【作文】小学生读《观察蚂蚁》读后感400字：小蚂蚁有大力量

书里那半粒米，让我想起楼下的饼干渣

语文读本里有一篇《观察蚂蚁》，作者趴在石阶边看蚂蚁搬食物。书里有一段我读了三遍：一只蚂蚁发现半粒米，自己拖不动，回洞叫来伙伴，两只一前一后抬起来，第三只赶到时插不上手，就在旁边跟着走，遇到拐弯的地方，它伸出前腿帮一把。

作者写到这里说：小蚂蚁有大力量，力量不在腿上，在一起上。以前读到这种句子我都是划过去就算读完。这回没有，因为那半粒米太眼熟了。

去年秋天，我在小区楼下的台阶边吃饼干，掉了一些渣。一会儿工夫，蚂蚁来了。一只大的绕着最大那块渣转了两圈，试着往前推，渣只挪了一指宽。它走了。我以为它放弃了，结果几分钟后它带着两只回来，三个脑袋凑到渣边上，各找一个角，喊不出声却像数着拍子，那块渣真的动了。

当时我蹲在那儿笑，觉得好玩，拍了一张照片就上楼了。书里那个第三只蚂蚁的动作让我想起照片里也有个细节：三个里有一个好像没怎么出力，只是贴着渣走。我当时还笑它偷懒。原来它不偷懒，拐弯的时候，是它伸腿把渣按住的。我把照片放大看了好几遍，那只蚂蚁的前腿真的伸着，搭在渣边上，身子斜着，像全身都在使劲。

书里说蚂蚁抬得动比身子重几十倍的东西，靠的是谁也不撒手。我想起搬书那次，我们四个抬一箱练习册，箱子太重，走到半路两个想放下歇歇，箱子一歪，书撒了一地。大家蹲在地上捡，谁也没怨谁，重新码好再抬，这一回没人再提歇的事。蚂蚁没有谁想歇，不是因为它们不累，是因为它们没有想过自己可以不管。

合上书，我在扉页写了一句话：道理不是书教的，是书把我见过的东西点着了。楼下的饼干渣我早就见过，书里那半粒米让我重新看懂了它。第二天放学，我特意绕到台阶边看了看，蚂蚁还在，那块饼干渣早没了，地上只剩一小片干净的砖缝。

The Half Grain of Rice in the Book Reminded Me of the Crumbs Downstairs

Our Chinese reader includes an essay called Watching Ants, in which the author squats by a stone step watching ants carry food. One paragraph I read three times: an ant finds half a grain of rice, cannot drag it alone, runs back for help, and two of them lift it, one at the front one at the back. A third ant arrives too late to get a share of the work, so it simply walks alongside, and at the turns it stretches out a front leg to steady the load.

The author writes: the great strength of a small ant lies not in its legs but in standing together. In the past I would have skimmed such a sentence and called it reading. This time I could not, because that half grain of rice looked so familiar.

Last autumn I was eating biscuits on the steps in our neighborhood and dropped some crumbs. Before long the ants came. A large one circled the biggest crumb twice, tried pushing it forward, and moved it only a finger width. Then it left. I thought it had given up, but minutes later it returned with two others. Three heads found the crumb, each taking a corner, and though they made no sound it was as if they counted a beat together — and the crumb really moved.

I squatted there laughing, thinking it was fun, and took one photo before going upstairs. The third ant in the book reminded me of a detail in my photo too: one of the three seemed to do almost nothing, just walking tight against the crumb. I had laughed at it for slacking off. It was not slacking. At the turn, it was the one pressing the crumb down with its leg.

The book says ants can carry things dozens of times their weight because nobody lets go. I remembered the time the four of us carried a box of workbooks. It was so heavy that halfway two of us wanted to set it down for a rest; the box tilted and books covered the floor. No ant thinks of resting — not because they never tire, but because it never occurs to them to stop caring.

When I closed the book, I wrote one line on the flyleaf: the lesson was not taught by the book; the book lit up what I had already seen. I had long seen the biscuit crumbs downstairs; the half grain of rice in the book made me understand them again. After school the next day I detoured to the steps on purpose. The ants were still there, the crumb was long gone, and all that remained was a clean seam between two bricks.

