How to make customary food in Xiangshan 800 words essay

In a few days it will be the Mid-Autumn Festival. Tonight, the moonlight is like silver, I sit alone on the balcony under the petunia arbor, a cup of tea, a book of thin words. The light is like water, in my shirt quietly flowing ...... can not help but think of home. Hometown of the Mid-Autumn Festival is lively, comfortable. Every family has to measure a colander of new glutinous rice to make "mochi". After the glutinous rice is steamed and poured into a bamboo basket, the family in charge will stop their farm work, wash their muddy feet by the river pond, and come over with a glutinous rice basket. Pounding glutinous rice balls is usually done on the sunbathing ground. During the day, incandescent lamps were pulled up under the eaves of the house, and cucumber racks and clothes poles were pulled up wherever they could be. The stone mortar, which was sleeping in the corner, was brought out, and the wooden wedges pounded the fragrant glutinous rice balls, which were smooth and tender. That pounding wedge are strong men, there are also body pole lean, rosy-cheeked like shrimp old man. Squatting on the side, running their hands into the stone mortar are women. The woman's arm rolled sleeve, not white, summer busy sunshine season, black oily. Oily hands in the white glutinous rice ball tumbling, like loach lubrication. Men's backs are bare, sweat like water like drip, smooth and bright, clear and bright piece. They sidestepped a horse stance, hands wheeled up the wedge, front leg knee stretching and bending, the foot plate "humming and puffing," stepping on the rhythm, it is simply a dance. The beautiful sound of "huffing and puffing" attracted many spectators. The spectators were sitting, squatting, or leaning against the surrounding low wall stacks in groups of three or five. The women were talking about their families, comparing the freshness of their clothes; the men were talking about their crops, comparing the goodness of their rice harvest; the children did not miss this good opportunity, chasing and playing with their guts. When one family has finished pounding, the next family is already waiting for them. People praise the man's good bones, praise the woman's glutinous rice cooking, praise this family's cucumber pitchfork climbed high, praise that family's field of late grain seedlings under the early under the green ...... I was boarding in a middle school not far away. The middle school is located on a flat hilltop on the banks of the Fenglin River, and was originally a nunnery, which people used to call "Nannanan". Every Mid-Autumn Festival, I would always look forward to the end of the evening study period and run all the way along the mountain road in the bright moonlight. Or take a shortcut along the water's edge, listening to the thrilling roar of the waterfalls and the ding-dong of the brooks, crossing the fields and coming under the joyful lights to take a bite of the freshest and most fragrant "mochi". Even more fun was fishing. It was a children's game. We were all fourteen or fifteen years old at that time. The moonlight was like white sand. The fog had not yet come up. Frogs were croaking in the rice fields and ponds. We put on our fishing nets and bamboo baskets and set off. Below the field was the sandy area along the Fenglin River, where bamboo rafts lay one after another. We chose a wide and big one and pushed it down the stream together. My cousins held the poles, while my cousin was in charge of casting the nets. I was a novice, so I sat back and watched. The moon broke and shattered in the water, like a pool of jade shavings immersed in the clear waves. On both sides are black and lush fields, quiet villages, stagnant stretches of towering mountains. A fresh breeze slid gently across our cheeks. We crossed the stream to spread our nets. Then, taking refuge in a spot with a slow current, we lay on the raft and listened to my sister sing. When I was a little girl, my sister was a passionate actor, and she recruited a few playmates about the same age, and set up a stage in front of her house, and a lot of people came to see her perform! I still remember the song she sang, "Good Mountains, Good Water, Good Scenery". The sweet and clear voice broke through the silence of the water and the moonlight, and blew on our hearts like a fresh breeze. Then, it was my brother who started the ghost trick. The moon reflected the waves, and the fog was so faint that it seemed like an inhuman realm. My brother's "ghosts and monsters" appeared. There was a beach where many people had drowned, and the ghosts appeared one after another! They catch children! --This beach is here! My cousin cried out in fear, and we screamed at him to get out of there. My brother suddenly got carried away, "hahahahahaha" laughed, holding his stomach back and forth. Late at night, we put away the net back. Nets pulled up, heavy. Large and small fish, like a treasure like one after another was packed into the fish basket, always no less than half a basket. So, the next two days, there will be a few bowls of fresh color on the dinner table. Auntie with chili peppers, garlic braised, do not put soy sauce, put is the bowl of freshly sun-dried June sauce, especially fragrant and sweet. We four teenagers, see this "fruits of labor", are like a cat, without two meals, to solve, brother is eating fish without bones. After finishing college, teaching students, every time I read "Red Cliff Fu", "the moon above the East Mountain, wandering between the bullfighting. The white dew across the river, the light of the water catching the sky. The water is so bright that the sky is covered with light. Hao Hao like the virtual wind, and do not know where to stop; floating like the world of independence, feathered and ascended to immortality", will miss those years. It has been fifteen years since I left my hometown, and I don't have that kind of landscape and moonlight entertainment anymore. Looking at the city in front of the students grew up, although trying to do their best to depict that ethereal and subtle, things I look at the wonderful world, always feel in vain. So I'm glad I had such a wonderful teenager. I have a teacher's collection of words at hand, one of which records the scene of fishing on a moonlit night in 82 years under the "Nannanan": Fishing Songs * Guanyin Fishing Bright moon filling the beach water glittering, hurrying to the fishing fire two people Zhang. The heron breaks into the stream, the fish in the basket are in a panic, and the fishermen return to ask for wine and raise the cooker. At the end of the lyrics, a detailed note is made, and when the cloud builds a stone cofferdam to catch fish by touching the holes, the hands join together to make the shape of Goddess of Mercy, and so it is called "Goddess of Mercy Fishing". The teacher who filled in the lyrics is a generation of famous doctors in his hometown, after the county records have been detailed. I transferred back to my hometown halfway through school and had the honor of being his closed disciple. I remember once wrote a fishing composition, he called me to go, gently smiling, asked me is true? I rattled my throat and answered with certainty: It's true. He then smiled even more broadly. He said, the moonlight night, the fish is not much, much less jump out of the water by themselves. Only later did I realize that he not only his own fishing, farming, picking tea can also design the house with his own hands, build a model, masonry, healing, poetry, lyrics, essays, painting, paper-cutting, but also everything is not good. Even retired, in order to solve the spring floods and summer droughts, but also for the village planning, construction of water conservancy. Can be taught by such a teacher, is not three lifetimes lucky? Especially his character as a person, more such as the clear light of the full moon, let people marvel.