Self-Sufficiency Bountiful Harvests 自给自足 丰衣足食

The morning dew still clung to the kitchen window when I began peeling forty-odd lettuce stalks. Two enamel basins gradually filled with jade-green ribbons as my knife danced rhythmically against the cutting board. By noon, the courtyard became an emerald sea - bamboo mats spread across every flat surface, each covered with lettuce slices translucent as stained glass under the June sun. By twilight, what had filled two basins now barely covered my palm, nature's magic shrinking summer's abundance into crystalline memories.

Following Mother's wisdom, I separated tender tips from fibrous stalks. "Mix them," she'd say while salting vegetables in our earthenware jar, "and you'll only pick the good parts." But today, my hands press young shoots into ceramic crocks for quick-pickling, while tougher stems soak in brine beneath river-smoothed stones from the backyard. Tomorrow's sun will transform them into amber-hued treasures to fill glass jars, their crisp texture preserved to accompany winter's millet congee.

When the first batch finished drying, I crunched a piece experimentally. The sharp saltiness dissolved into earthy sweetness, carrying childhood memories of stealing pickles from Mother's pantry. Now my own shelves hold jars labeled in marker: "Tender Tips - Chili Infused" and "Mature Stalks - Sun-Dried." This autumn, when northerly winds rattle windowpanes, I'll savor independence preserved in every bite.

晨露还凝在厨房玻璃上时，四十多根莴笋已列队待命。菜刀与砧板合奏晨曲，两个搪瓷盆渐渐盛满翡翠缎带。正午的院子化作碧玉海——竹席铺满每个平面，莴笋片在六月骄阳下透如彩玻。待到暮色四合，两盆翠玉竟不及一掌盈握，自然的魔法将盛夏丰饶凝成水晶记忆。

按母亲传授的诀窍，嫩尖与老茎各归其位。"混着腌，"她当年在陶缸边撒盐时总念叨，"娃娃们光挑嫩的吃。"而今嫩芽在我指间跃入青瓷坛急腌，老茎则枕着后院拾来的鹅卵石沉入盐水。明日艳阳会将它们点化成琥珀珍馐，封存脆爽以待寒冬就粥。

试尝第一片莴笋干时，咸鲜在齿间化作大地回甘。童年偷掀母亲腌菜缸的光景忽现眼前。如今我的储物架上，马克笔标注的玻璃罐整齐列队："嫩尖·辣渍""老茎·生晒"。待秋风叩窗时，每口嘎嘣脆里都藏着自给自足的小确幸。

刀痕犹新的砧板静静躺在窗台，盐粒在陶罐缝隙闪着微光。晾晒架上，新收的萝卜条正与莴笋干作伴。这方寸厨房，盛得下四时流转，装不满农人世代相传的生存智慧。当第一场冬雪覆上泡菜坛时，我知道，来年春天的种子正在土壤深处做着关于阳光的梦。

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