我以前只说蚂蚁很小很多

《观察蚂蚁》里最让我停住的一段，不是搬米粒，是过水沟。作者写前一天下了雨，蚂蚁队伍抬着食物走到一道浅浅的水沟前，前面的蚂蚁停下来，后面的挤上来，谁也不掉头。几只蚂蚁先爬进浅水，把身子横在水里，后面的踩着它们的背过去。等队伍过完，水里的蚂蚁才爬上来，抖抖身子，接着走。

作者说：小蚂蚁有大力量，大的不是力气，是肯把身子借给别人。我读到这里忽然脸热，因为我想起自己上学期那篇观察作文，通篇一句话改出来的：蚂蚁很小，很多，黑黑的，排着队。老师批了四个字：观察呢？我当时还不服气，觉得蚂蚁本来就没什么可看。

这周周末，我揣着书下楼，专门去找蚂蚁，非要看出一篇作文以外的东西不可。花坛边果然有一队蚂蚁，抬着一小块水果糖的糖纸。它们走到一块积水的洼地前停住了，跟书里写的一模一样：前面的停，后面的挤上来，没有一只掉头。

我屏住呼吸看。没有蚂蚁跳水搭桥——它们换了办法，抬糖纸的松开手，队伍沿着洼地边缘散开，找一条窄的地方。两只蚂蚁先过去，在对岸站住，剩下的把糖纸递过去，一只一只像传球。糖纸太轻，风一吹翻了个面，对岸那只爬回来，重新按住。它按住糖纸，另外两只从边上爬上来，三个角重新各站一个，才把糖纸拖过最窄那一段砖缝。

整个过程不到两分钟，可我在洼地边蹲得腿都麻了。书里的水沟和我眼前的水洼不一样，蚂蚁用的办法也不一样，可有一样是相同的：没有谁说算了，没有谁先走。我以前说蚂蚁很小很多，是因为我只看了它们一眼；力量这个词，要看够久才看得见。

这周的作文本发下来，我写的是糖纸过水洼。老师批了四个字：这就对了。我把那本语文读本从书架上抽出来，夹了一张书签在过水沟那一页。有些书要等自己配得上它的时候，才读得懂。

I Used to Say Only That Ants Are Small and Many

The passage in Watching Ants that stopped me was not about carrying rice but about crossing a ditch. The author describes rain the night before; the ant column, carrying food, halts at a shallow ditch. The ants in front stop, those behind press up, and none turns around. Several ants crawl into the shallow water first and lay their bodies across it, and the rest walk over their backs. Only after the whole column is across do the ants in the water climb out, shake themselves off, and go on.

The author says: the great strength of small ants is not muscle but the willingness to lend one body to another. I felt my face burn right there, because I remembered my observation essay from last term, built entirely from one sentence: ants are small, many, black, and walk in lines. The teacher wrote four characters in the margin: where is the observation? I had resented it then, insisting there was nothing to see in ants.

This weekend I took the book downstairs and went looking for ants on purpose, determined to find something beyond an essay assignment. By the flower bed there was indeed a column, carrying the wrapper of a fruit candy. They reached a sunken patch of standing water and stopped, exactly as the book described: the front halted, the rear pressed up, none turned back.

I held my breath and watched. No ant dove in to build a bridge — they found another way. The carriers released the wrapper, and the column spread along the edge of the puddle, hunting for a narrow crossing. Two ants got across first and stood on the far bank; the others passed the wrapper over, one to the next, like a relay of passes. The wrapper was so light that a gust flipped it, and the ant on the far bank crawled back to pin it down again.

The whole thing took less than two minutes, yet my legs went numb from squatting there. The ditch in the book and the puddle before my eyes were different, and the methods of the ants were different too, but one thing was the same: nobody said forget it, and nobody left first. I used to say ants are small and many because I only ever glanced at them once; the word strength can only be seen after looking long enough.

This week my essay came back. I had written about the candy wrapper crossing the puddle. The teacher wrote four characters: that is the way. I took the Chinese reader off the shelf and slipped a bookmark into the page about the ditch. Some books can only be understood once you become worthy of them.