Returning Hometown Prose

It has been many years since I have been to the small village where I jumped in line. Not long ago, one day at the end of November, I finally got on the bus back home.

A person who is nearly sixty years old is actually a little inexplicably excited. It’s not because I don’t travel often, I’m also an old traveler; it’s not because I’m naive, I’ve accumulated a certain amount of life experience for most of my life. What excites me inexplicably is the feeling of going home. It is the place where my soul belongs, the place where I have truly integrated and felt, and where I spent my whole blooming years. When I first returned to the city and left, it felt like I was escaping. As the years went by, my heart was often involved in it, and I wanted to go back and see how the folks who lived with me day and night were doing.

Sitting in the car, I passed through familiar villages along the way. I didn’t have time to observe the people passing by, so I paid attention to some slogans on the walls of the villages and towns. I remember that in the past, the most common slogan in rural areas was "Learn from Dazhai in agriculture". They were always in beautiful regular script and bright red. I searched all the way and found no such slogans. All I saw were family planning slogans: "If you want to get rid of poverty and become rich, you should have less family members." "There are provisions in the marriage law that close relatives cannot come to get married." The funniest thing is a chant: "If you don't go to Sheung Wan after being notified, you will undoubtedly be punished. One day's fine will be given to you." You pay the fine of 15 yuan until you get to the ring."

There is still a three-mile path from the station to my small village. In winter, there is no one around in the fields. The sky is blue and clear. Under the pure blue sky stretch the undulating mountains. The blue rocks and brown slopes on the mountains set off the scenery, giving it a unique atmosphere and weight. The air is cold and dry, the wind is light and broken, and my heart wanders in the early winter sunshine with the breeze.

There were two cows standing on the slope in the distance. They lowered their heads and gnawed the dead grass, while the cowherd children ran to the creek to play. They grazed their own cows and themselves.

The river meanders quietly in the embrace of the land, in the cut ravines, and under the culverts of the highway.

The smell of the land is still the same as in my memory, and the smell of firewood smoke can still be smelled in the wind. What makes me unfamiliar is that the appearance outside the village has changed. The path that used to turn down is gone. The cultivated land connected to the hills is no longer there. The Beijing-Shenyang Expressway stretches from west to east, and the green belts on both sides have grown into dense groves; the coastal expressway stretches from south to north. There is a rotating overpass that completes the intersection with the Beijing-Shenyang Expressway. The green belts on both sides of it are still young saplings. Further north, you can see the viaduct of the Daqin Railway. I understand why farmers leave their land to make a living in the city. I often see some migrant workers who come to the city to work. They are like second-class citizens in the city. Sometimes it is really sad to see them.

The appearance of the village has changed greatly. The village streets have been paved with cement roads. None of the adobe houses in the past can be found. There are almost no old houses. There are two beautiful buildings with colored steel tile roofs. It's dazzlingly bright in the sun.

The landlord’s elder brother, Lao Geda, is over seventy years old. His daughter who married to another village has become a grandmother, and his one-year-old great-grandson is playing on his kang. The son's family built a new building last year, and the old couple now live in the house built when the grandson got married. When I came, my sister-in-law was going to buy meat. I said no, I just wanted to eat what I had at home. So the eldest brother took out two rabbits, killed them, tied them to the door frame and skinned them.

When they heard that I was coming, familiar neighbors came to visit me. They were all strong laborers who worked together in the past. They were all strong men at that time, but now they are all very old. Everyone was having a meal, and I inquired carefully about everything: they ate rice and white noodles, and occasionally had a big meal of corn noodles for a change; there was very little left, and in the words of my sister-in-law, it was "no bigger than a butt curtain." "There are too many", so plant some peanuts to make oil, and then plant some corns to feed the dogs and chickens; the biggest change in burning is that in the past, pine trees were cut down in the mountains, but later the mountains were closed for afforestation and no more cutting was allowed. If there was not enough straw to burn, they had to smash thatch and burn it. Now the riverbanks are full of them. There is no one left to carry firewood, and every household burns briquettes to keep the kang hot all day long.

Speaking of their current living conditions, several of them are quite satisfied. My sister-in-law said: "It was so difficult in those early years. I had to worry about food and food. I was always a bank director in those years. , why? We raise a few chickens, and when we buy lamp oil or salt, we all ask for chicken butts, and even during confinement, we don’t even want to eat an egg.

