Food bloggers made fortunes in ancient times

When the breeze blows, the wheat waves roll and layers of golden ripples appear in the wheat fields.

The wheat is ripe.

Although the beginning of autumn has passed, the weather is still scorching hot and the heat is hard to dissipate. The so-called "autumn tiger" refers to this time.

When I woke up in the morning, there was still a hint of coolness in the air, but as the sun rose, the earth returned to its familiar heat.

At this time, the villagers were facing the scorching sun, waving sickles, and harvesting the ripe wheat one after another.

Every year when it’s time to harvest wheat, the whole village, men, women, young and old, goes to the fields to work in order to harvest the wheat before the rain comes.

Even the "tea party" under the tree at the entrance of the village has been temporarily suspended. As long as you are not too old to walk, you cannot rest at this time.

As the sun rose higher, heat began to rise from the wheat fields and sweat dripped down the villagers' foreheads, but the sickles in their hands never stopped.

After the wheat is harvested, it is neatly piled on the ridges of the fields and tied with straw ropes.

The adults were responsible for harvesting the wheat, while the children helped to bundle the wheat along the ridges of the fields.

However, in this busy season, Song Yan seems particularly leisurely.

Song Yan was not wandering around aimlessly, but was observing how everyone harvested the wheat.

His family planted the wheat late, so it would take a few days before they could harvest it.

Since I'm free anyway, I might as well observe how wheat is harvested so that when it's my turn to harvest, I won't be so busy and flustered.

When Aunt Niu heard his plan, she couldn't help but shook her head and said, "It's useless to just watch from the sidelines without doing it yourself."

Song Yan listened to Aunt Niu's words and felt that they made a lot of sense. She rubbed her hands and asked, "Aunt, how many acres of wheat do you still have to harvest? How about I come and help you?"

Ah Niu, who was bending over to cut wheat nearby, replied sullenly, "There are still five acres of land."

It was the critical moment of autumn harvest, and even Uncle Niu, who usually didn't like to go out, joined the harvest.

Uncle Niu has poor legs and feet and suffers from chronic back pain, so he has to rest after working for a while.

Therefore, after a busy day, the Niu family only harvested wheat from two acres of land.

Song Yan hurried back home, took out his sickle, put on a straw hat, and ran straight to the Niu family's wheat field.

Aunt Niu also wanted to come over and teach Song Yan how to harvest wheat.

Song Yan waved her hand confidently and said, "Aunt, no need to teach me, I can do it."

He had just watched how others harvested wheat.

Quite simple.

Song Yan bent down, holding the sickle tightly in his right hand and a handful of wheat in his left hand. He gently scratched the wheat stalks with the sickle, and the stalks broke, leaving a neat cut.

Song Yan piled the harvested wheat neatly at his feet. He thought proudly that harvesting wheat was not that difficult. All you need is hands. There is no need to be taught.

Song Yan suddenly felt swelled up and felt that she could even harvest the entire acre of wheat in front of her.

But after cutting for a while, he couldn't stand it anymore. Every time he bent down, the wheat ears would gently brush his cheeks, bringing waves of itchy sensation.

Song Yan scratched his face, didn't think much about it, lowered his head and continued to cut the wheat.

It was noon, the sun was scorching, and Song Yan felt her back was burning.

Sweat slid down his forehead, meandered down his cheeks, and finally gathered at his chin, dripping into the dry wheat field and being absorbed by the earth in an instant, leaving no trace.

His clothes were soaked with sweat and stuck to his skin, feeling sticky and damp.

The wheat awns stuck to his clothes like countless tiny needles, gently scratching his skin with every movement he made, causing waves of unbearable itching.

The itching started from his neck and gradually spread to his whole body, making him involuntarily want to reach out and scratch it.

Song Yan stopped the sickle in his hand and scratched his neck gently, trying to relieve the itch. Inadvertently, his collar was loosened, revealing a red scratch on his fair skin.

But the more he scratched, the more itchy he felt. Song Yan took a breath and decided to take a rest.

Aunt Niu felt a pain in her waist after bending over for a long time. She stopped, patted her waist, and turned around to see Song Yan's face, which was as red as a monkey's butt.

She hurriedly reminded Song Yan, "Xiao Song, your face is red. Hurry up and wipe your face and neck."

Song Yan instinctively raised her sleeves to wipe her face, but Aunt Niu stopped her: "Don't use your sleeves. Do you have a towel? Use the towel to wipe your face."

"No." Song Yan was dazed by the sun, "I forgot to bring it."

Aunt Niu urged him: "Then stop doing it and go home and wash yourself, or you will feel really uncomfortable when you get itchy."

"Oh, okay." Song Yan had no choice but to pick up the sickle and go home.

At this time, Erya came out with a kettle, preparing to go to the field to bring water to Song Yan, but saw that Song Yan had already returned.

Seeing Song Yan's face, she was surprised and asked, "Brother, why is your face so red?"

Song Yan ran to the water tank and looked at herself, and found that her face was not only red, but also swollen.

No wonder he's itchy, probably allergic.

"Erya, give me the water." Song Yan took out a tablet of anti-allergic medicine from the kitchen and swallowed it secretly.

Then he closed the door, quickly took off his sweaty clothes, and took a cold shower, which gave him some relief.

The redness and swelling on her face gradually subsided, but Song Yan didn't dare go to the fields to harvest wheat again.

He had just started harvesting wheat on the first day when he died before achieving his goal.

Song Yan sighed quietly, it seemed that he was not cut out for farming.

He should just be a cook.

Song Yan fanned herself with a palm-leaf fan and called into the room, "Erlin, what do you want to eat for lunch?"

Aunt Niu's family were busy working in the fields and probably had no time to cook, so Song Yan simply steamed an extra pot of rice and sent it to their house.

At noon, Aniu and his friends tied the harvested wheat into bundles, carried them back home, and spread them out in the yard to dry.

Some villagers did not have enough space at home, so they marked out a flat piece of land in their own farmland, harnessed an animal, and pulled a small stone roller to roll the land.

After compacting the ground, they immediately pulled the wheat to the field to dry.

Seeing that every household outside was busy harvesting wheat, Song Yan couldn't stay at home. She wanted to watch the fun again.

He asked Erya to sew two masks for him overnight. The next morning, he put on the masks and a straw hat, wrapped his collar tightly, and went out for a stroll.

After a few days, when the wheat straw is thoroughly dried, it is time to start grinding the wheat.

An old man was pulling a long rope, the other end of which was connected to the animal pulling the stone roller. The old man stood in the middle of the field, holding a long whip, directing the animal to circle around him.

The animals also wore dung bags on their buttocks to prevent them from excreting feces and soiling the wheat while working.

The stone roller rolled on the dry wheat straw, making a crackling sound, and the ripe wheat ears fell off under the pressure.

An old man, holding a wooden pitchfork, stood by and watched.

Song Yan came forward curiously and asked, "Brother, what are you looking at?"