Hometown Prose in Dream

My hometown is in the west of Guanzhong, Shaanxi Province, and it is an ordinary small village in Weibei. On the Weibei Plateau, there are many such small villages, which are arranged on the Yuan Ye between the lush Qinling Mountains and the vast Qian Shan. The Weihe River is like a belt, and two mountains are like thunder, fixed on this long and narrow fertile soil. These small villages are very similar, just like countless leaves on a big tree. It is difficult for you to tell each other from a distance. However, my hometown is an extraordinary village, especially when it comes into my dream.

It is certainly a compliment to say that my hometown is a fairyland on earth, but it does have some "beauty". A friend of mine once said that its location is a typical loess plateau landform, with ravines and mountains and rivers. Actually, it's true that there is water. As for its mountains, it depends on where you stand. If you stand in the village and look out, there are really mountains and waters. To the east and south of the village are high slopes that have been pulled up by dozens of feet. The slope is steep and undulating, and Lei Lei is really like a mountain; The roads leading to the east and south of the village have taken passages. After the magneto-optical dirt road drilled into the cliff, I saw the head missing the tail, vaguely like a dragon. I don't know when it came down: "Man struggles upwards, but water flows downwards". People in the village always rush to the heights when they want to go out. As a result, a white light path winds along the height of the cliff and never sinks into the place where the cliff top meets the white clouds, bringing some picturesque meaning to the village. The gurgling Yonghe River sang all the way, and crept into the endless reeds behind our village, only smelling the sound of water, but not its flicker and magnificence, adding a kind of poetry to the village.

Shaanxi Guanzhong is located in the cold temperate zone, where trees and weeds flourish naturally. The slopes on both sides are littered with trees in twos and threes. Those trees will suddenly bloom, and if you look at a tree from a distance, you will smell the fragrance. There is no bare land on the slope, and all kinds of grass protect it all year round. In spring, the grass blooms quickly, and the slope changes color every three to five days: when the wild finch blooms, it wears a purple robe, and when the dandelion blooms, it wears a yellow jacket. Don't forget that small white flowers bloom and the high slopes turn pink and green. Forget-me-not's white flowers are too small, which can only reduce the dignity of green grass, but can't change its color. It makes it more melancholy and dreamy.

The west of the village is very open, with only a few long mounds. Of course, Guanzhong is a place with an inch of land and gold, and that long mound is also a farmland. When the slope is short of water, there are many kinds of millet, millet, pea and buckwheat. Naturally, crops are more spectacular than weeds. In two or three days, large tracts of land will be painted in one color, red, yellow and green, just like children's fighting flowers. I don't know, from behind a mound, a clear stream emerged, gurgling and clear, and reached the back of our village. This is Yonghe River.

Yong River is an ancient river, which opened a wide crack on the same ancient plateau with seemingly weak rapids. Later, the water became smaller, gradually shrinking into a clear stream and retreating to a corner of the river bed. The riverbed, which once carried rapids, is now covered with reeds, stretching for miles and lush. Reed is the companion of life. In spring, it absorbs countless frogs with its lush green color, making restless frog drums knock out the dawn one by one. Summer will attract a bird named "Gaga" with dense green gauze tents, so that the cry of "Gaga" will be accompanied every day; In late autumn, reeds filled with ditches and gaps hold up gray tassels and sway in the cool wind, which makes people feel infinite melancholy; In the snowy winter, the harvested reed field is a place that all animals need to look for. Pheasants, rabbits, badgers, foxes and wolves can all find food here. Children who collect firewood can bring their dogs here to harvest warmth and endless fun.

In fact, what I never forget about my hometown is not only its natural beauty, but also the incomparable warm atmosphere created by my parents.