”

I talked about the family planning slogans I saw along the way, which sparked a lively discussion. Several old friends all disagreed with the current family planning policy, saying that all the country’s policies are good, but only This person didn’t understand the mood of the farmers. Without a boy to go out to make money, the farmers’ life was difficult...

After dinner, I walked out of the street and walked towards the place where there were people. There were almost no young people in the village. The only people left in the village were women, children, old and young, and none of them were able-bodied. They all went to work in nearby cities to earn some money to support their families.

There was a roof being twisted. When wrapping rice, two people kept inserting the corn sticks with wooden shovels, and the machine buzzed to exaggerate the joy of harvest. There was a pile of corn oranges stacked at the door of his house, sitting on the side facing the sun. An old man was smoking a pipe and looking at the people working on the roof. I approached him, and he suddenly turned his head, and I saw an unforgettable face: his face was like a brown rock, and there was a knife of time on his forehead. His dry cheeks were covered with walnut lines, his eyebrows were drooping, his eyes were cloudy and peaceful.

"Ruzi? "He asked tentatively.

"It's me. Are you... staying here? "I couldn't remember who he was for a moment.

"Haha, you don't recognize me. "He said, there was no blame in his tone. "Is it time for labor insurance? ”

“Yes. "I responded and didn't tell him that I had retired. I thought it had nothing to do with him.

"It's good to have labor insurance, live well and enjoy happiness. ”

I want to say that the blessings you enjoy are limited, everyone has troubles, and there are always problems here or there in life. But I didn’t say it. There was no jealousy in his words. It was for my own good. Happy for me.

He raised his chin, pointed towards the people working on the roof, and pointed to the house with the pipe in his hand, "They told me that we farmers also need to receive labor insurance. , the government is conducting experiments. "As he spoke, he smiled with his toothless mouth, and the wrinkles on his face piled up with this smile.

I couldn't help but take a good look at him. Behind his cloudy eyes, there was a calm and grateful heart, clear and clear. And satisfied. I suddenly remembered who he was. In the early years, he was one of the top crops in the village, and he also had a special hobby - eating bugs, not only grasshoppers and sweet worms, but also crickets and mealworms. I wanted to catch them, fry them and eat them, so I teased him: "You don't know, do you?" Now there is a new kind of bug, called web bug..."

Before I could finish my words, he interrupted impatiently. The Adam's apple on his neck squirmed, as if he had swallowed saliva, " What insect? Please tell me in detail! ”

Several people around me laughed, and I laughed too, and he laughed too. Yes, this hearty laughter cannot be faked, even though life is not perfect, even though there are old wounds and Isn’t pain also changing, progressing, and full of hope?

Hometown Complex

I have always been a person who loves my hometown, and my love is deep and deep in my heart. Persistence is unreasonable in the eyes of others.

Strictly speaking, I have no qualifications to show off my hometown in front of others. If I first met her, I was seventeen years old. The experience of being an educated youth was a hardship, but more importantly, it was a rare gift. It allowed me to find my roots and my soul. Without this hardship, maybe I would be like those uneducated people my age. I am as shallow and ignorant as my sisters who live a comfortable life. I am grateful for that informed experience, which enabled me to understand the hardships and harshness of life, so that I can understand and respect life, and like my farmer teacher, I believe in frugality, no vanity, and hard work. I will not be easily overwhelmed by life, and I will not let hardships dampen my optimistic heart.

When writing about my hometown, I should give a rough description of her. I strive to give a close description of her. Warmth and tranquility, rather than general lyricism. This is an inconspicuous small mountain village in the north, with dozens of families and a population of more than 100. She can't be found on the map, embedded in the peaks of Yanshan Mountain. , there is a vigorous and heroic ancient Great Wall winding on the mountain peaks. The north of the village leans on the hillside, and the mountains in the distance form a distant background. From north to south, the terrain gradually becomes wider and lower, and is connected by a river. Five or six villages flow south. The river is neither turbulent nor turbid. Its banks and bottom are covered with soft and clean yellow sand. In summer, thick and strong cattail grass fills the banks of the river, and there is a gentle breeze. The breeze blew, frogs croaked, and the air was filled with the fragrance of cattails.

