness, the river trough, the buckwheat field, and me, were all exposed to the hot, red sun, with no place to hide. The earth and sky formed a huge furnace burning, the “extra corner of the earth” all baked, melted into ashes. (My friends listened to my story about the village of Factory Khan in Inner Mongolia, jokingly referred to as the extra corner of the earth.)

–These are the summer hoes that remain in my memory. In July 1977, I was working in the Factory Khan production team of Khujigou Commune in Guyang County, Inner Mongolia.

02

People have heard that the winter in Inner Mongolia is cold to the bone, but few people know that the summer on the loess slopes of Inner Mongolia is as hot as a furnace. The village is located at an altitude of at least 1,500 meters above sea level, so the winter is strangely cold and the summer is strangely hot, except for the morning and evening when the temperature drops sharply, giving people a chance to catch their breath. Summer is the busy season, often working in the slopes during the day, the hot sun directly overhead, as if reaching out to touch the sun, the hot sun will burn the skin.

Drought is severe in the mountains, often for many days without rain. The yellow land is dry and cracked, the rocks in the depression, the sand in the river canal, the village with yellow mud masonry houses, walls, are emitting the hot smell of being roasted, everywhere is hot and baked. The skin of many local villagers is as rough as iron and has a deep bronze color.

Factory Khan village is distributed in three closely linked hillsides, surrounded by mountains and rugged slopes, a wide river trough road from the Khuji ditch stretches for dozens of miles, bypassing from the front of the factory Khan village, straight to the three forks, and then bifurcated to the Shi Kuan coal mine and Guyang County. There are some small flat fields under the slope in front of and behind the village. But most of the cultivated area is reclaimed from the surrounding hillsides. The hills are mostly sandy and rocky, especially on the high slopes.

Even with year-round cultivation, these slopes only have a thin layer of soil, mainly cultivated buckwheat, millets, potatoes. Located in the alpine, the spring is late to warm up, and traditional farming has always been a wide variety of crops. There is little field management after the spring sowing, so loosening the soil for the crops is the main labor in the summer, and most of the Time work has to go up the slope.

03

That day, when Captain Shi came to look for the youths to assign work, it happened that only Wei Keyan and I were in the youth room. Captain Shi said that he wanted us to hoe the large buckwheat field across the southeast slope. The southeast slope is across the village, and further east to the next village called Erhe Gong. I agreed, Wei also said okay, usually the production team called what to do what to do. Usually, Xiao Wei seems mischievous, love to make fun, sometimes reluctant to work. After our contract, we hoed together for several days, cooperated very well, did not cut any corners, who did not give up in the middle, and finished hoing that piece of land solidly. I’m still proud to think about it.

In the heat of summer, hoeing on the hillside was a real pain in the ass. The sun was scorching and the ground was hot and stuffy. Due to the drought and lack of water, the grass barely grew in the ground. When hoeing, you just have to turn up the soil and break up the clods. I stood sideways in the gap between the two rows of buckwheat, each trip to hoe two ridge, put the hoe down and pull a little on each side. The land was so dry that when the pestle and mortar were pulled back hard, the soil under the hoe immediately cracked into pieces. When I first started hoeing, I was not far behind Wei, but gradually I fell behind. When I could barely reach the ground, Wei was already heading back.

Physical work was my biggest weakness, and I was like a drowning man doing work in the field, struggling desperately, but still lagging behind. Whenever this time, I was so ashamed that I even had the mentality of self-harm. If someone asks me to fall headfirst down a hill to show that I am not lazy, firmly “roll a mud refining a red heart,” I will not hesitate to jump. I grew up with a weak physique, really no strength. Poor youth work is poor performance, poor performance of youth do not expect to have the opportunity to recruit enrollment back to the city. This undoubtedly gave me great pressure and distress.

