“To glean is to collect after HARVEST”

I saw this line in the film, Les glaneurs et la glaneuse The gleaners and I.

The next question came to me immediately: what if the collection happens before harvest? In other words, the word, ‘gleaning’, seems to focus on the outcome, or say the achievement of pick-up action.

Then what does ‘achievement’ mean? What kind of things that we pick up can truly be called ‘achievement’? Different people may have different ideas.

My mom used to say, ‘picking up things so nothing gets wasted.

My dad doesn’t say words like that, but gleaning is what he always does.

However, his way of life is not praised by my mom. No praise at all, but dislike a lot. In the first living space around 16 sp.m. that they possessed, too much gleaning did seem to be a problem. But what my mom hates the most is actually the angle of my dad’s picking up. She ever said that paying too much attention to old discarded stuff of others would hinder one from looking forward and seeking for things that can really help them to the next new stage of life.

Old discarded stuff, of others.

Gleaning, is the old way.

So, is ‘old’ a bad thing? I googled the word ‘blog’ and it is said that it emerged in the late 1990s. I was born in the decade. I had a little toy shaped like a car. It was in light golden color with a transparent shell, through which I could see small slices in all kinds of shapes, triangle, round, square, star, etc. It was thought to be a teaching-geometry thing. My parents bought it for me. I liked to hide it inside a dark drawer beside my bed so that nobody could find it, and only took it out after lunch when I was alone in my bedroom. The bright sunlight flooded in through the big window, down on my bed. I bared my legs and feet to feel the extreme warmth and peace at noon. The bed sheet with white and blue patterns on it was well soaked. Tiny fuzz of cotton could be clearly seen under the sunlight. The smell of soap ran into my nose. I raised the car toy over my head and looked at a plant on the ledge through the transparent shell. Life at that time glittered as the color. The world was in its golden time.

My mom used to buy me all kinds of printed magazines and journals, when we didn’t really know how to find articles to read online. In winter afternoon, I carried eight to ten magazine books, following my mom’s steps with full concentration on slippery street after snow. I fondled the thick covers of those books. The fur around the hoody of my down coat titillated my nose. The cold air stimulated my nerves and brought me a nameless excitement. I turned around, staring at the green newsstand, imagining what it looked like inside the narrow space filled with magazines and colorful covers. It waited for my next gleaning.

They all vanished.

I lost my car toy when we moved. It might be hidden in a dark drawer that doesn’t belong to me any more. The magazines were sold out in 90% discount after we finished reading them. Newsstands vanished and became a symbolic nostalgia, together with the keepers who could always find the book I want right away in their mysterious space. No one knows where they have gone and when they have left.

All vanished.

Past times vanished. Our memories vanished. No gleanings left.

Gone with the wind of the advanced.

For wheat, and rice too, I would put my big apron on.

Those lovely ears of wheats.

I was born there and I’ll die there.

Are we gleaning to keep, to preserve part of ourselves?

My mom ever told me once about a dialogue happened between her and my dad. She said it stroke/surprised her so much:

“你为什么要做这个，执着这个东西不放？” [Why you have to insist on doing this, so stubborn?]

“家里面永远摆着各式各样的东西。” [Our home is always stuffed with things.]

“这些东西你不会用的！你想都想不起来！” [You won’t use these! You won’t even think of them at all!]

“你想做什么我最后都支持你了，我想做的事，你就不能支持我一次吗？”

[Every time you want to do something, I would support you. Only for this one thing, can’t you just support my idea once?]

Since then, my dad is allowed to keep what he decides to glean.

He has his own harvest.