Since 1995, he has been working in the county seat for 26 years. Fingers crossed, the vast majority of years are home for the New Year, always feel that the house in the county is just a residence, the rural hometown is home. In the county town, the New Year is not liked, nor is it disgusted, but it is just a faint time node. The kind of busyness, the lively atmosphere in the New Year's Festival, the kind of mood that gets together with the family, can only be found in the hometown.
Years, forever stay in the hometown!
The year of the hometown begins Chinese New Year's Eve, so no matter how late it is, the twenty-ninth day of the waxing moon must be rushed back to the hometown. In those years, the children were still young, the wife was busy at work, and it was very late to finish the work, and by the time we got on the road, it was already full of stars. A 125 motorcycle carrying a crowded three people is looking forward to the return. The car bumped on the dirt road back to the hometown, gradually approaching the hometown, the sky was sometimes full of thunder and thunder, and the colorful petals spread into overlapping rings, and finally disappeared into the night of the hometown. The distant sound of the explosion was heard for a long time, and I could hear that it was my father's call, and I could think of his affectionate long-distance looking at him standing on a high slope in the mouth of the old village, which lit up my son's heart to return to his hometown.
The old house where my parents lived was warm and warm, driving away the cold air from our bodies. The second brother and the third brother and the two families have already arrived, and several children are laughing and making noise. The meal had been served, there was no trace of heat, the table seemed small, the circle was thin, and it was squeezed tightly.
The next day it was Chinese New Year's Eve, and according to the customs of the hometown, I would go to the grave in the morning to worship the ancestors. The paper money and offerings had been prepared by the father, and the firecrackers that the tribesmen had collected money had been loaded into the farm cart. The graves are all men, and children who are past the age of twelve must go to the graves with adults to worship their ancestors. The ancestors of Izumishita could feel the prosperity of their descendants.
It was still dark at thirty dawns, and the shadowy crowd swayed to the sound of vehicles. The nieces, children and grandchildren of each family, led by the elders, walked majestically toward their own graves. Brothers, uncles and nephews talked to each other about the experience of the year, because some people lived in different places or did business outside the country, but they all had to return to their hometowns before they worshipped their ancestors.
In the boundless wilderness, piles of bonfires burned near and far paper money, and in our graves, there were also roots-seeking fires. People chant in their mouths, add paper money, and adults and children are blessed by their ancestors throughout the year to bless their children and grandchildren. Dear readers, please do not simply joke about the feudal superstitions of my folks. Chinese have the feeling of being cautious and chasing the distant future, and the distant shang era knows how to sacrifice the ancestors, which is also a kind of culture and the inheritance of filial piety. The elders pointed to the graves and told the descendants the names of their ancestors, where their roots were, where their ancestors were, and where their origins were. Then there was the reverent kneeling and the sound of firecrackers of all sizes that could not be distinguished. Years, from the memory of the ancestors came.
There is no custom of eating Chinese New Year's Eve in my hometown, and this feast at noon for the thirty children is the most solemn. As soon as breakfast has passed, I have begun to prepare for lunch. The roaring flames of chopping wood spewed out to the bottom of the stove, and the aroma of chicken, duck, and elbows wafted from the tumbling soup all over the house. Washing vegetables in the basin, cutting vegetables on the board, washing cups, plates and chopsticks, the concubines laughed and talked. The sun seemed to be shattered by the sound of the children's cannons, and the faces were flowery, sprinkling the dim light on the red, red, green, and green cannon paper in the courtyard. I don't like to fire cannons, but I have the smell of gunpowder, which is full of the smell of the year. A few children and nephews played in different ways, chasing and playing, clanging, leaving him alone, and the children cried and cried and laughed. Now that there is no sound in the year, it has become so deserted, people eat and drink, decorate everywhere strangely, make people laugh and laugh and cry.
The sun sucked away the smoke and fog, and the warmth shone on the doors and windows of each house. The Big Red Spring League was carefully posted by his father on the door frame and on the wall. The auspicious pattern of "spending money" on the lintel is stirred by the gentle kiss of the spring breeze. Two large red lanterns, hanging high on the wall stacks of the courtyard door. This is exactly:
The cold bamboo firecrackers are nearing spring, and the wanderers of the four directions are returning at the end of the year.
The Thousand Doors Tusu Eight Gardens are warm, and the courtyard is full of thousands of chickens and dolphins.
Steamed cake boiled rice stove is hot, sticking hanging lights Arele with.
It's another year of festive season, and everyone in the hometown is drunk.
The hometown is red, and the streets of the size are decorated with lively activity. The year of the hometown is reunion, the relatives are there, the year is there, and the wandering heart has a shore to dock; the relatives are there, the year is there, and the homesick love has a boat to rest.