【作文】三年级我最喜欢的季节作文400字：我爱夏天的小河

爷爷屋后的小河

每年夏天妈妈都把我送到老家，老家在镇子边上，爷爷屋后有一条小河。河不宽，一米五就能走到对岸，水清，底下的石头一颗一颗看得清，有白的也有青的。我一年到头就盼这条河。

下水有下水的规矩。先把鞋脱了踩在岸上，裤腿卷到膝盖上面，卷不高的要再卷一次，不然一进水就湿到大腿。脚刚伸进水里那一下最凉，凉得脚趾头缩起来，嘴里喊一声嘶。走几步就习惯了，石头滑，脚底下要踩稳，踩到一颗扁的、不滑的，才敢往前迈。表哥教我跟头打水漂，侧着身子，胳膊平平地甩出去，瓦片贴着水面跑，一下、两下、五下，我最好的一次跳了六下，表哥鼓掌，知了也叫得更响了，好像它们也在数。

中午不能下河，爷爷说中午的水烫。中午的任务是西瓜。爷爷挑一个最圆的，装进网兜，网兜绳子拴在桥墩上，把西瓜沉进河中间，让它在水底晃。我和表哥坐在桥荫里守着，看着看着就睡着，醒来西瓜还在，知了在柳树上一浪一浪地叫，一声压一声，像比赛谁气长。爷爷拿竹竿把网兜钩上来，西瓜皮上挂着水珠，在桥石板上切开，咔的一声，裂开的缝是白的。咬一口，凉气从舌头一直走到肚子。我奶奶说冰箱里的西瓜是冷，河里的西瓜是凉，不一样。我嚼着西瓜点头，汁水顺着手腕往下流。

下午我们捞小鱼。手罩在石头缝前面，另一只手在石头后面赶，小鱼慌了，一头撞进我手心里，指头赶紧合上，指缝里水漏出去，小鱼尾巴还在外面甩。放进罐头瓶，灌一瓶河水，摆在窗台上，第二天又放回去，河里的东西不留。

走的那天早上，知了叫得比平时早。我坐在汽车后头往后看，桥墩、柳树、河，都退到田里去了。我在日记本上写：我最喜欢夏天，因为夏天有条小河。河里有石头可以踩，有西瓜可以守，有小鱼可以罩，还有知了从早叫到晚，从来不嫌烦。别的地方夏天是热，老家的夏天是快乐。

The Little River Behind Grandpa's House

Every summer my mother sends me to the home of grandma and grandpa. Their house sits at the edge of the town, and behind it runs a little river. The river is not wide, one point five steps across, the water clear, every stone on the bottom visible, some white, some green. I look forward to this river all year long.

Going into the water has its rules. First take off your shoes and leave them on the bank, roll your trouser legs above the knees, and roll them again if they are not high enough, or the water will soak you to the thigh the moment you step in. The first second your foot touches the water is the coldest, so cold your toes curl and your mouth makes a hiss. A few steps in, you get used to it. The stones are slippery, so plant each step firmly, and only step forward when your foot finds a flat one that grips. My older cousin taught me to skip stones sideways, arm swinging flat, the tile running along the surface, one hop, two, five. My best try skipped six times. My cousin clapped, and the cicadas called louder, as if they were counting too.

No swimming at noon, Grandpa says noon water is hot. The noon job is the watermelon. Grandpa picks the roundest one, puts it in a net bag, ties the rope to the bridge pier, and sinks it into the middle of the river to sway on the bottom. My cousin and I sit in the shade of the bridge to guard it, fall asleep watching it, wake up and it is still there, and the cicadas on the willow call wave after wave, one sound pressing on the next, like a contest of who can hold a note longer. Grandpa hooks the net bag up with a bamboo pole. Water beads hang on the melon rind, and one crack of the knife on the bridge stone splits it open, the crack white inside. One bite, and the cool travels from your tongue all the way down to your stomach. My grandma says a fridge melon is cold while a river melon is cool, and they are not the same thing. I nod with my mouth full of melon, juice running down my wrist.

In the afternoon we catch small fish. One hand cups in front of a gap between stones, the other hand drives from behind the stone. The little fish panics and charges straight into my palm, my fingers close fast, water leaks out between them, and one fish tail is still outside waving. We put it in a jar with river water and set it on the windowsill, then put it back the next day. Nothing from the river stays.

The morning I left, the cicadas started earlier than usual. I sat in the back seat and watched behind us: the bridge pier, the willow, the river, all retreating into the fields. I wrote in my diary: my favorite season is summer, because summer has a little river. In the river there are stones to step on, a watermelon to guard, small fish to cup, and cicadas calling from morning to night that never get tired of themselves. Elsewhere summer is heat. At the home of grandma, summer is joy.

