Hometown of the river
◎ Wang Zhonghua
As a child, Sasaki and his friends ran, chased, laughed and played in the countryside. Slope ridges, ravines and ravines, alleys in front of the streets, front and back of houses, left and right neighbors, and even broken walls, sprinkle our unbridled joy and leave the imprint of our childhood growth. A grass and a tree, a tree and a flower, every inch of skin can smell its warm, peaceful, warm and comfortable breath. This was my childhood hometown.
Gradually, he grew up, far away from this inhabited land, and the annual rings of the years circled and circled around the circle year after year, heavy and long. Think of it, think of it, only in dreams. Over the years, I have walked through many towns and rivers and visited many famous rivers. Surrounded by exotic mountains and streams, at this time, the mist in my ears is mixed with the sound of flowing water, and I am in a fairyland, making the long-lost state of mind ripple, and the flowing water sounds like a mother tongue in the ethereal, and returning to the hometown of the soul. That country, that soil, that river that I will never forget.
A small village surrounded by mountains, a courtyard in front of the house, on both sides of the road, and on the banks of the stream. Everywhere a kind of willow tree is planted commonly known as "maple tree", "water hemp willow" and "yuanbao tree". This tree is not picky about the soil, regardless of barrenness and drought, it can grow in a green cage and grow ferns. Ancestors named the village after the stubborn willow tree------ willow forest.
A trickling river, nestled at the foot of the mountains, meanders from south to north all year round, playing with the strings of the years, flowing tirelessly into the distance, like a century old man looking at, guarding, nourishing the villagers for generations, witnessing the rapid changes in the village. Looking down from the top of the mountain, it resembles a white and shiny silk ribbon connecting the village outside the village.
The source of the river is a bay at the foot of the foothills of the Duoshan Mountains, a bay, a puddle of water pool.
It was the summer of the year, and I followed my cousin to duoshan to pick pine cones (the seeds of pine trees, the surface is uneven, and the green green space is hard and conical). All the way to the hot and difficult to survive, to the foot of the mountain thick green, dense layers of pine trees, all the way to the top. The waves are flustered, and the cool breeze is soaked throughout the natural oxygen bar, which is cool and comfortable. The thick grass at the foot of the mountain is covered with soft sand, but there are also large and small gravel, which is stained with mottled moss, which is slippery and fresh. The water emerges from under the rubble and soft sand, and the large area is like a dollar coin, against the fine sand, like the splashes of water blooming in the rain, interrelated, different forms, and like the wildflowers that open between the meadows, transparent and clean, in pieces, they are bubbling and spitting all day long. It soaked the grass and seeped into the rubble, forming a clear spring of puddles and pits, full and overflowing. Interpreting the heroic momentum of dripping water into a stream. The water of the Qingqingdi Stream runs along the mountain stream, chasing the river that forms the small village.
When the gentle spring breeze melts the last piece of ice floes, the river shakes off the dead branches and leaves, the willow trees on both sides, the weeds on the shoals, the greenery overnight, the flocks of ducks and white geese crow, we will meet a few partners, carrying net bags, rolling up their pants and holding bait, to the river to touch the net shrimp. Driving the ducks, carrying the stones under the water, three in a cluster, five in a flock. Shouting and shouting, cheering. Tired of lying together on the grassy beach on the shore. Staring at the blue sky overhead, counting the birds and finches on the branches, until twilight, looking for the shouts of the adults, carrying a body of water vapor home.
After a few rains in the river in the middle of summer, the bottom of the river is washed clean and clear, and the men who have worked for a day, put down their hoes, draped in the afterglow, willfully washed in the river, washing away the tiredness of the day. When the smoke of cooking was intermittently hidden in the twilight, three or three and two swaying the fan and chatting, the cool people gathered in the streets and alleys, the big girl and the little daughter-in-law of the village dodged and walked into the river, at this time we stepped on the moonlight of the place, trailing behind. In their inadvertent "pounce" into the water. They were startled to shout loudly, often with a few scoldings.
On the other side of the river is a hillside, on which the village depends on the land and fruit trees, and the quiet river provides a rich water source for the growth of crops. There is a simple bridge in the middle of the river, and there is no place to study it in any year or month. In short, it is convenient for people to travel up the mountain. Above the bridge is a walnut tree with its leafy branches and thick roots, and below it is a tall and straight ginkgo tree. Every year in July and August, when the walnuts are ripe, three or five of us, avoiding the eyes of adults, two pulling outstretched branches, and one picking green walnuts. Take the bottom of the bridge in the river with a fine soft sand rubbing, the green walnut skin drifts away with the water or sinks to the bottom of the water, take a stone to smash the ground walnut, white and crisp to this day still remember the lips and teeth still fragrant. The tall ginkgo tree we can only look at, only wait until the tree is yellow, wait for the autumn wind to blow down a yellow leaf, the mature ginkgo will also fall with the yellow leaves, we will pull the layers of yellow leaves, scrambling, scrambling to search.
The cold winter can not close our wild hearts, when the snow flutters and sprinkles as promised, quietly falling on the river, the river will form a thick layer of ice, this place has become the best place for us to play. And the partners found pine branches, wooden planks to make a simple small seat, cushioned under the buttocks, three or two partners pushed, pulling and sliding, skating on the ice, shouting, echoing, often alarming the birds and finches sleeping on the forks of the tree, they will also jump on the branches, shake their wings, chirp and share our joy. That pleasure, that kind of temperament is incomparable to children now.
The river has its own character, sometimes quiet and peaceful. Sometimes screaming. Several consecutive rainy days caused the water level of the small river to rise, and the muddy water roared and rolled like a wild horse that had broken off the stiffness, it was the biggest river I could remember, and my good friend Hideko and I stood on a high place and looked at it in fear. Then on a whim, we found a bottle with a note written on it--- to take our dreams far away. Later, Ying Zi was admitted to college and went south to Guangzhou, and I got married and had children in a different town, Xu was that river that fulfilled our dream of going to a distant place, and the small river in my hometown was the cradle of my childhood and the paradise of growth. I have never lacked courage in my life from youth to maturity.
Every time I came home, I always took the washbasin one or more times to step on the familiar path, approaching it, getting close to it. Sniff its smell, smell its breath, and take a bunch of river water, still as it was, clear and sweet.
Whether it is the source of ten thousand waters or the top of a thousand mountains, the sparkling water of the hometown witnesses the peasant family from the flow of poverty to the prosperity of the present dynasty. No matter how the appearance of the village has changed, in today's materialistic world, industrious and kind people protect the original ecological river with simple piety, green mountains and clear waters, and auspicious clouds.
I miss you and love you---- the river of my hometown, the river of my mother in my heart.
【About the Author】
Wang Zhonghua, Yantai Muping District Chunbang Trading Co., Ltd. Graduated from preschool education, engaged in early childhood education for more than 10 years, and has published articles in "Modern Tutoring" and "Yantai Daily". Now engaged in the steel business. He loves literature and reading, and is a member of Yantai prose. Leisurely, pleasantly, calmly and naturally record what happens in life. I am willing to learn together with the vast number of literary lovers.
One point number Yantai prose
News clue reporting channel: The application market downloads the "Qilu One Point" APP, or search for the WeChat Mini Program "Qilu One Point", and 600 reporters in the province are waiting for you to report online!