Everyone who comes out of Yadong Ditch will probably have a painting about cooking smoke, the ambiguous Kangbu Maqu on both sides of the river in the early morning, and the gentle in the evening
Sima has smoke curling up.
Wisps of smoke, smoke rose from the direction of the company's canteen, like a layer of mist, and like a scarf on Ajia's face, which could not make people know the true face of Lushan.
It is a lively and quiet picture, a picture that is long and familiar, and a picture that wants to be hidden and clear. At this moment, Tibetan wooden buildings,
The small open windows seem to tell people that this place is quiet and peaceful...... At that moment, I seemed to see that after the smoke dissipated, ghee, milk tea, and air-dried beef and mutton had been placed on the small table in the wooden building......
The smoke is so romantic, and life is so beautiful. Who of us can not cherish such sweet years?
Smoke curls up, condensing memories. On a cold morning, the cold wind howled outside the window, and sometimes the temperament was so violent that it even beat the window. The snow was piled up on the roof, and it was white. I was still in bed in a reverie, not wanting to leave the warm bed, and I stared at the window like this minute by minute. At this moment, slowly, the smoke came out of the chimney, and at first it tentatively went out, but it was not clear to see. Slowly, little by little, the team grew, and I could clearly see the thick white mist accompanying and singing, defying the cold and soaring, I could even feel its heat, the signal of the cooking smoke was too ordinary, but too classic.
There seems to be a smell of home in the air, and it is a unique taste, which is not necessarily the delicacies of the mountains and seas in front of you, but it must be the favorite food of officers and soldiers. Imagine a scene where you ride a horse on a snowy border and don't stop for a long time, and the smoke from the company's canteen is a whip that gives you the motivation to move forward when you are extremely tired, telling you that it is your destination, or you are in the desperate plateau of the Gobi, and at this moment, a snow-lotus flower appears, looking at the snow-white and crisp pine spores, can you not be moved? So you quickly whip up your horse and go at full speed, charging towards the end of victory. This is the motivation for you to move forward and the guide for your return.
The current Tibetan border camps have already undergone tremendous changes in terms of diet and daily life, and rice cookers, induction cookers, and natural gas stoves are also used for cooking in the canteens. But individual points still insist on burning firewood and cooking in large pots. We often say that the compass guides the way forward, but not everyone is in the wilderness, so why not replace it with a wisp of rising green smoke to guide us? As long as there are people, there is cooking smoke, we often chase the rising and falling smoke of the herdsmen's yurt on the border line of the patrol, this is the pure world in the eyes of the officers and soldiers on the border, perhaps, with the cooking smoke, the meaning of the patrol is realized. With the pale white and light blue smoke of cow dung, we fantasize about flying like an eagle, and in any corner of the border, we will smell the smell of cow dung cooking smoke, accompanying us to return to our hearts like arrows.
In the hustle and bustle of spring, cooking smoke rises, ice and snow melt, empty mountains and new rain, and plants and trees are washed. In the gentle and tender feelings of the smoke and rain, Yadonggou is the fragrance of new grass. In Yadong, which is bright green in summer, the smoke curls up, the evening breeze brings the fishy fragrance of the river, the trees are green, and the rhododendrons are everywhere.
It rained in June, and smoke billowed from the room. Not only in the chimney, but also in the doors and windows, and when I entered the kitchen, I choked and couldn't breathe. And now, when cooking in Yadong, there is no smoke coming out of the smoke window, and all the range hoods are installed, and what comes out is not smoke, but fragrance.
In the acacia danfeng in autumn, the cooking smoke curls up, the forest is dyed, the air is frosty like hail, and the fallen leaves are quiet and beautiful. The ripe apples of the apple orchard are like the faces of warriors, laughing innocently. At noon in winter, there is no wind and sunny, and under the wall of the rising sun, there are local people standing and resting, as well as children frolicking and playing in Yadong Middle School. There is a strong smell of pine wood in the cooking smoke of Sima's house, the dining room burns broken wood chips, and the cooking smoke from red pine and white pine exudes a fragrance of pine oil. This kind of pine wood, there are many lumps, the wood grain is obvious, hard and heavy, the pine oil is particularly much, and the oil is bubbling when it is ignited, and the fragrance is big and strong.
If you've been sitting for so long that you've lost sight of time, look up to see if smoke is rising from the top of the herdsmen's tents in the distance. You see, the wisps of smoke in that direction are the summons of my comrades-in-arms, without any words, without any manners, I can accurately judge that this is a signal agreed upon by each other, and it will always be the same. I just need to get back to camp quickly, and I will see those familiar faces, smile, and the fragrant food on the table waiting for me.
In the 80s, Yadonggou, every time it is time to cook, especially in the evening, the sunset is shining, the Tibetan wooden building is full of smoke, the smoke is straight up without wind, the smoke curls with the wind when there is wind, and when I see the smoke, I immediately think of the butter tea in the pot, the tsamba in the wooden bowl, the air-dried beef and mutton, and sometimes the porridge has carrots, red beans, mung beans, sweet and sticky, and I can never drink enough. That is the signal of the Tibetan people, not the smoke of ancient beacon fires, there is no pungent smoke of war, there is warm and humid air mixed with fragrant flowers.
The smoke in the border city of Yadong, our understanding is different, the smoke in the eyes of the border soldiers, it is worthy of awe and respect, it is not only the soul of the border city, but also the portrayal of generations of border soldiers with their lives to defend. The smoke silently communicates its attitude towards peace, and the wind does not understand the customs, and always likes to use its will to divert the love of the smoke to the border people guarding their homes. In Yadong, I am sleeping with a lock of cooking smoke on my pillow, and I hope that I am also a cooking smoke, in the materialistic world, guarding the peace of the country. Every time it is ushered in, the smoke in the canteen has a witness, and it will be reluctant.
There are people in the depths of Yadong,
Surrounded by mountains and rivers, it is prosperous.
Do nothing and do mundane things,
Lightly boiled years of slow-brewed tea.
The smoke lingers in the depths of memory, which is the warm gift of time. After leaving Yadong, no matter how far you go or how high you fly, Yadong Gouyan is a bridge connecting us with our second homeland. With the process of border modernization, perhaps one day, the curling smoke of Yadonggou will only become a picture in our memory.
Text source: Jia Hongguo
Editor: Shigatse Tourism
[Editor-in-Chief: Tan Qilu丨Editor: Guo Yunhui]
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