As the last wisp of autumn smoke rose from the kitchen chimney, Fu Yucheng returned from the back mountain carrying half a basket of freshly picked hawthorns.
The bright red fruits swayed like fire in the basket, and a few crimson leaves still hung on the branches.
“These hawthorns are enough to make three jars of jam,” he said, placing the basket on the stone table. The tangy aroma of the hawthorns mingled with the sweetness of the pumpkin. “When it snows, we can spread them on steamed buns; the tangy flavor will cut through the richness.”
Nian'an held up the pumpkin doll from the bamboo basket and came closer, her nose brushing against the hawthorn, getting some red juice on it.
"Red, sweet?" he asked, blinking, the silver longevity lock gleaming in the pile of hawthorns.
Jiang Jianhua smiled and popped a hawthorn into his mouth: "First sour, then sweet, just like everyday life."
Nian'an chewed a couple of times, then frowned, stomping her feet because it was so sour, which made everyone burst into laughter.
Xiao Lan brought freshly steamed jujube cakes in a rabbit basket on her back. The cakes in the basket were steaming hot, and the sweet aroma of red dates, along with the rising steam, filled my face.
“My mother said today is Frost’s Descent, so we should eat something sweet to warm ourselves,” she said, placing the basket on the stone table. A bamboo bag of melon seeds swayed beside the basket. “This is for Nian’an; the jujube paste is mixed with pumpkin seeds.”
Yun Tangyin picked up a piece of jujube cake and praised, "Your mother's skills are getting better and better. This jujube paste is as fine as silk."
Zhou Desheng walked in carrying a bag of freshly ground cornmeal, the bag still covered with bran from the mill.
“Freshly ground flour,” he said, placing the bag at the kitchen doorway, “is for making corn porridge for the children; it’s smoother than coarse flour.”
Jiang Jianhua shoved a piece of pumpkin bun into his hand: "Try this, it goes perfectly with your family's pickled cucumbers."
Zhou Desheng took a bite and smacked his lips: "It tastes even better than what's sold in the shops in town. No wonder my son talks about it every day."
Aunt Zhang brought her grandson to learn how to make pumpkin pancakes. The little guy was still holding an unfinished tiger-head steamed bun in his arms, and the yellow crumbs on the corners of his mouth made him look like a little tabby cat.
“Jianhua, you have to teach me well,” Aunt Zhang said, tying on her apron. “Otherwise, this child will keep pestering me to come to your house every day.”
Jiang Jianhua poured pumpkin puree into the basin: "It's not difficult. Just like daily life, the more you knead and practice, the better you'll get the flavor."
Fu Yuanshan placed the woven bamboo tray in the center of the threshing ground, covered with freshly roasted pumpkin seeds, dried sweet potatoes, and hawthorn slices, making it look like a colorful flower carpet.
“These are snacks for the children,” he said, covering the plaque with a cloth. “I’ll have Desheng take them to town later so that our relatives can all have a taste.”
Fu Yucheng squatted down beside him to help, his fingertips tracing the dried pumpkin in the plaque: "This plaque is even more symmetrical than the ones bought in town."
In the kitchen, Jiang Jianhua was placing the last batch of pumpkin steamed buns into the steamer.
She used red yeast rice to dot the three cracks on the top of the steamed bun, making them look like the blush on a smiling pumpkin.
Song Yushuang added the last bit of firewood to the stove, and the flames leaped up, making the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes glow with a warm light: "Just in time to make it hot."
Nian'an squatted on the doorstep, holding a pumpkin doll, watching Xiaolan string bracelets together with hawthorn pits.
The bright red fruit pits were strung together in her hand like an agate chain.
"Here, you can wear it," Xiaolan said, putting the chain on Nian'an's wrist. "Red and white will look better when we build snowmen in winter."
Nian'an spun around with her arms raised, the walnuts on her bracelet clinking against the silver longevity lock, like a soft, fragmented song.
As the evening glow bathed the courtyard in a honey-colored light, Fu Yuan, the eldest son of the Fu family, walked in carrying his luggage.
His blue cloth clothes were covered in dust, and he was carrying a paper bag containing sugar figurines for the children.
"I'm back!" He put down his luggage, his eyes sparkling with joy. "I could smell the pumpkins from afar, they smelled even better than in the letter."