爸爸带我去河湾

以前我怕水。村里的河湾一到夏天就泡满了人，我坐在岸上拿树枝戳水，不敢下去。爸爸在砖厂上班，只有星期天回来，那年夏天他说，走，星期天爸带你去河湾。

星期天早上爸爸把我领到河湾，水深到他的腰，他蹲下来让我靠着他，说先练憋气，脸进水，数五个数。我把脸埋进去，数到三就抬起来，鼻子酸。爸爸说不着急，他把我两只手托在肚子底下，我整个肚子骑在他的手掌上，胸口贴着水面，腿自己就扑腾起来了。他说对，就是这样，腿别停。我在他的手掌上扑腾了半个钟头，后来他偷偷把手抽走，我自己往前走了三米才发现，回头看他，他站在原地笑，露出一口白牙。

中午爸爸买了个西瓜，两块钱，搁在河湾的浅滩上，用两块石头卡住，让水冲它的肚子。我们上岸等，爸爸从柳树上揪叶子卷哨子，吹出来的声音跟知了一样，树上的知了居然真的应他，一声比一声近。我笑得躺到草地上。爸爸得意了，换了三种叶子吹，知了也换调，一大群知了跟一个大人对唱，整个河湾都是嗡嗡的。

西瓜被水冲了一个钟头，爸爸把它从石头中间搬出来，刀是从灶房拿的，切下去西瓜自己就裂了。我们坐在柳树根上吃，脚还伸进河里，水一冲过来脚背就凉一下。我把西瓜皮扔到浅水里让表哥他们打漂，爸爸说不许糟蹋瓜，可他自己在旁边笑。那天我吃了三块，肚子撑得圆，跟河滩上那些圆石头一样。

回家的路上我骑在爸爸脖子上，他的衬衫湿了一半，贴在背上，知了在道边的树上一路送我们。他走路带风，我在他脖子上晃，迷迷糊糊睡着了，醒来已经到家，西瓜皮还在河湾，他说明天来拿。

那个星期天以后我自己敢下河了。我在作文里写：我最喜欢夏天。夏天有河湾，有西瓜，有知了，可是最要紧的是爸爸的手掌，他在我肚子底下托了半个钟头，偷偷把手抽走，我自己会了。别的季节爸爸在砖厂，只有夏天，爸爸整个星期天都是我的。

Father Took Me to the River Bend

I used to be afraid of water. In summer the river bend in our village filled with people, and I sat on the bank poking the water with a stick, too scared to go in. My father worked at the brickyard and came home only on Sundays. That summer he said, come, on Sunday your dad will take you to the river bend.

Sunday morning he led me to the bend, where the water reached his waist. He squatted down and had me lean on him, saying we would start with holding your breath: face in, count to five. I buried my face and came up at three, my nose stinging. Father said no hurry. He cupped both hands under my belly, my whole stomach riding on his palms, chest touching the water surface, and my legs started paddling by themselves. Yes, he said, like that, do not stop the legs. I paddled on his hands for half an hour. Then he quietly pulled them away, and I went three meters forward before I noticed. I looked back at him standing there grinning, showing a mouthful of white teeth.

At noon Father bought a watermelon, two yuan, and set it in the shallows wedged by two stones so the current washed against its belly. We got out and waited. Father rolled a willow leaf into a whistle, and the sound it made was just like a cicada. The cicadas in the trees actually answered him, one call closer than the next. I laughed until I lay down on the grass. Father got proud and switched to three kinds of leaves, and the cicadas changed tune too, a whole swarm singing back and forth with one grown man, the entire river bend buzzing.

The melon floated under the current for an hour. Father carried it out from between the stones with the knife fetched from the kitchen, and one cut made it split by itself. We sat on the willow roots eating, our feet still in the river, each wave cooling the tops of them. I threw melon rinds into the shallows for my cousins to skip, and Father said do not waste melon, while laughing beside them. I ate three slices that day, my belly as round as the smooth stones on the riverbank.

On the way home I rode on the shoulders of Father. His shirt was half wet and stuck to his back, and cicadas along the road saw us off from tree to tree. He walked fast with wind, I swayed on his neck and fell asleep without meaning to. When I woke we were already home. The melon rinds were still at the river bend, he said, we will fetch them tomorrow.

After that Sunday I dared go into the river by myself. In my composition I wrote: my favorite season is summer. Summer has the river bend, watermelon, and cicadas, but the most important thing is the hands of my father. Under my belly he held for half an hour, then quietly pulled them away, and I could swim. In other seasons Father is at the brickyard. Only in summer is his whole Sunday mine.