The southeast slope is quiet, not a single sound. I never heard any insects or birds – in the summer in the village of Factory Khan, I never even saw a mosquito or a small insect. There were no trees on the hillside, no shade. The air was dull, and only two hoes were moving back and forth in the field. I took one step higher and one step shallower, slowly moving forward, trying not to step on the buckwheat seedlings. I had to be careful not to break the buckwheat seedlings when I hoeed. As bent over facing the land, the hoe raised the soil, from time to time choked me dry and itchy in the throat, holding my breath.

At first Wei and I also talked, the heat soon made me tired and panting, no one wanted to talk. In order to finish early, we take advantage of the morning cool, a long time to do a breath before taking a break. After half an afternoon, when the sun was shining, there was some shade on the slope. Later I found out that Wei had finished hoeing my two ridge when he returned from hoeing in front of the ground, so I could start again with him from the beginning. I instantly felt more relaxed, free from the embarrassment of struggling in public, and I was grateful to Xiao Wei.

The southeast slope is like half a steamed bun lying on the side of the river canal road, the buckwheat field from the top of the slope all the way down to the slope. While hoeing, one side is climbing, or one side in the downhill, particularly strenuous. I puffed and panted all the way, a wave of heat and dust rose around me, drenched in sweat, a handful of water on my face, my back shirt soaked, and immediately dried in the sun. I wore canvas sneakers on my bare feet, sinking into the soft soil, shoes filled with soil, sweat and yellow soil stick together.

Sometimes I was tired of stopping to catch my breath, looking at the endless buckwheat, my heart was worried, when will we finish hoeing? And look at the other side of the ground, Wei is leaning on the pestle and mortar, is also frowning, a sad expression. Usually the youth often show such a sad face, as if they are enduring some pain, which does not match our age.

The hot sunlight gave me a dizzying headache, like the buckwheat seedlings drooping in the ground. I couldn’t wait to take a break and go to the nearby villagers’ house to find water to drink. Across the slope there are old villagers’ earthen houses and kilns, the local village has a habit, the door is not locked, into the door, against the wall is the water tank, scoop up a large scoop of water to drink, drink and close the door to leave.

In the evening when the work is finished, covered in sweat and dirt, thirsty and burning. There is a well at the bottom of the ditch and the intersection of the path to the back of the village, under the hill where the youth live. Usually the youth and the old folks living on this slope draw water here. There was a big wheel on the well, and a rubber bucket was attached to the chain. I shook the wheel at the well and lifted a bucket of water, and the cold, clean water was really Life-saving water. I put aside my usual reserve, regardless of what decency, squatting down, mouth directly to the side of the leather bucket, gurgling hard to drink water. Drink a while, take a break, catch your breath, and then drink a while, and then a long breath of relief. When you’ve had enough, you can use your hands to lift the water to your face to cool it off, roll up your sleeves and trouser legs, and splash water on your arms, calves and feet to cool off and relieve the heat and fatigue of the day.

Back in the youth room, I washed my hair with water at night to rinse off the sweat and dirt. The well water seems to be a heavenly gift, refreshing the heart and nourishing the skin. When you sleep, put the wet towel on your forehead and feel cooler. Sleeping at night is drowsy. When the windows are white and the hour of dawn arrives, I seem to come back to life. It is the old heavens that do not kill a man’s way of life. Nature always has a mysterious way of keeping everything in balance and keeping the human life force going. It is quite a bit of a mythical legend to think back on how I survived all the treacherous living conditions during those years.

The next morning, I felt the skin on my arms and the back of my neck was raw and my face was burning. The room I shared with Li only had a small mirror, so I took a closer look and found a large, large area of skin was red from the sun. The forehead, cheeks and bridge of the nose are also red. I feel aggrieved, with a straw hat is not very useful. I had no choice but to grit my teeth and carry on. After many days, the skin peeled off piece by piece, like fish scales, and some parts showed pink flesh, which was hot and painful. Face, forehead patches, like makeup color is not washed clean. The hair was sunburned like hay, hemp Zha Zha, stiff. The appearance of the gray head and face, the whole person’s appearance has changed. At night I lay on the bed with a sore back and legs, rolling back and forth in my sleep, and lying down without relief.

