The weather in Yaque Ridge

Hi! It's all the fault of Liuchi Lane culture and the owner of Xingweizhai, which makes people want to go home in such a lively late autumn.

In the early morning of the 27th, under the gloomy sky, I got on the bus bound for Wanghe with my friends from the same clan in the city square. The two cars were full and full of laughter.

The monitor Bao Chun said, Let's go!

The car moved slowly along Tongqian County Road, and the steeper it went to the west road, the winding mountain road and the smoke curled up. Along the way, the literary friends marveled at the ingenuity of Tongxiang nature.

The autumn tour route conforms to the context of Zhai Zhu's article, and it will be sunny after Huangpu.

The second son's home is in the sun. Over the years, my second son and I have run back and forth countless times, and we know it well. I will laugh off the appreciation of my literary friends.

Yes, it's really beautiful.

The car turned left at Heiaoling and drove into the cement road leading to Wanghe. My friends in the literary and art circles are laughing, but I am a little absent-minded

In the mountains in October, it seems that osmanthus flowers are in full bloom, and the air is filled with a good smell.

This is a gathering of literary friends, jointly created by Gu Jing Winery and Liuchi Lane Culture. I'm one of them. It's purely fake.

Yes, this is the Gu Jing Prize for Thesis Writing, not written by me; I swam in the beautiful autumn of Wanghe River, but I couldn't help coming.

I am a painter of Wanghe. I have known Liuchi Lane culture for three years, and I have known the vegetarian for three years. Although I grew up in Wanghe, I don't know as much about her as I do about vegetarians.

As the car was walking, He Fan's Drums Pass the Stone and Longjinggou Waterfall written by a strong classmate came into view. Due to the weather, the Longjinggou Waterfall, which was sung in those days, has quietly passed away, leaving only the stone that was white because of dryness, with a helpless white color.

At the foot of the mountain, the Beichong River winds from the deep mountain in Tangwan, flows through He Fan, bypasses Longshan and Wuzui, and flows into Guniubei Reservoir.

Sitting in the car, the mountain of Longshan moves with the movement of the car, and the rolling back of Longshan is rare and vivid in the eyes.

The first time I saw it was when I went to Tangwan Medical Station with my aunt to sell peach stones. Aunt vividly introduced the dragon head, longan, Longbei and Longjinggou along the way. The legendary magic made me forget the fatigue of walking.

In front of Wanghe Old Grain Station, the south-facing river turned a corner along the foot of the mountain and flowed eastward. At this corner, the river forms a deep pool, the water is clear and blue, and fish and shrimp are all over the pebbles, which is clearly visible.

There are memories here. I especially loved this pool when I was studying in Wanghe junior high school. I am always attracted by it and long for its coolness. Often after lunch, without telling the teacher or calling his friends, he dives into the water, or dives into the water, or digs the ground with a dog. There are also brave people jumping down from the top of a stone wall more than ten feet high, splashing waves, and our faces are happy with it.

Children are naive and playful, and get carried away. In a small pool, water splashed and white waves danced, and joy overflowed the whole beach in an instant.

One day, Mr. Zhu, the head teacher, was caught red-handed when he rode back to school. Fortunately, everyone United and didn't give up the leader's head. They all stood in the hot sun on the edge of the playground in small shorts for half a class. All the girls who came and went hid their faces and smiled.

The car drove smoothly, and when I was sitting in the car, my mouth involuntarily rose.

Now the deep pool is still there, but the laughter is ethereal.

Wanghe junior high school teaching building is on the hillside behind Wuzui. General Mao Wanbiao, the commander-in-chief of Hainan Wenchang space launch, was still studying hard here at that time, silently storing knowledge and energy for the future space career of the motherland, and also writing the song of youth for himself.

Township government is 0/00 meters away from junior high school/kloc-. The general's father was working in the township government. I once went in and out of the mysterious courtyard with blue bricks and gray tiles with the general's brother.

There, I memorized a thin Poem of Chairman Mao, Yongmei and Li Shuyi, and asked WU GANG what's in "Wind and Rain Send Home in Spring".

The car drove past Wuzui Bridge, and Fangjiahe was just north of the township government compound. Master Zhai said that this river used to be called "Guanzhu River", which was a song "Flowers" flowing down from Xiangyang Village, and the village on the river was called Xiaohezhuang.

When I was at school, I really didn't know that this river was once called "Guanzhu River". Without a bridge, all the stones in the river are placed at equal distances. After years of river erosion, the stone surface has been polished round.

