A Treasured Childhood Memory: Raising Silkworms with Grandma

  I remember that when I was in primary school, I raised dozens of silkworms in the courtyard of my grandma’s house for the purpose of researching a project assigned by the school.
  The courtyard of my grandma’s house is very elegant, especially because she loves flowers and plants and planted many beautiful plants. I have always felt that small animals should always be with nature, so I specially chose this place as my small base for raising silkworms. However, my grandma is very timid and is extremely afraid of insects. My doting grandma was worried about extinguishing my enthusiasm and interest, so she could only take the squirming white worms I put in the basin with a smile. I still remember that my grandma found a good place to put the silkworm babies and immediately ran to the sink to wash her hands silently. So every time I think about it, I still find it incredible that such an old man who is afraid of bugs and even feels disgusted by them would actually do it to his grandson. He showed great concern and attention, and then suppressed the fear in his heart and insisted on taking care of the pot of silkworms carefully for more than a month.
  At that time, every day after school, I would go with my grandmother to pick mulberry leaves as food for silkworms. But even though I knew it was the little ones’ food for the day, as soon as I arrived in the suburbs, I started playing in the mountains without caring about anything. Only grandma is as meticulous as raising a baby. Every time she picks, she will be extra careful. Compared with my casual handling, she will always compare which mulberry leaves are the freshest and which leaves are the most delicate in color. She is very serious. Not to mention when feeding silkworms, grandma will pick up two or three mulberry leaves with her hands and slowly stretch them in front of the silkworms. When they raise their heads and crawl up the mulberry leaves, grandma will say “ahhhhhhhhhh” , then hurriedly let go and patted her chest nervously. This scene would happen several times during a feeding, but grandma still refused to let me operate it with my own hands and let me concentrate on learning. When the silkworms happily gnawed the mulberry leaves, grandma would move a small stool and sit next to the iron basin, holding her head and listening to the sound like dense raindrops hitting the iron. Grandma’s shadow in the sunshine looks quiet and peaceful.
  After finishing my homework, I would sit by the basin with my grandma and listen carefully to the small but intensive gnawing sound. It was a note that I seldom heard. It was unhurried, unhurried, and those silkworms maintained their inherent rhythm in their own world, and they remained consistent and never changed. In such a voice, time seems to be no longer stingy, and generously and secretly allocates a little more time to me, and then stretches out every second of the years, and then stretches it out, allowing me to stay with my grandma longer, sitting Beside the silkworm.
  After I got used to the familiar rhythm, I would still feel sleepy accompanied by the sound of “rustling”. The scene in front of me slowly became narrower and smaller, and sleepiness swept over my body, so I yawned and leaned on it in confusion. Grandma fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up again, I found that the old man next to me had already fallen asleep. Grandma’s head moved little by little, and a handful of her silver hair was picked up by the naughty wind, twisted together in the air, and fell back into the messy hair. The wrinkles on his face were relaxed and stretched, and there was a slight smile on the corner of his mouth, as if he was having a good dream.
  Time passed as usual, and white cocoons appeared in the iron basin one by one. A few slower silkworms had also begun to spin silk. They spent a long time in anticipation, and finally waited for the scene when they pupated into butterflies. And when the moths struggled out of their cocoons, grandma was as happy as a child, dancing and cheering.
  Since then, I no longer have time to raise silkworms, and my grandma has also moved away to enjoy her old age, but that pot of silkworm cocoons has always been stored in my photo album in the form of photos, and it also exists deeply in my memory. ocean. Many people say that the past is like smoke and hard to find, but in fact they have forgotten that the most profound past events cannot be easily lost like smoke. The fact that my grandma and I raised silkworms together will always remain in my heart, because it was not only an experience of raising sericulture, but also a good time when my grandma accompanied me without any regrets. Even though she resisted the insects, she still helped me. Together, I carefully took care of the little creatures in the basin.
  In a daze, the sound of gnawing, as fine as the sound of rain, rang in my ears again. In front of me was still the old lady holding her chin, looking attentive, with a slight smile on her lips.

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