A tree grows in the heart
When I first took a dip under a leafy tree, a tree grew in my heart.
I was four or five years old, and my mother was fighting in the land, and I was put on the ground to play.
The sun is blazing, and the sound of cicadas is everywhere. Under the blazing sun, my mother pulled weeds along a furrow that seemed to have no end. She used her limbs together, her hands dancing neatly between the two ridges of seedlings, leaving trails on her knees and calves, as well as seedlings and weeds with wet soil on her roots. She faded into the green fields and from my sight. Leave me in the shade of a tall tree in the field.
My mother didn't know that I had been quietly playing with a big tree for a long time, and I had talked a lot.
A few thick roots hunched over the ground, and a few birds perched in the shade between the branches. As soon as he raised his head, his gaze collided with the dappled sunlight cast between the leaves, piercing his eyes like golden needles. Ants and insects are also busy crawling up and down the cracked tree trunks.
Mother called softly, interrupting my whispering with the tree. My mother asked me what I was doing, and I said I was talking to the tree.
Since I was a child, I have been a quiet tree. But I know that a tree has a world of trees. And I intervened in the world of a tree, carrying with me unforgettable memories of my childhood and my mother.
My late mother would never ask me about my whispers with the tree again. The mother flew away like a startled bird and never came back. Watch the children of ants flying in the strange sky outside the fields. In cars, trains, crowds, in the piercing sound of tumbling, among people and ghosts, or in the opposite side of the sword-like eyes, behind the rumors of exclusion and framing.
Many years later, I suddenly remembered that tree in the river of years, the tree that recorded my beautiful childhood like a book. However, it also flew away with its mother. I can't help but think of another tree, which grows in the red pine depression grassland. I am convinced that the pine tree must be connected with the tree that whispers to me, and with the help of the rich earth mother, it crosses the long river of time, waiting for me to review the once warm dreams.
Worship a sea
The car was parked at a high ridge. Once again, I stood on the ridge of the Saihan Dam Beam, with admiration in my heart and a reverent gaze, and felt an irresistible scorching passion and unleashing power—in the sound of the stormy waves and pine waves, among the patches of rich greenery, in the misty valleys, in the herds of cattle and horses.
The green ridge is like a pulsating youth with infinite passion, and the shadow of youth is full of the shadow of years, and old age and tension coexist. In the land full of hope, a green sea indulges in the ocean, and the waves are surging and singing harmony with the blue sky and white clouds, performing a majestic heroic song.
His eyes were filled with the sudden rush of rich green and clear sky, the fierce and swift wind blowing, the deep smell of the heart-warming air, and the smell of pine needles and grass overflowing between his clothes and hair.
There is an end to this astonishing vastness and beauty, and where does it come from?
Dumbfounded, I asked more than once. Today, Saihanba finally gave me the first answer.
The larch trees hugging the trunks are tall and tall, pointing to the sky like arrows, one by two, thousands, surging with the ups and downs of the mountains, like a vast rolling river of history. The wind enters the pine forest, and sometimes it sends out the roar of thousands of galloping horses, shaking the heart and boiling the blood. From time to time, I chanted a melodious and long ancient song, and I was completely lost when I heard it.
The branches of the birch tree droop, the chin is low, the beauty is like a tassel. A pair of deep eyes on the fair skin, looking forward to affection. The stacking of the years of the white clouds and dogs did not take away half of the splendor of the Chinese girl, and the collision between the past and the present burst out of a fresh and beautiful face.
A large and round sun was held up in Bolan, and it loomed in the graceful morning of Qixing Lake infinitely shyly.
In the faint light, a drop of crystal dew hanging from the tip of the grass filled the dreams of a night in the forest. Ticking to the earth, it disappeared in an instant, whispering to the generous and peaceful land.
The pheasant pecked lazily, the grouse writhed its stupid body, the mallard leisurely slurped, and the lark was the first to sing a gentle song in the early morning.
a multicolored brocade woven by the slope of flowers in spring;
the dreamy morning mist rising from the Seven Star Lake in summer;
In autumn, the bleak wind of the bright military platform is dyed in the forest;
In winter, the fog rime of the horseshoe pit and the snow and ice of the Moon Lake;
A squirrel shakes down an acorn;
A leaf falls quietly when people are unprepared;
A cloud floats gently against the tip of a tree;
A mound of grass towers swims mischievous crucian carp;
A clear stream flows gently into the Luan River;
A dry branch plum blooms like a star-like flower;
A wild roe deer emits a hormonal smell and a courtship moan;
…………
The sun gently illuminated the gray clouds in the west, and the clouds were surrounded by dazzling gold edges. The sunset, reluctant to return home, reluctantly fell in love with the sunset, and the morning star had already blinked on the mirror-like surface of the Seven Star Lake.