There is plenty of rain in spring and summer, and a heavy rain from time to time forces us to suspend classes and go home early. The teacher was separated in three or five places, and the weak students were carried across the river by the teacher. I am small, and I have enjoyed this kind of treatment. Seeing the torrent rolling under my feet, I closed my eyes and dared not open them. I fell on the teacher's generous back, and my heart was warm.

When it is cold in winter, the stone surface will freeze and slip easily, so be careful every time you trip.

Later, a small cement bridge was built upstream of the stone pier, which greatly changed the suffering of pedestrians crossing the river. Later, the policy of benefiting farmers benefited every village, and a new highway bridge was built on the Guanzhu River. Villagers who go out can drive home directly. Great!

A few years ago, I walked from Xiaohezhuang twice, and happiness hung on the faces of the villagers in Xiaohezhuang. The willow tree at the bridge head also has long branches and greets passers-by with a smile. There are occasional villagers coming and going on the cement bridge, but there seems to be a lot less grindstones in the river.

On the western hill of Xiaohezhuang, there is a famous man named Fang. Reading came and went when I was a child, and I often heard adults talk about it, but I don't know how famous he is. Look at the Baidu entry and you will know a thing or two.

Fang Shudong, a native of Tongcheng, Anhui Province, read a lot of poetry books since he was a child, but he was almost the same as me in the exam, and he always failed, which was not satisfactory. Later, I was so angry that I turned to education and "preached, taught and dispelled doubts" for the students. He often said to his disciples, "A scholar who only eats rice and dresses will inevitably feel guilty. Only by studying rationally, writing diligently, and writing books can we repay the society and serve the people, and we can be innocent. "

Fang has the luck to study, but he has no life to be an official. Later, he lived in seclusion at home and watched the invasion of foreign powers. Heartbroken, he wrote a book "Crime on His Sick Bed" during his illness, but nobody cared and died. He was a famous writer and thinker in the middle of Qing Dynasty.

A scholar who was so worried about the country and people was buried in Wanghe, but he never had a chance to pay a visit.

In the southbound car, Xiaohezhuang Highway looks like a straight and swaying white belt, and the quiet carp ditch has lost its former noise due to drought.

Further up, is the border of Song San, named Song San. I heard it was named after three tall pine trees.

Lord Zhai said that Ma Qichang's grave was in Song San.

Now there is a family named Ma, which is honest and filial. His eldest son and my childhood classmates should be descendants of the horse and stay to look after the horse's family.

Du Niang confessed: Ma Qichang, a famous writer and scholar in the late Qing Dynasty and the early Republic of China, was born in a noble family in Momo, and he was smart and eager to learn. Because I didn't take the provincial examination in my early years, I was not interested in my career. He is enthusiastic about the education in his hometown and takes "training talents to help the world" as his responsibility.

In his later years, Ma Qichang was numb and white-haired, but he was still meticulous in his studies. After his death, Ma Qicheng was buried in Song San.

Song San Village is small, with wang xing surnamed Wu in the majority, simple folk customs and harmonious neighborhood relations. My brother-in-law adopted his wife's aunt's house, which is here. When I was a child, I often went over mountains to play with my cousins. There is a pond in the village, as flat as a mirror and as green as blue, which photocopies my childhood happiness. For decades, my uncle and aunt respected each other and never blushed.

The car continued southbound, and the sign of Wanghe Village Committee was just around the corner. Before I arrived at the village, I first saw the Wu ancestral hall on the hillside on the west side of the road. Amazing, magnificent and magnificent, the red balloon hung high above the venue, bringing the festival to a new height.

This is a masterpiece jointly invested by Mr. Wu Chao, a rural sage, and his people. Magnificent, it is not only the Wu ancestral hall, but also the trailer hill historical exhibition hall.

We came here just in time for the opening of the exhibition hall. The opening ceremony was grand and the speech was inspiring. In the square, the fireworks flying all over the sky bear the enthusiasm of Wanghe people, and colorful flowers are scattered everywhere.

In the exhibition hall, Zhai Zhu, who lives in Wanghe, explained the human history and geographical features of Trailer Mountain one by one with a magnetic baritone and pictures all over the wall.

Onlookers listened intently for fear of missing it. Lord Zhai is a person I admire. He is knowledgeable, studious and good at learning. He only needs a few keywords to tell the relevant allusions one by one. Just watching him talk is also a kind of enjoyment.

I read Zhai's main words on my mobile phone. The original "Xishan Jingshe" is at the foot of the new ancestral hall, and the "Xishan Jingshe" is the old ancestral hall of the Wu family further north. The river recedes far away, and the red and green vegetation covers the distant years.

