父亲是农民,他家祖祖辈辈也是农民。父亲在祖父砌垒的三间泥草屋里长大,又在这里娶了我母亲,生育了我们兄弟姐妹5人。为了养活我们,父亲日复一日年复一年拼命往生产队的大田里甩汗珠。大自然的风刀霜剑给他脸上刻下了皱纹,田野里的泥垡秸秆使他的脚板磨出了厚茧,沉重的肩担压弯了他的脊梁。坚硬的锄杆、锹杆把他的双手凝成 Father is a farmer, his family is peasant generation. My father grew up in three mud houses built by his grandfather, and married my mother here again, giving birth to five of our brothers and sisters. To feed us, my father, desperately year after year, desperately drops sweat in the fields of production teams. The Nature's Knife, a frost blade, carved wrinkles on his face, the mud of straw in the fields grinded his feet out of thick calluses and heavy shoulders bent over his spine. Hard hoe rod, shovel rod to condense his hands