Prevent (division,) theft.

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I always feel that people born in the countryside have richer childhood memories than children in the city.

These memories have the vast land, rolling mountains, towering trees, thunder and lightning and hail, and undulating crops as the background. It allows us to experience the myriad flavors of life, which has been immersed in us early in our childhood. This kind of experience may provide us with a better understanding of life.

The background of our lives is given a layer of background.

For example, my memory of childhood summer, now in the city, there is still a faint light from a firefly, leading me to pursue and miss it deeply.

The sun was indeed a bit big, and when you squinted at the sky, it was brighter than the sunflowers in the field. However, the wind blew from the mountains and fields, carrying with it the scent of herbaceous plants on the earth, which cooled the young man's heart. Looking up again

Looking up at the sky, there are thick white clouds in the sky, like a camel walking slowly.

The young man walked to the well, which was an old well in the village. He picked up the clear well water and drank it, which immediately moistened his internal organs. The young man grew up drinking the well water in the village. The well water in the village gave

A pair of clear eyes appeared in the young man's eyes. The village's undulating mountain ridges, tall trees, and hard rocks were constantly gathering and flowing water underground. The water filled the veins crisscrossing the land. A well was dug out.

The clear water is like a baby's eyes suddenly opening, and the whole countryside becomes vivid and bright.

In the village, men smoked cigarettes under the trees, old people passing by covered their chests and coughed, old cows returning home at dusk were being led on their way home, and someone’s mother’s long voice floated in the evening wind: “Three.

Yazi, come back for dinner..." This is a shot of a summer evening in my childhood, etched in my memory like a print.

Under the yellow kudzu tree, before dusk has arrived, some villagers have set up tables and stools under the tree, and the women are preparing dinner for the evening. Smoke is curling up in the village, and from the smell of cooking smoke, I can accurately tell that Aunt Wang’s family is cooking

Pumpkin rice, Zhang Er Mazi's family is frying beans, Hong Laosan's family is stewing bacon, and my family is making potato shreds noodles...

Zhang Ermazi was the first to bring the fried beans to the table under the yellow kudzu tree, and he began to invite several men in the village to drink together. At that time, the folk customs were simple, and there were dozens of families in the village. Each family served a dish, and you used chopsticks and I took a chopstick.

There were dishes on the table, laughter and laughter, the children were playing hide and seek under the trees, and the adults were talking about mulberry and honey amidst the fragrance of rice flowers and the sound of frogs croaking.

What makes me most happy is that Uncle Hou, the storyteller in the village, tells us a passage from an ancient book under the yellow kudzu tree every night. Often at the most exciting point, he stops abruptly and says: "If you want to know what happens next, let's listen to the explanation next time!"

"I went home with my shadow in the moonlight, thinking about the story of Uncle Hou, which brought me back to the scenes in the ancient stories in my dream. I remember that one night when I was 8 years old, I dreamed that I was competing with Sun Wukong.

Somersaulting, he woke up and rolled over the edge of the bed.

The leaves rustled in the evening breeze, and I felt like water was flowing in the tree trunks. The cool wind blew into the yard, and the wooden door opened with a creak. At dusk, my mother often brought a basin of water and poured it on the ground.

Like pouring water into a slightly hot iron pot, the sizzling heat spreads out. At night, the night breeze is as cold as water. Our family sleeps on the large dustpan placed in the yard. The moonlight floats and the chirping of insects comes one after another.

.One night, I was woken up by the night wind. I chased the fireflies to the mountain ridge alone, but the fireflies flew away. Under the moonlight, I saw watermelons in the sand on the mountain ridge, like mines hidden among the leaves.

The watermelon was ripe early, so I simply smashed one open with a stone and ate it. It was so sweet. It was the sweetest watermelon I have ever tasted. At this time, there was a roaring sound coming from the canal beside the mountain ridge.

The sound of water turned out to be the brigade pumping water from the reservoir to fight the drought.

I tiptoed back, and a coughing sound startled me. When I looked closely, I saw a man walking over under the moonlight carrying a hoe. It turned out that it was Zhao Dafa, the brigade water piper. He was patrolling along the road to pump water. He saw it.

I muttered: "Baby, it's so late at night, why don't you go home and sleep."

I returned to the yard and found that the thin mother in the dustpan had disappeared. It turned out that the night wind was too cold, and my mother went back to the house to sleep with the quilt in her arms. Outside the window, I heard my mother's slight snoring. I looked at the night sky, and it looked like lake water.

The sky is blue, and a bright moon is shining in the sky. I am thinking that early tomorrow morning, my mother will go uphill again to harvest corn. It doesn't matter if I can't sleep, just let my mother sleep well.

When I was thinking this way, the dogs in the village barked a few times, and the night wind blew, and I shivered, which was like a message that autumn was coming. Sure enough, when I woke up in the morning, there was a layer of dew on my eyebrows.

After summer, it’s autumn, and I seem to be a middle-aged man in the city now. The middle-aged man has a pair of worldly and turbid eyes, and he is still looking at the immortal image negatives of his childhood summer, in the water of time.

During soaking, it develops clearly again.

A wanderer who has been in a foreign country for a long time will always yearn for his hometown. Everything and every thing that revolves around family ties, every plant, every tree, every meal, will always inadvertently arouse the wanderer's homesickness.

