Weather in Mengjiaping, Xing County

It's really amazing.

The first time I left my hometown, my mother grabbed a handful of soil from my hometown and put it in her pocket. Mother said that no matter how far you go, as long as you put some loess in your hometown in your drinking water, you won't be acclimatized; No matter how lonely you are in a foreign land, you won't feel lonely as long as you smell the soil in your hometown.

My hometown is really amazing. I really won't feel sick and vomit like other comrades, but I will miss my hometown deeply in the dead of night.

To tell the truth, my hometown really doesn't occupy much place in my heart. But the earthy smell of my hometown is the only fragrance that can intoxicate me. Walking into my hometown, that mountain is very close to my shoulder, and I am carrying a shoulder of soil. Water flows into my heart, and the smell of earth melts into my blood. The grass dyed the yellow soil green, which deepened my memory. Wildflowers, Mingshan and Shan Ye also fragrant my feelings. Although my hometown is a barren land, the smell of soil has fascinated generations here.

The fragrance of the native land is the fragrance of "the same strain".

My hometown is a poor place. The even yellow land produces some millet, beans, corn and sorghum. At that time, the elders were called "coarse grains", but now the city people are called "local products". At that time, chemical fertilizers and pesticides were not needed. The food eaten by elders is called "raw grain", and now people in the city are called "green food". People who eat "raw grain" are healthy, so the water and soil here are also prosperous.

One side of the soil and water, one side of the people. People who used to live here were very poor, and the rice, oil, salt, sauce and vinegar depended on a few old hens raised at home. For example, if a child needs to buy a pencil for school, he should apply to his mother first, and her mother will give him an egg. At the consignment point, I changed it to 60 cents, and the pencil was 20 cents. The remaining 40 cents have been included in my mother's calculation, so I have to return it all.

People in the mountains are very grounded, and the old-fashioned taste on their bodies is accompanied by more honesty and simplicity. Just like the grass growing on this yellow land, it is endless and humble. They have everything they should have in life except that they have no extra money. I am healthy, optimistic and full of confidence in pursuing a free life.

They are not greedy for money, and they don't have too many "extravagant demands"-warm clothes, full meals, and feelings of seeking truth ... Apart from basic needs, there are no "materialistic" concepts such as birthright, facade, rank and nobility. Clothes bought for two yuan on the beach still look natural and graceful. Talking with city people who wear thousands of dollars a piece of clothing, I don't feel that the living standard is low. Simple tea and light meals are also enjoyable, and clothes and pants are comfortable.

I admire Thoreau's words, "Extra money can only buy extra things." So I got another feeling from my hometown life: extra money can only buy extra feelings. A natural and peaceful mood is healthy, and you don't need to spend more money on it. On the contrary, vanity, comparison and impetuous emotions are precisely the arrogance and extravagance you buy after you have more money.

The most beautiful scenery in my hometown is people and grass. Although this land is barren, it is rich in herbs. Where there is soil, there is grass growing. Ditches, beams, mountains and slopes are everywhere. From a distance, the village floats in the sea of grass, and people are like stars and waves on the sea. Grass is grounded, and people are exposed to grass. Therefore, people here are called grass people. The right people are grass, and their roots are deeply rooted in this soil.

Grass is the messenger of spring and the child of this yellow land. When winter goes and spring comes, weeds know their mission, and in the muddy turbulence of just melting snow, they all show fresh new green. Looking into the distance, countless green particles are connected together. The land in my hometown was gaunt at once, once again full of green songs, and the air was filled with elegant fragrance, so life had the hope and support of survival.

Maybe no one knows the names of these grasses. Maybe they don't even have a name. Maybe they don't want any birthright at all. They are not fresh or bright, but they are persistent and strong in their bones. The wind and rain are coming, and the grass is interwoven into brocade. You have me and I have you, and a fluffy green smoke is floating. The wind rushed one after another, and patches of grass fluttered like green satin; Rain bursts, clumps of grass like handfuls of umbrellas tightly protect the loess at the foot. Just like our ancestors, no matter how hard and tired they are, they are guarding this land and their homes.

Grass in my hometown is also a psychic plant. The bushes raced against time, and soon all the fields, dirt roads and streams were flooded. Drive farmers to roads and fields, and drive cattle and sheep to hills and rivers. The farmers were glad to be driven away by them, humming beautiful tunes on dirt roads, singing melodious folk songs in the fields, and their joy and hope wriggled in wrinkles. Cattle and sheep are happy to be crazy on their own turf, chewing grass, staring back at their children and colleagues and enjoying the taste of food.