I do not remember how to hold up, I and Wei did not stop working, the southeast slope of the full more than ten acres of buckwheat all hoeing, can be called hard and outstanding.

This summer hoeing, burned into memory by the hot sun.

04

I always thought that I was the only one who remembered that summer hoe. 2017 I returned to China and the youth in Baotou, the first time after forty years reunion. We drove all the way back to the village of Factory Khan. I sat in the same car with Wei on the way, chattering about the many things that happened when I was a youth.

Old Wei asked me, “Xiao Lu, remember when we were hoeing on the southeast slope of the mountain in the summer?” I said, “Of course I remember!”

Our car passed by the river trough road, looking from the village entrance, the slope like half a steamed bun, in the spring of April, a faint green, quietly lying in the rolling hills of the column. That summer, the southeast slope of a hot, relentless blaze of two young frail figures. We went back and forth, up and down the slope, walking day after day, for days before we finished hoeing that large area.

“Xiao Lu, after the work is done, you are cooking, I do not have to cook.” Lao Wei said with a smile. I looked at Lao Wei, clearly still the youth Xiao Wei, often leaping, sitting in a big way on the windowsill of my room, crossing two large shoes, smiling and showing me that the shoes just changed is clean, not dirty my window frame.

Alas, even what I saw before my eyes could not replace the image of 40 years ago. I’m glad, that’s very much like my usual style. Although I can’t remember, it sounds like it makes sense. When hoeing, Wei was fast and helped me pick up the ridge at the front. After work, I will certainly take the initiative to cook, will turn out the goodies in the cardboard box to share.

In the hard life, most of the youths in the team were friendly and helpful, bringing solace to my melancholy mood. Whenever I accepted a little kindness from my fellow youths, or I could give a little help, even if it was a small amount, it made me feel that there was still something left in this world, that there was hope in despair, and supported my confidence to keep going.

We stopped the car at the entrance of the village and walked uphill into the village. Old Wei suddenly stopped and looked at a tree on the side of the road and said, “This is the tree, I was too tired to walk at the end of the day, so I rested under this tree for a while.” I took a look, the tree stood alone, bare, the tree is a little crooked. The memory of that small tree, like us then, not very strong. The tree is still growing tenaciously after 40 years.

Old Wei said again, “Xiaolv you tell me, Xiaowei, give you some more work points, I have less points, you do more than I do.” I can not remember at all, but this is very much like my usual style. Lao Wei then said, “I said no, Xiao Lu, let’s share equally.” He smiled, as childish as ever. I remember Xiao Wei never lacked the generosity of the Northeasterners.

All these, I no longer remember, but the old Wei still remember it. I don’t know what happened, this conversation, let my nose a burst of sour.

At that time, the men and women of the Factory Khan squad worked together, and at the end of the day, the work was evaluated at the ground. The workman held a book, read each name, and the villagers in the ground, you say one thing and I say another to score. I often got 6 points out of 10 points a day for strong laborers. Later, when the youths worked alone, I don’t remember how many points were given. At the end of the year, the worst year’s dividend was only 11 cents, and the best year was just over 20 cents. Old Wei said he never got a share of money in the countryside for several years, I barely earned enough for rations, and the most I ever got was about ten dollars a year. That is because I served as the brigade women’s director, to the commune meeting often take 10 points strong labor work points. Although it was a rule, I felt guilty about it.

05

In the summer of 1975, I was the only young person in the village, and a dozen other young people came from Baotou in batches from the fall of 1975 to the summer of 1976. At that time, I lived alone on the slope of the former village. During the summer farming season, I worked in the heat for days. I went out early in the morning and did not finish my work until the moon rose in the sky. One day, I was hoeing along with the old folks on the high, bare slopes to the west. The sun was blazing, making me dizzy and my back hot. In the afternoon, I suddenly felt a chill on my body, chills, dizziness and headache. In the evening, I returned to the residence, drank a ladle of water, did not want to eat, fell down to sleep. I vaguely felt that my body was hot and the headache was like to split. There was no sense of consciousness, and the day and night were indistinguishable. When I was so thirsty that my throat was on fire, I got up in a daze and managed to get a spoonful of water from the water jar. Then I went back to sleep. I only remember that sometimes the window was white and sometimes it was black.

