I miss that warm yellow
Whenever I recall the past, there is always a unique memory that makes people tear up, and for me, the warm yellow in the memory always appears in front of me, which makes me fascinated.
Along the Wuxi River all the way into the mountains, my hometown is in a rural area. The summer vacation when I was 5 years old was an extremely unforgettable part of my life, and it was here that I first met this yellow, which was an old house, or my grandparents built it when they were young. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was surrounded by a verdant forest of moso bamboo swaying in the wind, and in the middle of a clearing, it stood quietly—the blue-colored tile roof, the walls of yellow mud, and the chimney that was smoking from the cooking. Since then, this picturesque scenery has been burned in my heart.
The construction of the old house is peculiar and ingenious. From the outside, it is composed of two mud houses, one large and one small, but the inside is different, the entrance is the lobby, there is a room on the left and right sides of the lobby, a short corridor leads to the stove room, and there is a "small kitchen" and a "small stove room" on the side of the stove room. Further outside is the most ingenious place: the old house lets the babbling stream down the mountain through the suspended steps, and uses the clear water of nature to accumulate two water tanks. Another small mud house is partially stacked with firewood, and there are old pig breeding places and huts, and outside is a winding path up the hill - this is the old house.
According to my grandmother, when I first arrived at the old house, she thought I would cry and say that she would send me back as soon as I cried. But I didn't think I was making any trouble, so I happily stayed and spent a summer vacation there. This summer vacation was short, so short that it seemed to end in a flash; it was so long, so long that I would never forget it in my lifetime.
Every morning, I woke up to the sound of insects chirping and chirping birds, and when I saw that my grandparents had already risen. Taking a breath of the fresh mountain air, I bounced off to the stove, where my grandparents were always busy with breakfast. Grandpa always smiled at me, and when My grandmother saw me, she shouted, "It's another sleep until I wake up naturally!" I smiled and responded, and hurried to the chicken pen to see if the hens had laid eggs through the gap; and ran outside the house to see how many clouds there were in the sky today, and the day began. In the morning, I was Grandma's little tail, running behind her house: helping to drive out four or five chickens, helping to move out quilts, shoes, and various dustpan baskets to meet the sun. In the afternoons, I often help "do farm work". Until now, I still remember my blistering index finger as I sat on the threshold with my grandparents peeling corn, the effort to pull away the dried beans on the ground with a broom much taller than mine in the open space outside the door, and the busy move of the basket back to the house in the evening. Pastoral poet Tao Yuanming has already pointed out: "The mountain atmosphere is good day and night, and the birds are returned." Although I hadn't heard it at the time, the sunset in the evening really fascinated me: the evening wind blew the moso bamboo, the cicadas chirped, the birds flew back to the nest in pairs, the smoke from the chimney, the aroma of the meal filled the air, and the busy and fulfilling day of farm life was almost over. Under the warm lights, I had dinner with my grandparents. I always felt that the greens fried in the stove were particularly fragrant, and the pork stewed in the enamel jar had a special taste, and I ate a lot of rice at that time. It was dark outside at night, but the old house was full of light and warmth.
At that time, I always thought that the land was omnipotent, and my grandfather was the most capable, and I always clamored to eat the watermelon that my grandfather planted. One sunny and warm afternoon, Grandpa came back from the field and sure enough, he was holding a watermelon in his hand. Although the watermelon was small, it was a big surprise for me. Grandma smiled and washed the watermelon in the water tank, and when I broke it, it wasn't very red, but I still ate it very happily. Another time, a grandfather came and sat on the threshold with his grandfather and chatted. I didn't know who it was, so I shouted "Grandpa" and ran toward the old man. When I arrived in front of me, I suddenly became embarrassed and gambled not to say hello to the grandfather. When I got back to my room, my grandmother gently said to me, "Children can't be rude like that, remember." "The love that My grandparents gave me was like the sun in the mountains, it was so simple and warm.
At that time, I also had a great pleasure, that is, to follow my grandparents to other old people in the village to "visit". I jumped all the way, looking at the pink and purple morning glory on the side of the cement road, looking at the neat vegetable patches, and looking at a yellow earthen house. Under the sun, the yellow earthen house seemed to emit light. The elderly all sat in the open space in front of the door basking in the sun, and the children chased and played on the road. Walking in front of a family, whether you are familiar with it or not, you will smile and ask, "Come out and walk around?" Grandpa and Grandma smiled and said, "Yeah, come out and bask in the sun." "When we meet acquaintances, we go in and sit down, make a cup of tea, lay out a plate of simple snacks, and we can chat cheerfully for more than an hour."
Later, with the construction of the new countryside, the old houses were demolished one by one, including the old house of my grandparents. New buildings were built, new street lamps were erected, but every time I went back to the countryside, I was stunned: looking around, the green mountains were still there, but I could hardly see the old yellow houses that were once so familiar; the few that remained were crumbling and uninhabited. The old people in the village have passed away one after another, the children who used to run on the road have also gone to the city to study, and the countryside always looks empty. Today, My grandparents are older, and My Grandmother's Alzheimer's disease is getting worse and worse. Although I have not seen the demolished old house again, but in every noon that is still sunny, in every late night when the sky is still full of stars, is it nostalgic for the past? I will also miss the rural scene of the past, the leisurely people sitting in the doorway basking in the sun, the fields that were once neat and tidy, but now mostly abandoned, even the stinking ditches outside the pigsty. It was all a symbol of that warm time, a warm time that could not go back.
Each of us is moving forward, but there is always a party in our hearts, filled with the past, full of warmth.
Author: Liu Xinyuan