enjoyebooks Chapter 132 Turning the Land
Chapter 132 Turning the Land
She stopped when she reached a corner of the vegetable patch. Amidst a patch of withered yellow weeds, a few tender green leaves sprouted from between the dead leaves. It was the clump of chives that had grown there last year.
The chive leaves were slender and glossy green, a stark contrast to the surrounding withered yellow weeds. She parted the withered grass and gently stroked the tender chive leaves with her fingers. The tender leaves flicked under her fingertips, soft and cool, then stood up again, like a little green flag that refused to fall.
She squatted there and looked at it for a few seconds, then stood up, went outside into the yard, and carried away a few broken bricks. The bricks were leftovers from the repair of the yard wall; they were bluish-gray and rough-surfaced. She carried three bricks at a time, making two trips back and forth.
She used the broken bricks to build a small fence around the chive bushes, the bricks landing with a dull thud. After finishing, she gently patted the bricks with her palm, flattening the last brick and straightening any crooked spots.
The small fence was crooked and crooked, but it could barely protect the chives—it wouldn't easily damage them when turning the soil, and the water wouldn't directly wash away their roots when watering.
After the cleanup was complete, the ground was dry. The withered grass and pebbles had been cleared away, revealing the dark brown soil beneath. Sunlight pierced through the morning mist, illuminating the cleaned ground and giving the soil a subtle sheen. The entire plot of land looked a whole size larger than before.
She breathed into her palm, and white mist once again dissipated from her lips. She picked up the hoe and raised it above her head. The blade flashed in the morning light, then fell—the blade cut into the soil with a dull thud, like a knife cutting into a piece of hard bread.
She lowered the hoe handle and used the lever principle to turn over the clods of soil. The turned-up clods were damp, their undersides much darker than the surface, almost black, and they emitted a faint warmth in the sunlight. The clods were large, so she didn't break them up, leaving them in their original clump shape. This way, when the soil was drying, sunlight and air could penetrate more fully, gradually forcing out the chill that had accumulated in the soil during winter.
The dark clods of soil on the turned-over plot were neatly arranged, each exuding the unique, slightly pungent smell of earth—the smell of microorganisms and humus breathing in the sunlight after being turned to the surface.
She continued turning the soil, hoe after hoe, backing away as she turned it over. The sound of the hoe cutting into the soil rang rhythmically—the blade cutting in, the handle lowered, the clods turning over, the three movements repeating in a cycle. When she was halfway through, an earthworm wriggled on the turned-over clod, its body slowly contracting and stretching on the muddy surface, like someone whose blanket had been suddenly pulled off, bewilderedly searching for their bed.
She gently pushed the clod of earth aside with her hoe, not disturbing it. The earthworm wriggled on the clod a few times, then slowly burrowed back into the soil.
It was already evening when the entire plot of land was turned over. The setting sun shone from behind the mountain ridge, turning the entire turned vegetable garden a warm orange hue. The dark brown clods of soil gleamed in the setting sun, casting long, thin shadows in every crack.
She stood at the edge of the field, leaning on a hoe, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead, stray hairs sticking to her temples, her breathing still rhythmic as she turned the soil, her chest rising and falling slightly.
The camera was fixed on the persimmon tree in the yard, facing the vegetable garden at the same angle. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, and the shadows of the clouds quickly sweep across the clods of earth—the morning light shines through from behind the ridge, illuminating the clods; the midday sun shines directly on the clods, and the color of the earth gradually lightens from dark brown; the evening light sweeps in from the side, deepening every crack in the earth.
A few days later, the surface of the turned-up clods of soil changed from dark brown to light brown, indicating they had dried to the right consistency. Su Peixue squatted at the edge of the field, picked up a clod of soil from the ridge, and crushed it with a gentle squeeze of her fingers—the dried soil was loose and brittle, crumbling at the slightest touch. The bits of soil slipped through her fingers, landing on her canvas shoes and in the mud at her feet.
After the soil was dried in the sun, she began to apply base fertilizer. She grabbed a handful of well-rotted sheep manure from the bamboo basket and scattered it on the ground.
The sheep manure was brought from a livestock farmer in the village before the Lunar New Year. It was piled up in the corner of the yard and fermented all winter. It had fully decomposed, and its color had changed from dark brown to dark black. The texture was loose, and when you squeezed it, it felt like squeezing a handful of damp tea leaves. It had no odor, only the smell of fermented hay.
The sheep dung pellets made a rustling sound as they fell onto the soil, like a handful of coarse sand being scattered. She walked along the plot of land, scattering a handful with each step, grabbing a handful of sheep dung from the bamboo basket, and then releasing it with her fingers, spreading the pellets evenly on the soil surface.
After spreading sheep dung, she spread wood ash. The wood ash was taken from the stove; it was as fine as flour and grayish-white in color. She scooped up a handful, her fingers slightly spread, and the wood ash drifted through her fingers, covering the soil surface with a very thin layer of grayish-white, like a layer of icing on a cake.
After spreading the fertilizer evenly across the entire surface, she picked up a rake and began raking the land. The rake's teeth struck the clods of soil, and the dried clods shattered into countless small pieces.
She raked back and forth, the soil becoming finer and finer—large clods of soil turned into small particles, and the small particles into fine sand-like fragments. The rake teeth dragged back and forth in the soil, making a constant rustling sound.
Her movements were quick but rhythmic. Each time she dragged the rake back, the rake teeth would lift a thin layer of soil, which she would then flip over and cover the previous layer. This was the process of thoroughly mixing the fertilizer and soil, ensuring that every inch of soil was fertilized.
After raking, she sifted the soil through a bamboo sieve. She shoveled the raked soil into the sieve, picked it up, and gently shook it—the fine soil fell through the sieve's holes like an hourglass.
She used her gloved fingers to brush aside the remaining grass roots and pebbles on the sieve and then poured them into the bamboo basket.
The sifted soil is fine and even, piled on the ground like a layer of flour; a finger inserted into it can sink right up to the base of the finger. After the entire plot of land is leveled, the soil is as fine as sand, and the surface is so smooth that no undulations can be seen.
Next came ridging. She drove two wooden stakes into the ground and strung a white cotton thread between them.
The taut cotton thread resembled a violin string, reflecting a faint light in the morning sun. She used a hoe to create furrows along the thread—the hoe went straight along the white line, turning over the soil and pushing it to both sides, creating a straight, shallow ditch.
She deepened the furrow, piling the turned-out soil on both sides to form a raised ridge. Then she used a rake to level the ridge, making it slightly arched – so that when draining water, it would flow from both sides of the ridge into the furrow, preventing it from accumulating on the ridge and rotting the crop roots.
The ridges were about calf-high, and there were grooves between them for walking, just big enough for one person to squeeze through sideways.