I don’t know how long it took, but someone shouted Xiao Lu in my ear, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. It turned out to be the village Hu Family four flower girl, her Home is not far from my place. Four flowers said that I had not seen me out of work for 3 days, so I came to visit after dinner. I looked at her suspiciously, confused as to what was going on, too weak to speak. There was only a little water left in the water tank in the house, and the kang stove hadn’t been burning for a few days. After a while, Sihua came back with a quart of water and a bowl of millet porridge. That night, Hao Tiezhu, a barefoot doctor, also came. For several days in a row, I couldn’t stand up holding the edge of the bed. Fortunately, I had brought two bottles of glucose solution with me when I went to the countryside the year before, and they were still stored in the wooden box. I rested for many more days before I gradually recovered.

I don’t remember if I took any other Medicine at that time, but no disease was diagnosed. I guessed afterwards that it was a fire, or a “bad cold”. Years later, when I had a similar situation in New York, the doctor diagnosed it as “sunstroke,” or heat stroke, which is similar to severe heat stroke and can lead to human collapse and life-threatening illnesses if not treated promptly for relief. My body has an allergic reaction to strong sunlight and high temperatures. I grew up with a fear of being in strong sunlight in the summer and had a fever without a name, but never knew why.

Now I understand that working under the hot sun for days on end, sweating and physical exertion led to dehydration. Maybe I was young enough to resist. The well water was authentic mountain spring water, containing natural minerals, which had a great effect on the heat, and it saved me. I was sure I was lucky! The symptoms that appear in the summer hoe are not heatstroke, right? I got over it and everything was fine! I had no doubt that God had not abandoned me. Soon after, many things happened in the fall. Then in October came the national college entrance examination reform that made history. If I had really suffered a heat stroke or an accident in the summer hoe in July, my story as a youth would have ended here.

06

One day after returning to New York in 2017, I was sitting in the courtyard when my phone rang and a WeChat message came in from Lao Wei. He said, “I remember that Captain Shi asked us both to charter the hillside land in the southeast, not far from Erhegong. When hoeing the ground, we could also run into the youth of the Erhegong (the next production team). When we took a break, we looked at the mountains in the distance and talked about the sky, our ideals and the future…” As I read these lines, my eyes blurred.

The youths also had ideals and aspirations, longing for the future, aspiring to be better. But our status as youths and our plight brought us to near despair, not by our own choice. The future we aspire to is not up to us. This is the key point of my sorrow for the lost years of youth.

Talking about ideals and looking forward to the future is a unique communication among the youth, like a breeze that brings real joy and comfort to our miserable lives. In times of depression, the youth often tell each other their aspirations, depicting the beauty that will not be realized. Just as when people are hungry and cold, they dream about the world’s Food and clothes. We were too young and naive to realize that we were in the vortex of the political flood. We were still convinced that “intellectual youths go to the vast countryside to exercise,” and that our superiors promised that “after two years of exercise, they would be qualified to go back to the city to work or study.” The hope for the ideal and the future in the heart of every intellectual youth was like an inextinguishable lamp.

During those years, I was engaged in a primitive state of labor in the treacherous living conditions of the Inner Mongolia mountains. I asked myself countless times whether I was changing the countryside or the countryside was changing me, because of the long hours of inefficient physical labor, which was more than my body could bear. Day after day, year after year, my life’s best years were consumed by the unnecessary struggle for survival, which was an uncompromising and forever painful life experience.

Looking back, it is still a vivid picture. Each picture is a record of an extraordinary story. It would be too superficial and narrow to see these accounts as mere narratives of suffering and complaint. In my old age, I, like many others, am still committed to preserving in writing my own experiences of the youth days. Do not desecrate our efforts, for this true history, which cannot be ignored, will be an eternal topic for future generations to trace.