老屋院角的槐樹又開花了,雪白的花瓣簌簌落在青石板上,像撒了層碎雪。我站在樹下,仿佛又看見外婆踮著腳摘槐花的身影,藍布衫的衣角在風里輕輕飄動。
外婆做的槐花餡餃子,是我童年最鮮亮的記憶。每年槐花盛開時,她都會搬來竹梯,在樹下支起竹筐。陽光穿過枝葉的縫隙,在她銀白的發絲上跳躍,她摘花時總愛哼《茉莉花》,歌聲混著槐花的清香,在院子里久久不散。
“要摘剛開的槐花,帶著點青蒂才鮮。” 外婆的指甲縫里總嵌著淡綠色的花汁,她把摘來的槐花用清水淘洗三遍,瀝干水分后拌上肉末和姜末,餡料里只放少許鹽和香油。“好東西不用多調料,本色最香。” 她包餃子時手指翻飛,面皮在掌心轉一圈就捏出好看的褶,像槐花開在白瓷盤里。
我總愛蹲在灶臺邊等餃子出鍋。蒸籠揭開的瞬間,白汽裹著香氣撲面而來,外婆會先夾起一個吹涼了喂我,燙得我直吐舌頭,她就笑著用圍裙擦我嘴角的湯汁。有次我趁她不注意,偷吃了半碗生餡料,結果鬧了肚子,她一邊給我揉肚子,一邊念叨 “饞貓”,眼里卻滿是疼惜。
十五歲那年,我去縣城讀高中,臨走前外婆連夜包了三十個槐花餡餃子。“路上吃,涼了就用開水燙燙。” 她把餃子放進鋁制飯盒,又往我包里塞了袋曬干的槐花,“想家了就泡點水喝,聞著味兒就不孤單了。” 汽車開動時,我看見她站在槐樹下揮手,藍布衫在風里飄成小小的影子。
大二那年春天,外婆突發腦溢血去世。等我趕回家,院子里的槐花正開得熱鬧,竹筐還掛在樹枝上,里面剩著半筐沒摘完的槐花。我按照她的方法包了次餃子,餡料里放了鹽和香油,卻總覺得少了點什么。咬開餃子的瞬間,眼淚突然掉了下來 —— 原來少的是外婆指尖的溫度,是她哼的《茉莉花》,是那些藏在褶皺里的疼愛。
今年清明,我帶著女兒回老屋。小姑娘踮著腳夠槐花,像極了當年的我。我把她抱起來,她摘下一朵遞到我嘴邊:“媽媽,槐花好甜。” 風穿過槐樹葉,沙沙的聲響里,仿佛又聽見外婆說:“好東西不用多調料,本色最香。”
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暮色漫進院子時,我包了盤槐花餡餃子。女兒吃得滿嘴流油,我看著她的笑臉,突然明白,有些味道會變成記憶的密碼,只要一口,就能打開時光的閘門,看見那個站在槐花樹下的老人,正笑著朝我揮手。
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