Hunan Daily | Father's Creek my home

Newcomer recommendation: Hu Yangping, after 60, graduated from the Department of Education of Hunan Normal University. Now working in the management office of Dongkou County Xi National Forest Park in Hunan Province, he loves literature and has published more than 600 poems on the Internet and in newspapers and periodicals. Published the poetry collection "Picking Up the Missing Time of Youth", co-authored "The Biography of Cai Yi", and the screenwriter's film "Home in the Creek and Mountains" has been filmed.

Hu Yangping that creek

When I was a child, I often didn't have my father, and my mother told me that he had gone to a distant place to make a living. The concept of the distance is very vague, it is said to be in the mountains where the sunset falls. Its name is "nuo" Creek, which means that the word "that" is preceded by a grass head. Many people call it "that" creek.

One day, my father came back, carrying a piece of wood, very tired. He said he had left yesterday afternoon and had walked for more than a dozen hours. I couldn't take care of this, and foolishly shouted for my father to write "Nuo Xi" to me, and his face was full of helplessness. My father was an illiterate man, and the name he signed when he received something from the production team always reminded me of the oracle bones introduced in the history books. But he is very good at telling stories, can tell the past of the Xiangqian Ancient Road, will talk about the folk customs of Baoyao Station, will talk about the thrill of letting go of rows and wild boars, and will also share the joy of catching yellow frogs and digging bamboo shoots, there are also five-step snakes or bamboo leaf green and large earth bees hurting people, and even the horror of letting poison go. I listened to it with relish, and it was often creepy. "Mystery" became the first impression of the creek in my heart.

In the first spring after my father's death, a paper appointment made me step into the stream, into this mysterious, beautiful but poor hat yaoxiang, this natural oxygen bar hidden deep in the hinterland of Xuefeng Mountain. The grass welcomed me and opened its smiling face in the warm spring breeze; the birds welcomed me and picked me up with sweet songs... I was born in a poor peasant family, and I am also the destiny of dandelions, drifting with the wind, settling down with encounters, taking root in the soil, and thriving in the rain. Looking at this land soaked in my father's sweat, I silently recited it countless times in my heart, praying for the smooth wind and rain in Yaoxiang and the happiness and health of my compatriots. I have also been telling myself to plant a few evergreen trees to let the birds live, plant a few flowers that are fragrant in all seasons, do a few beautiful things to benefit the people, and write a few lyric poems for self-appreciation.

To the creek, "dragon head three hangings" is a must-go punch card place. The narrow valley is long, the forest is deep, the three-level waterfall falls from the sky like a long white exercise, and the majestic, symphonic sound of water makes people's audiovisual nerves instantly reach abnormal excitement and activity. In the "first-line sky" (commonly known as "sandwiched cold rice"), you see not only the magic of nature, but also the hardships of the ancestors! Later, I went to Baoyao to find the story that my father had told. Underneath the thousand-year-old Mandarin duck ginkgo tree, I met my weathered grandmother, who told me where my father lived in the shed, and praised my father for his honesty and diligence, he had helped the owner to beat rice, and he had helped the west family to repair stools. I felt as if I could smell my father's sweat, which mixed with the earthy smell of Baoyao and permeated the air of this ancient land. It's just a pity that my father has no chance to see the prosperity of baoyao in the ancient road station today! The poverty cap was removed, the provincial poverty alleviation demonstration village was evaluated, the sign of the ethnic minority characteristic village was hung, and the sign of the key rural tourism village was in place! I also went to Bai Pepper, the name of the traditional village of ethnic minorities, which made me feel the weight of that history. The jinshi of that year has been buried in other places, the ancient jinshi mansion wall, a few unknown grass swaying in the wind. I have also been in the grassland of Anshun, thinking about the rampant plague of that year; in the story of the "Wu Rice Festival" in Cannabis Creek, admiring the resourcefulness of the Yang family; the secret of the Year of the Rat, the aroma of boiling tea, the majesty of the Puzhao Temple, which has a high mountain climbing all-stone structure, hidden in this magical mountain, all show the long history!

For six years, I measured the land with my feet, and even though the thorns and blood kissed my skin, I never stopped moving forward. I used my heart and affection to get close to the life of yaomin, even if I was as humble as moss, I still grew up with hope! Tonight, the moon is sparsely starry, the evening breeze is light, and a butterfly flies into my study. I held it in the palm of my hand and leaned against the window to look at my hometown in the distance. Butterflies, butterflies, will you really be the embodiment of your father? This reminds me of a mystery I once had? That year, when my father drove the crane west, it was before Chinese New Year's Eve, it was a season when butterflies would not appear, a beautiful butterfly appeared, it crawled on the small stool that my father liked to sit on the most, no matter how you plucked, it would only flap its wings, make a circle in the house and fly back to the same place.

This may be the embodiment of the father, or the messenger of the father.

Because I dreamed of my father yesterday, he is still so kind. He gently tapped me on the shoulder, "Make the creek your hometown, look after it, and get it right!" Looking at the moonlight outside the window, I suddenly remembered Zhu Ziqing's "Lotus Pond Moonlight", and I couldn't help but chant softly, "This piece of heaven and earth seems to be mine, I can think of anything and I can think of nothing." Indeed, the heavens and the earth before me seem to be really mine, because this is My Father's Creek, my home!