At that time, people in my hometown used firewood to cook and burn kang. At sunset, the smoke from cooking kang came up. Gray smoke does not directly spread into the air. It first gathers around the house, and then around the village, permeating and transpiration, just like the white clouds seen from the porthole of the plane. At this time, from a distance, the rugged village seems to be floating in white clouds. With the gradual decrease of sunlight, all the bright colors on the Yuan leaves tend to be consistent, and finally they are unified into a gray like an ink painting. When the weather is dry, the smog will last until the bright moon rises; When there is plenty of rain, it will last until nightfall, and finally melt into the deepening darkness.

When the dark clouds begin to diffuse, it is also time to call it a day. Those villagers who have worked in the fields all day will carry plowshares and follow the cows slowly to the village. People and cattle have worked hard for a day, and now they enjoy the poetic realm of "dusk has passed and cattle and sheep come down" The owner can't bear to drive away the cows as tired as they are. Therefore, some people will beat the share with the whip handle and give a few acid misinterpretations to relieve fatigue. People who don't want to listen to sour songs will also sing a few out-of-tune Shaanxi operas. Those old cows don't want to be lonely for a long time. From time to time, they raise their heads and make a long and slow roar, just like singing with their owners. If it weren't for these two plays, you would even ignore the movements of farmers and cows during this period, and only appreciate the villages floating on the white clouds and the beautiful scenery of harmony between man and nature. You will feel that you are in a fairyland, an illusory mirage, and an unparalleled pastoral picture.

Rainy days are farmers' rest days. They look forward to rain, for the sake of crops and for the sake of rest. In the eyes of farmers, there are only two kinds of people, one is a "worker" who has a public holiday, and the other is a farmer who only has a "rest day". On rainy days, they can temporarily put down their work and do what they want to do, just like workers take a vacation: women will take needlework or soak a lot of straws, find their companions while working and talk about their worries; Men go to their friends Zhenhai, listen to people talking about the past and the present, or compete on the border of Chu River and Han River. Children are always the happiest. They will lay mud bricks, trudge in the sticky mud like walking on stilts, go to their employers, visit their westerners, invite their partners, read picture books together, brag, and even push Wulong to win the game at 10: 30.

At noon, when the chicken crowed, the women hurried home to cook. The eldest sister-in-law with the child stood at their door, calling the child back to make a fire, while the young daughter-in-law set out into the kitchen. Then, with the sound of a gust of wind, the smoke from the kitchen began to rise in the village. At this time, those newly married young men will go home voluntarily, but the man who gave birth to the child is still me. When the meal is ready, the woman will ask the child to call his father back. As a result, there is another kind of music in the village lane. I don't know whose father's child is standing outside my house, shouting in the air: "Dad ~ Ya ~, Eat ~ Rice ~ Li ~" and "Dad ~ Ya ~, Eat ~ Rice ~ Li ~". I was surprised at the time that the voices of these children were not much different, why the old people in the village could distinguish the callers!

There is not much rain in Guanzhong, so it is rare to rest for a few days a year. People in the village often get together at dinner time. People in the last century called this form the Old Bowl Party. Every meal season, people carry an old bowl full of spoilers, turn it out leisurely, gather somewhere in the village, and tell their news while eating. Sometimes people make fun of their food: people who eat sorghum flour will beautify their food as "surrounded by water", while "tendon cutting" made of wheat flour and rice flour will be called "donkey's ears". At breakfast, someone will bring out a plate of wild vegetables to cook porridge, so this dish is definitely for everyone to enjoy, and anyone can have a bite.

The past half century has been the most dramatic time. Things have changed, and earth-shaking changes have taken place in my dream hometown. The patchwork house has become neat, the winding dirt road has become a straight cement road, and the clatter of bellows can no longer be heard when cooking, and even the smoke from cooking will no longer rise. People have already used induction cookers. However, the smoke around the village decades ago still lingers in front of my eyes. The trembling cry of calling dad back for dinner has never left my memory, and the scene of squatting or standing to eat together has always controlled my appetite. The unparalleled tranquility in the village, the harmony that people feel about life, and the simple nature that needs no carving have gradually become the whole of my dream hometown.