The long and majestic mountains are like a tolerant and broad patron saint to the people in their hometown. In spring and summer, the mountains are green, and nameless wild flowers all over the mountains and fields are dotted in the green. On sunny days, you can go up the mountain to cut grass and pick wild vegetables. After rain, you can go up the mountain to pick mushrooms. When autumn comes, when the mountains full of miscanthus are swaying in the wind, it is the season to pick hazelnuts. The mountain in my hometown is like a generous mother, raising generations of its descendants. I have always believed that mountains are a sacred thing that people must look up to and keep people humble and respectful.

If I had to use a few simple words to describe my hometown, I would choose tolerance, chic and heroic.

Tolerance is like the old turban worn by an old woman in her hometown, it is the simple and solemn folk customs of the countryside, it is people’s honest smiles, it is the local accent that is as warm as blood flowing, and it is every wisp of smoke rising from the kitchen. It is the poetic mist in the river valley, the mystery and haziness of the mountain village under the bright moonlight, the frank and honest land, and the silhouette of farmers working against the background of the mountains... When you travel leisurely, you will feel the joy from the heart. Relaxation and comfort arise from the heartfelt desire and expectation for a better life.

Easy and unrestrained is like a wisp of fragrant soul, entwining in the sky above my hometown. It is the fresh mountain wind blowing from the depths of the mountains, running happily on the fields, singing along the way. It uses the dancing smoke to show its graceful figure. It shakes the treetops to express a relaxed and cheerful mood. It also blows the maple leaves of a tree red and the miscanthus all over the mountain yellow. It uses bright red rhubarb to exaggerate the atmosphere and thickness of autumn and nourish it. The talent of the poet. In winter, it will run on the open mountains and wilderness with a defiance of everything, roaring into a shocking force that cuts through metal.

Speaking of heroism, it is a lifeline, written by our ancestors on the land on both sides of the river valley, on the hard and bulging bones of the mountain peaks, on the ancient masonry of the Great Wall, and in the mountain wind. Written in flowing water... it has already formed a temperament and a spirit, flowing in the blood of the people in my hometown and passed down from generation to generation. Don’t be afraid of difficulties and never be overwhelmed by suffering. And let everyone who comes into contact with this spirit be infected, persevere, fight, constantly seek, and strive for success.

In the spring of two years ago, problems suddenly appeared in my marriage. I always thought that I could be with my other half until we grow old and pursue his happiness. However, unexpected changes shocked me. In order to change the environment, I returned to this small mountain village and lived here for seven years as an educated youth when I was young. The folks accepted me as always. I received the most sincere warmth among these kind and honest people, and in each of the peasant families. With such warmth, the sadness and impatience accumulated over a long period of time slowly settled. In the eyes of the villagers, what they gave me were all trivial things and ordinary concerns, but for me, I felt a kind of touching heart, a piece of precious warmth, a pure piece of music that stirred up the fire of life. A gift of survival.

Looking back now, the bitterness and bitterness at that time do not occupy a very important position. On the contrary, the blue and high distance of the unpolluted sky, the hills in the sun, and the river in the shade of the mountains. , the group of ordinary farmers in the river valley are automatically stored in my memory, inseparable from my flesh and blood, and always reflect my soul.

It is almost the end of the year. I have worked hard for a year, and I want to go to my hometown to spend a few days at ease.

I want to go to the mountain peak north of the village to worship the mountain breeze at noon when the sun is shining, under the dry blue sky unique to the north. Let it raise my white hair, flutter my clothes, and awaken my soul.

I want to go to the clear spring at the foot of the mountain to retrieve a pot of clear spring water, and by the way remove the dirt accumulated in the hustle and bustle, and cleanse my heart.

I want to enjoy a few warm winter nights. Sister-in-law Yang found the kao brazier that has not been used for a long time and raised a pot of charcoal fire. I want to quietly add a pine cone to burn the fragrance of rosin in the room. , and then roasted peanuts, chestnuts, and sweet potatoes on the fire. We sat on the hot kang and talked about many old stories that had gradually faded away while eating. My landlady in the early days would carefully ask me what time I would go to bed, what time I would wake up, and how much food I could eat. I also want to test whether my palms are warm and whether I have grown any flesh on my body. Then I was reminded over and over again to remember to come back often...

Oh, hometown, I am in your arms, please hold me tight.