At that time, the Yao brothers moved out of the city, worked hard in the city, and decided to take Wan Li Road. Go out to see the scenery when you are tired, and make a cup of scented tea when you are thirsty. It is a pleasure to spend eight years at a time.

I went to Sandalwood Temple with Team A, and it was sunny. Miss Zi Yuan gave me a megaphone on the way, hoping to explain the origin of Sandalwood Temple.

To be honest, I'm going to make a fool of myself.

Sandalwood Temple is diagonally opposite to my home, backed by Yinda Mountain in Fang Jia, Forest Canyon and Meiyou, with gurgling streams.

The first time I came here, when I was studying in junior high school, the school organized me to move wood. Wood was used for the expansion of Sandalwood Temple, but the superior was useless. All the prepared timber is transported back to Wanghe Junior Middle School to build a school building.

At that time, young people were like a swarm of bees, laughing and fighting all the way. The noise broke the peace in the mountains, and crows and magpies flew around. Only temples, Buddhist caves and standing pines and cypresses accommodate our innocence.

Later, I went out to make a living and only came once or twice before and after the Spring Festival, either to seek fleeting time or to seek hope. Sandalwood Temple gradually remained in my memory.

What can I say except place names, tree names and flower names?

Fortunately, friends who first came into contact with literature were fascinated by the scenery in front of them. The water in the distance, the nearby mountains, beaches and stranded fishing boats fall into the camera everywhere, as if they didn't care about my embarrassment at all.

The sun was soft, and I led them through between Sandalwood Temple and White Pagoda.

The ravine has dried up, and pebbles are scattered one by one, quietly watching us uninvited guests.

The door of the temple was open and there was no one inside. It is our arrival that makes the Buddhist temple lively.

Kowtow, worship and sincerity.

Outside the hall, literary and art friends twittered like birds, pointing here and looking at that, filled with joy.

The Buddha Cave and Baita are at the highest point of Sandalwood Temple, and the legendary longan well in the cave has also dried up. Legend has it that the enemy can't compete with reality, only blaming this year's "great drought."

Standing in front of the White Pagoda, looking around, the distant mountains contain Dai and the water is blue.

Separated by water, Zhang Bingwen's cemetery is close at hand. In order to prevent the Qing army from invading, the loyal minister of Daming died for his country without waiting for reinforcements in Jinan. His wives and concubines also dedicated themselves to Daming Lake to show their loyalty. Later generations helped the coffin to return home and buried it in the foothills of the trailer.

In the 1960s, the slogan of a specific era resounded through the sky, and the ignorant ZFP blew up its grave and destroyed its loyalty. Surprisingly, good warriors and innocent people were killed in this way.

It was not until 2007 that Zhang Bingwen's cemetery was rebuilt and opened to the public. At this moment, the breeze is green, the clouds are light and the sun is shining. It's time for Zhong Liegong to close his eyes.

Grandma's home is near Zhang Bingwen's cemetery, and Grandpa is a descendant of Zhang. I haven't seen my grandparents, and no one even told me about my grandfather's grave. The tribe said that when the monument was not erected, the tomb had been filled with mountain soil. My mother became an orphan at the age of eight and can't remember what her parents looked like.

Unfortunately, it has always been like this.

Only when I was a child, I skipped past my ancestors' graves with my schoolbag on my back, coming and going all the way, happy all the way, unaware of my worries.

Looking further east, the "Jule Pavilion" proudly faces the water.

I once wrote this pavilion, and the handwriting on the pavilion was written by an old man named Mao Bozhou. Mr. Wang is knowledgeable and has taught and educated countless people all his life, which is admired by the world.

Fortunately, Mr. Mao Bingying, the son of the old man, is also among the cultural writers in Liuchi Lane. He is amiable, approachable, versatile and versatile.

This autumn outing, he took the trouble to drive thousands of miles home, not to mention the painter's stupidity, and took my hand to introduce him to his old mother. Mother Mao, with silver hair, bright ears and bright eyes, has always thanked me for writing about Mr. Mao.

Yes, I admire Mr. Mao, a learned man like him. I love this pavilion with Mr. Mao's handwriting.

I remember those years when I came back from wandering in other places, my mother would run to the ferry pavilion and wait for the boat to pick me up. Joy is like a green river, wave after wave. My mother stood in front of the pavilion and I stood on the deck.

But now, there is a low grave between me and her. My mother is inside and I am outside. ...

Looking at Sisi, my eyes are a little wet.

The voice calling back the gold medal at the foot of the mountain came, and all the literary friends were laughing and reluctant to go home.

Hi! It's all the fault of Liuchi Lane culture and vegetarianism. It's busy in late autumn, and people will miss home. ...