Grandma told me that there is no grass that doesn't bloom in my hometown. Flowers are blooming, just as beautiful. Yes! In fact, flowers are grass and grass is flowers. It is called "flower" when it blooms and "grass" when it doesn't bloom. Grass growing in the countryside has been looking for its own beauty. They prepared for a long time, until one day, when it was time for them to show their beauty, when the night was thick, they silently opened it. Small, star zero, colorful and fragrant. Flowers and plants are covered with a rich fragrance, which makes people quietly intoxicated, unlike catkins to publicize their arrival all over the world. Sometimes they are hiding, just like a shy girl, and that little fragrance is also firmly restrained. Occasionally, some butterflies and bees tease, but they won't stay long. It seems that beautiful, bright and fragrant words are not in their dictionary. Nobody cares about them except those with real temperament.

When I was a child, I used to climb the mountains in my hometown, or pick wild fruits and melons, or catch cicadas, or lie naked on the hairy grass in the sun. Although I was with the bushes, I didn't really look at those nameless flowers because they really didn't attract me to take a look. What children want is to grow away from this barren yellow land and these weeds. It was not until a long time later that I saw a panoramic photo of my hometown and was shocked instantly. Green grass, white, pink, all kinds of buds scattered all over the place, like countless colorful pearls, scattered on the green brocade, gathering the elegance, fragrance and beauty of flowers.

How many people, including me, noticed the beauty of silence? Our eyes have long been blinded by the glitz and splendor of life, and our aesthetics have fallen far behind butterflies, bees, dragonflies and even those fireflies. Unlike us, they are self-righteous and impetuous. They have a soft spot for these wild flowers and cherish them, waiting for them to bloom and fall.

A friend is visiting my hometown. It coincides with the beautiful season of green grass and mountain flowers. The mountains are dripping green; Grass, green, streamer; The wild flowers in the stars are fragrant. Breathe the fresh air, taste the sweet spring water, see the green mountains and green waters, and smell the purity of home. The cuckoo's cry in the distance and the murmur of a nearby stream immediately intoxicated her with the natural beauty of her hometown. In this magical land, she plunged into the flower bud, walked and watched over and over again, and sometimes squatted down to look at those greedy bees; Sometimes I pick a bunch of wild flowers and hold them in front of me to smell them. Mouth muttering: I finally understand what anthomaniac looks like; Can't help but shout: beautiful, beautiful!

I can understand her forgetfulness. I guess she hasn't been to the mountains in northwest Shanxi personally, and she hasn't been in close contact with bushes and wild flowers. She is familiar with Chinese rose, pomegranate and Milan. Too much dryness and silence filled her senses. The clear water and green mountains in my hometown and the green grass and wild flowers in my hometown are all scenery. I am proud of her ecstasy. She opened her voice affectionately and sang "People say Shanxi is a good scenery". With the abundance of wild flowers, the song has been circling in the quiet ravine for a long time, awakening countless obsessed butterflies and bees. ...

Over the years, I have degenerated into a passer-by in the village and amazing changes have taken place in my hometown. Although the mountains are still so beautiful, the water is still so clear and the grass is still so lush, the best things left in my hometown are gone. The frolicking children's voices are gone, the way to school is flooded with weeds, the school where I once studied is in ruins, and those brothers and sisters also live in the city. The smoke that once branded me, the screaming cattle and sheep, the cry of the farmer when plowing the fields, the sweet folk songs, the rows of caves, Warm, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable. Heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, heatable, the expectant eyes, turning around and sighing deeply, really shocked people.

I often dream of going back to my hometown. One night, I dreamed that the village where I was born and raised disappeared completely in that barren home. The outline of the village is vague and desolate, leaving only crows in empty clothes and dead leaves in the wind. My heart throbs with pain and heaviness.

Will the village disappear? I prefer to believe that dreams are the opposite. This yellow land is very livable, with mountains and water, grass and trees, fields and slopes, which can be planted and raised. There are warm sunshine in spring, fragrant flowers in summer, heavy autumn colors in autumn and white snow in winter. It is a quiet and beautiful paradise.

In the future, even if all future generations forget it, at least, the roots of those grasses will go deep into the soil and tie their feet. There are also contemporaries who were born and raised in the village like me. They will always think about this land and kiss this home hysterically forever.

(Photo/Zhao Buming)

Zhang, a native of Mengjiaping Township, Xing County, Shanxi Province, was born on July 1962. 1983 began to learn to write after enlisting, and published works and news articles in People's Liberation Army Daily, People's Daily and Comrade's Daily 100. After 1990, he joined the business world and stopped writing. 20 13 once again embarked on the road of creation, and published an article "Kiss, Native Land" in Xingxian Daily in recent years.