Series of Antiques: The Loom

In many scenic spots, you can still see such looms, which are only used to recreate scenes from the past. Every time I see such machines, I always think of my mother working tirelessly on the loom back then. During my childhood in the 80s and 90s, life in the countryside had improved, and we were no longer worried about food, but our economic situation was still tight, lacking the means to buy fabric for bed sheets and pillowcases. Therefore, most rural mothers would weave cloth during their idle times to meet the family's needs for bedding and clothing, even using homemade cloth for towels. From large dowries for daughters to small items like shoe soles and cotton shoes, and the linings of cotton jackets, everything was woven by my mother thread by thread through countless nights.

The reason why I feel sentimental when seeing these things is that they are closely linked to many life memories, to my mother's aging figure from her hard work, and to the beautiful times I spent by her side. Since the rural markets did not yet sell weaving threads, all the threads used for weaving were spun by my grandmother and mother late at night, producing a continuous buzzing sound. This brings back many memories of self-sufficient days filled with various tasks. For example, setting aside some cotton, carding it, twisting it into yarn, spinning it, and winding it onto the loom, among other activities. Apart from working in the fields and cooking, women mostly spent their time spinning and weaving. So, as a child, I would fall asleep to the humming sound of the spinning wheel next to my grandmother or mother, and wake up in the middle of the night to its noise, accompanied by the dim light of an oil lamp casting shadows of their hardworking figures, deeply etched in my childhood memories. Compared to today's children who are selfish and lazy, we children back then were well-behaved and considerate, understanding our parents' hardships. With many children in the family and busy farming for survival, adults worked hard for food and clothes, leaving no time for children to misbehave. There was no need to criticize laziness or order them around; just seeing the exhausted figures of adults returning from the fields and their endless labor at night, one couldn't help but feel guilty about being idle. After school, we would gather firewood, dig vegetables, help with cooking and cleaning, and siblings would supervise and help each other, fostering a deeper and more genuine bond than in affluent times.

Every spring day, my mother would gather aunts and neighbors to set up the loom and prepare the threads. Setting up the threads involves arranging and bundling the warp threads according to need, then coating them with rice paste. As life wasn't too wealthy, white flour was still scarce, so when my mother made the fragrant rice paste porridge, we kids couldn't resist tasting it, its deliciousness needing no description. Then, the prepared threads were combed into the heddles and loaded onto the loom, ready for weaving once the shuttle was set.

During summer, we children might have a nap after lunch, but my mother would continue weaving for a while, the clattering of the loom lulling me to sleep, and I would be woken up by the familiar sound to go to school. Occasionally, I would sneak onto the loom, mimicking the weaving, sometimes even causing a thread to break. Instead of getting angry, my mother would patiently teach me, allowing me to practice secretly, her tolerance and expectations giving us children the freedom to experience and learn.