During the Spring Festival this year, my husband and I returned to his hometown. We drank rice wine from his hometown, ate glutinous rice balls stuffed with dried tofu and bamboo shoots from his hometown, worshiped his ancestors, and visited relatives. On a sunny afternoon, my husband was in high spirits.

Bobo took my daughter and me to the fields.

The countryside in the south is still full of spring scenery in winter. Along the way, as we walked, we saw mountains in the distance, green water surrounding houses, red and pink camellias dotting the houses, green bamboos and cypresses surrounding the villages, and rows of green tea trees. Walking in

On the ridge of the field, my daughter carefully identified the various fruits, vegetables and trees in the field. My husband talked about the childhood memories evoked by this scene. I was immersed in the fresh air of the countryside, the long white clouds on the forest tips and the water.

In the beautiful scenery of Murayamaguo.

Suddenly, I found a kind of grass that seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t name it. My husband said, “This is a kind of wild vegetable. It’s called Ci’en in our local dialect. I don’t know what it’s called in Mandarin. We use it here every Qingming Festival.”

The custom of rice crackers." One sentence reminded me. Could it be the yellow-flowered wheat crackers mentioned by Zhou Zuoren in his article, whose scientific name is Acanthus striata?

"The leaves are small and slightly round and alternate, with white hairs on the surface, and yellow flowers, clustered on the tips." My daughter took a photo with her mobile phone, and after searching online, she found that it was indeed the yellow-flowered wheat fruit that Zhou Zuoren could not forget. So, my daughter and I wanted to try it.

It was Qingming Festival rice crackers. When I went home and told my mother-in-law, she happily agreed to make them for us.

The day before we left home, my second sister also came to see us off. The five of us went to the field closest to home. The sunshine was warm. We were chatting and laughing while picking wild vegetables. It was as interesting as a game, and the cheerful atmosphere was diluted.

Feeling sad about parting, we soon picked up a basket full of kindness.

After returning home, everyone worked together to wash vegetables, flour, make fillings and cakes, then put the wrapped rice crackers in the mold, print an orchid on it, and then steam it. After so much work

, rice crackers were placed on the table. The green rice crackers carried the aroma of wild vegetables. Take a bite while they are hot: "Well, they are fragrant, soft and glutinous, and delicious!" At that moment, the faces of the relatives were filled with happy smiles,

My daughter and I happily took photos and posted them on WeChat Moments, fixing this warm and joyful moment in our memories.

The fragrant rice crackers convey nostalgia. A certain period of time, a certain scene, and a certain flavor will be melted into life, reminding you of the direction of your hometown from time to time in the passing years. Time and space will not stop the nostalgia of wanderers and the concerns of relatives.

The wind in the morning was still biting, so I bundled up tightly as usual and entered the unit. I looked up and found that on the side of the road on the other side of the road, the willow branches that had been dry all winter and were dark were actually showing a faint green.

While I was marveling, I suddenly thought, is it possible that this spring-budding willow tree was turned green by the eyes of people who are eagerly looking forward to spring?

Thinking like this, all kinds of reverie about Liu came out.

What about the color of the willow? Maybe it was painted by someone, otherwise how could the green willow be only half yellow and not uniform? Of course, the willow color in Xishu still needs the oriole outside Du Fu's window to chirp a few times before it becomes full of green. The willow leaves will be full of green.

, naturally cut with fine scissors. As soon as the spring breeze in February came out, the green leaves were flying, and the willow branches were covered with green leaves, which also made the whole spring green.

Willows not only decorate the spring, but their greater function is to express feelings. Climb the strips to fold the colors and send them in front of the dragon's garden. Haha, the ancients did not spend a penny, just folded a willow branch and created romance! Otherwise, just fill it in

If a poem about willow branches reaches your ears if you don’t believe it, you won’t feel the nostalgia for your hometown. Otherwise, I’ll tie your heart tightly with a long length of willow silk.

The catkins flying all over the sky also have their uses. What kind of leisure time is there? A Sichuan tobacco, the city is full of catkins. However, in Du Fu's works, the same catkins become crazy catkins drifting with the wind, and light peach blossoms drifting with the water; in Xue Baochai's eyes

Here, it is the good wind that carries me up to the blue clouds with its power.

The Xianmen faces the mountain road, and the deep willow reading hall has vertical strips and sparse branches. It is quiet and pleasant. Mr. Tao Yuanming, the teacher of Wuliu, has brought Liu into another realm.

The willow branches are soft and sway in the wind, just like the dancing shadows. The willow leaves are slender, just like the distant mountain eyebrows of the beautiful woman who look like they are frowning but not frowning. In this way, the curling willow is the embodiment of weakness? Or is it?

It's really hard to say, Pu Songling once wrote about a woman who is not inferior to men.

I never quite understood why the old man gave such a feminine image such a gentle name. Later, I happened to look through it and found out that Xiliu has the name Xiliu Camp. It was the place where Zhou Yafu, a famous general of the Han Dynasty, was stationed.

Troops. It is said that Zhou Yafu managed the army with strict discipline, and the Xiliu Army had strict military discipline. Emperor Wen of the Han Dynasty went to express condolences, but was rejected. The guarding soldiers said to him: The army hears the general's orders, but not the emperor's edicts. In this way,
Chapter completed!