When it comes to the most memorable childhood memories, it should be the sugar-coated haws on a stick.
Every winter, I would look forward to the old man selling sugar-coated haws at the entrance of the alley showing up soon. In my memory, he always wore a black cotton-padded jacket, with white armbands on his arms and a huge military green cotton glove on his hands, which complemented the red sugar-coated haws, making him look particularly cool. On the back seat of that old 28 bicycle, there was always a tall pole tied, seemingly made of wheat stalks, with sugar-coated haws inserted all over it.
The sugar-coated haws he made were particularly delicious. The hawthorns were large in size and the seeds inside were hollowed out, making them crispy when bitten into. Even before taking a bite, holding it in hand and imagining the sweetness of the sugar and the sourness of the hawthorn combined together makes one very happy. At that time, I always felt that happiness was like the taste of sugar-coated haws, very sweet.
Then, for a few years he showed up every now and then, but later it seemed that he never came again. But those scenes often come to my mind many years later.