Jiang Jianhua quickly stuffed a hot steamed bun into his hand: "Warm yourself up, there's still a soft-boiled egg left for you on the stove."
Fu Yuanzheng took a bite of the steamed bun and smacked his lips, the sweetness of the pumpkin mixed with the aroma of wheat spreading on his tongue: "Homemade is still the best. No restaurant can compare to the delicacies outside."
Nian'an held up the pumpkin doll and approached him, the hawthorn pit on the bracelet making a "ding-ding" sound: "Uncle, the doll makes a sound."
When the full moon climbed to the top of the locust tree, the table for the reunion dinner was already full in the courtyard.
The stir-fried pumpkin shreds glistened with oil, the pumpkin flower rolls were so soft they could bounce, the tangy aroma of pickled cucumbers mingled with the crisp sweetness of spinach roots, and in the very center sat a steamed, soft, and powdery old pumpkin, its flesh filled with amber-colored dried pumpkin.
Fu Yuanshan ladled a spoonful of pumpkin porridge into everyone's bowl: "This porridge has been simmering for two hours, and the pumpkin has dissolved into the soup. It's warm and comforting to drink, and you won't feel cold all winter."
Fu Yuming peeled hawthorns for Nian'an; the red flesh glistened in the moonlight.
“There are pumpkins where I study,” he said, stuffing the flesh into Nian’an’s mouth, “but they just don’t taste as good as the ones my sister-in-law makes.”
Jiang Jianhua smiled and put a piece of pumpkin cake into his bowl: "Next spring, I'll pack you a bag of pumpkin seeds and plant them in the backyard of the school. You can pick them whenever you want to eat them."
Xiao Lan and Aunt Zhang's grandson were squatting in the corner sharing jujube cakes. There was still half a cake left in the bamboo rabbit basket, and the two of them were pushing and shoving it into each other's hands.
"You eat it, you're younger than me," Xiaolan stuffed the cake into the little guy's hand, "I have plenty more at home."
The little guy stood on tiptoe and stuffed a piece into her mouth: "Grandma said we should let our older sister have her way."
The moonlight fell on their faces, which were covered in sugar crumbs, like a layer of gold dust.
Fu Yucheng and Zhou Desheng sat on a stone bench drinking, the rice wine in their glasses gleaming with an amber light.
“My family will also plant some pumpkins next spring,” Zhou Desheng said, taking a sip of his wine. “I’ll invite your family over to give us some pointers then.”
Fu Yucheng smiled and clinked glasses with his: "No need for such formalities between neighbors. We'll teach the kids to read, and we can take turns."
Nian'an lay in Jiang Jianhua's arms, hugging a pumpkin doll, with a piece of dried pumpkin in her mouth, her eyelids gradually becoming heavy.
Jiang Jianhua gently patted his back, watching the moonlight weave a fine net on his face.
"Go to sleep," she whispered, "and dream of endless pumpkin cakes."
Nian'an mumbled "sweet" indistinctly, and the hawthorn pit bracelet in her little hand slipped to the side of the bamboo basket, making a soft "rustling" sound along with the melon seeds in the doll.
The earthenware jars in the storage room breathe gently in the night, the richness of pumpkin sauce, the sweet and sourness of hawthorn sauce, and the salty aroma of sesame salt blending together to create a unique flavor of reunion that belongs to Huaiyuan.
Fu Yuanshan covered the pile of pumpkins with another layer of straw, watching the moonlight flow like a river on the orange-yellow pumpkin skins. He suddenly remembered that in the spring, these pumpkin seeds would sprout in the soil and grow into green vines that climb all over the fence, just like the days, passing down from generation to generation, and the pumpkins that grow are always sweet.
As the last rays of moonlight brushed past the locust tree leaves, the steamer in the kitchen was still warm. The sweet aroma of pumpkin buns, mingling with the laughter filling the courtyard, drifted over the fence, across the bluestone path, and into every deep dream.
In my dream, there is Nian'an chasing butterflies, Xiao Lan weaving bamboo baskets, Fu Yuanshan smoking a pipe, Jiang Jianhua steaming buns, and the Huaiyuan courtyard that is always drying pumpkins and filled with the aroma of cooking.
This is the most perfect form of life, like a steamed, soft, and tender old pumpkin, with an unyielding sweetness hidden in its heart.
What more could Yun Tangyin possibly want? She was perfectly content.
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