Remembering the initial impression of Dashan, still stuck in the memory of childhood.
Remembering that every year when it comes to the Mangshan Festival, the morning is just a little light, the rooster has not yet crowed, the mother has already got up to start cooking breakfast, counting wheat harvest tools, prepare the dry food for the farm. At that time I was still in a deep sleep, I could hear the sound of pedestrians' voices and footsteps outside the fence, and the wheels of the cart rolled out of the gate in the yard in a hurry. At this point, my mother would park the cart at the street gate, return to the room once again, assign me the task of staying at home, and then hurry off with the gate unlocked.
Only until there was no longer a sound in the house, I covered the quilt for a little while, just now that toss and turn, back to sleep and do not want to sleep, sleepy. Then get up from the bed, put on the clothes, walked to the kitchen, lifted the lid of the pot, the bowl of steamed egg custard is still hot. I just got up and didn't have the appetite to eat, so I hurriedly washed the pots and bowls and then wiped my face with water and climbed up to the second floor. Sitting on the highest level of the stairs, staring at the opposite side of the western mountains, the morning fog, the mountains connected to the sky, out of reach, just like the foot of the mountain cultivated fields, always feel that the adults have to push the cart to go a long, long way to reach.
Gradually grew up a bit, a person at home tired of playing, will follow the adults to play in the field. The happiest thing at that time was to be able to sit on the cart, turn it upside down, and show it off to your playmates. When we arrived at the field, the golden wheat field was still emitting the dampness of the morning mist, and the adults were busy harvesting, while I sat alone in the shade between the ridges of the field, guarding the wheelbarrow, and playing with the little ants and bugs by myself. When I was hungry, I nibbled on the dried food my mother had brought, and when I was thirsty, I had tea to drink.
When I got tired of playing, I would imitate the movement of adults cutting wheat, bowing and waving the scythe, and as soon as I was seen by my mother in the field, she would immediately run over to stop me. The most gratifying thing is that there will be small children from the neighborhood, we ran in groups of three to five in the stubble field chasing and playing, the waves of wheat will come from time to time the sound of laughter, a little bit not feel the heat of the summer sun, but always can smell the breeze blowing over the wheat field unique special smell. Tired of playing, a few of us will sit side by side on the edge of the earth canal, hands resting on the chin, looking at the distant mountains and white clouds reflecting the blue sky. The majestic mountains seemed to be walking slowly towards us, no longer distant and inaccessible. Poetry and distant fields are slowly taking root in the hearts of the little ones.
And then down the wheat field, I have been half the labor force of the family. I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to do, but I'm sure I'm going to be able to do it," he said, "I'm going to be able to do it. After all, it is a boy, there is a lot of strength, the most favorite words of praise from the mouth of the neighbors: look at so-and-so's child, only a teenager, can push the cart to help the family work. Now, I think that I was also the "other family's child" at that time, and my mother would praise me for doing a good job, but she always said that I was using brute force.
Mother also spurred me on from time to time: I must study hard, or else I'll be farming for the rest of my life. At that time, I was thinking: farming is also very good ah, compared with the rules of the school and boring learning life, farming is at least a free and unrestrained way of life and labor. The sunset of the Taihang Mountains, as if listening to my thoughts, in the sunshine under the more colorful.
When I went to high school, my mother would wake me up in the morning if I disturbed my dreams, and I would lose my temper and complain about how I planted so much land, so that I could sell my food for a few dollars. Every time the mother will say: you eat what good what, and so you will later know that life is not easy. Complaints to complain, see mother every day so laborious, always want to do more work to ease the mother's hardship. When I went down to work again, I was already much more skillful in farm work, and I used very little brute force and knew how to save my strength. In May, I was carrying wheat bags, and in September, I was cutting corn stalks for the fall harvest, breaking corn and loading trucks, and my mother's strength was obviously not as good as mine.
Farming is a matter of weather, and when the farm is busy, neighbors are competing to do the work, all the produce back home, followed by plowing and delimiting the wheat, and rushed to exhaust the farming family physically and mentally. The summer sun is hot, hot, sunny old farmers sweating, wheat stubble will also deliberately mess, sneak into the clothes, scratching very itchy, reach out to scratch, skin red a large area. A moment's pause will recall the childhood memorization of the old poem "Hoeing day when the afternoon, sweat drops under the soil, who knows that the food on the plate, all the grains are bitter," when, in the presence of a deep feeling.
When I loaded bags of corn to the back of the upstairs for drying, sweat from the hair through the forehead down the cheeks to the ground, like a sunny day God dry tears, drops on the ground thumping. Accidentally flowed in the eyes stinging raw pain, flowed into the corner of the lips tongue licked fresh salty. Sideways turn your head and look at the western mountains, she is no longer tall, no longer distant, like a senile old man, facing the yellow soil back towards the sky, the back is no longer like the childhood as tall and magnificent. It is only at this moment that I understand what the unique flavor is that I smelled before between the ridges.
When I went to college, I really understood the significance of the phrase, "From now on, there is only winter and summer in my hometown, and then there is no more spring and fall". In the south of the four years of study, the number of times to go home only a handful of times, rarely to see the majestic rolling hills. Especially in the south of the students, have never seen a big mountain, thought the tourist attractions of a "long live the mountain" is the mountain. I hear will be in the heart secretly snickering: this can also be called mountains, and my family's Taihang Mountains compared to this is not a small slope it.
The longer the road is traveled, the more people are seen. Every time I take the bus home, after circle after circle of the mountain highway, the air also becomes cool and new wave. The first thing you need to do is to get a good deal on a new product or service, and then you'll be able to get a good deal on a new one. Outside the window of the mountains rolling, steep, deep, bottomless, my hometown is getting closer and closer to me, I know, deep in the mountains, is the birth of my native land, my hometown. I used to read the newspaper and browse the cell phone news, often with a big title "children in the mountains".
I can't help but laugh bitterly, I am not. Sometimes I also talk to students: Whether your family is now poor or rich, can not do the frog in the bottom of the well, broaden the horizons of the pattern of enlargement, we are the newspaper reported the children in the mountains. Take advantage of the youthful time, struggle to get out of the mountains, keep up with the times, the pursuit of their own lives, do not do material giants, the spiritual dwarf. Don't forget to come back to see this hot land after many years, here is the root of our breeding, stored in the soul of each of us.
The sunshine here is very warm, the soil here is very fertile, the people here are very simple.
The nightmare that wakes me up in the middle of the night will also be dissolved by my mother's tenderness:
The nightmare is ominous
Written on the west wall
Once the sun shines
Turned into good luck
This is the furthest field I have ever been to, and the closest I have ever traveled to; this is the furthest mountain I have ever looked at, and the closest I have ever embraced, and I don't think about it often, and I never forget it. I never forget.
Thousands of mountains, thousands of waters, just to meet with her. There's no such thing as a pair of feet that can't measure the road, and there's no such thing as a bumpy road that can't be crossed on foot, so I'm sure you'll be able to get through the road. I would like to be an old farmer in this life, I would rather give up a hundred acres of good land, pour you a smile. For the rest of my life, I would like to be a walking monk, put down my demerits, and help others to return to the road, so that my life will be complete.