With the first answer in my arms, I lay happily on the gentle earth, breathing softly, looking calm, but my heart was so turbulent that I could not sleep for a long time, lest I miss the night whisper of a leaf, a grass, a drop of dew, an owl, and a songworm.
This accompanied by the stars and the moon and the dark night whispered like a trickling stream, gurgling, but bumped into a magnificent river.
The shouts of fighting with the heavens and the earth resounded throughout the universe, fighting against the roar of the long yellow sand. A group of people spent their youth, sweated all their sweat, nourished the towering trees, laid down a vast green carpet, and stored a sea of souls. After 60 years, prepare an overwhelming green feast, open your arms and smile to welcome visitors from all over the world.
A group of fighters sixty years ago are remembered by history because they always had a dream of a tree and a dream of a sea in their hearts.
At this moment, I want to bow down and bow down, kiss this quiet and turbulent earth, let my heart connect to every tree, and caress the thick traces of time in the annual rings. I want to pick a golden lotus flower on the golden lotus day and listen to it tell a romantic and beautiful poem. I'm going to embrace a bony oak tree and ride the shade under its branches. I'm going to lie down on a soothing hillside with an old shepherd and replay a piece of history together. Then I slept quietly, waited for the sheep to eat the fat grass, lay lazily beside me, and dreamed of the vicissitudes of my ancestors with it.
Where does this astonishing vastness and beauty come from?
I found the answer. The answer is full of sweat and the enthusiastic evaporation of faith, it is the indefinite, eternal and constant perseverance, and it is the totem of the heart as it was and unswerving. In the pine forest sea, my dispensable thing is full of admiration and worship. I am like the grass at the foot of a towering tree, small and humble. So humble that you can barely find yourself.
Dream Adventure
I can't tell people that I'm going to dream of a tree. Many things are like this, and there is really no way to explain them in spoken language. As David Thoreau said in Walden, the language of listening is "savage", while the language of reading is "a measured and selected expression, which has an infinite meaning beyond the comprehension of our ears." I'm going to put my dreams into words. So, I set out again on a journey to find a tree.
Smooth concrete roads in the countryside, straight or curved. The beans are fragrant, and the corn stalks are swaying proudly. Every once in a while, a man with the word "ranger" on his arm, holding a small red flag, wanders around, vigilantly and carefully examines pedestrians and vehicles.
The village is a neat brick farmhouse, with occasional old loess houses. Time is stacked and intricate here. Whether it is a brick house or an earthen house, the door has a design that resembles a stove: a closed one-meter square top, an opening less than a foot square in the center, and a stone bar next to the tree, which reads "Mars does not go out" or "Everyone is responsible for forest protection and fire prevention". This is where the ash is placed. People regard fire dependence and prevention, reverence and fear as mundane household chores. Treat the relationship between life and survival as three meals a day, constantly savoring, absorbing and digesting.
A few drops of rain smashed on the car window and "crackled". The lead-colored clouds pressed down heavily, rolling and showing a hideous state. The ever-changing weather on the dam gave me a dismount. Stretching out the window, the wind and rain were cold, and it was hard to get into the muscles and bones. My car and I are extremely small in the face of this overwhelming, overwhelming nature.
At the top of the mountain, the wind and rain were fierce and the water was misty. The wind beats the rain, the rain fights the wind, this battle from ancient times, between the open red pine valley grassland and the magnificent sky, fighting, rolling, reconciliation, and embracing. This is a war without gunpowder, with no question of victory or defeat, and no matter whether it incurs life or death. The beginning may be opening up Hongmeng, and the end must have no deadline. When fighting, ignoring all things, the heavens and the earth are shaking, and after reconciliation, the world is blessed and all things are auspicious.
I huddled in a small place, breathing softly, my heart fluctuated, as if I had opened my eyes to the sky, and as far as my eyes could see, there was a flood of history, the stars were changing, and the world was turned upside down. I saw the wind and rain from the years, and I saw a wider and bigger river.
When you look around, it's all the same. Suddenly, I was ashamed of myself and for the proverbs of human beings who "conquered a mountain" and "challenged a canyon". It's a pity that a storm knocked me back to the prototype. Human beings really don't know the height of the sky in front of nature!
Suddenly, the sky shone brightly, and the heavens and the earth were cut into two sides in the distance, half of which were obscure. This miraculous axe really shocked me. It is suspected to be the axe of Pangu. I whimsically thought that this giant axe that split chaos could clearly distinguish the good, evil, beauty and ugliness in this world.
A thick rainbow peeks out from behind the clouds, one into a soothing valley and the other perched over a flat meadow. This ever-changing, flickering bright, cloudy and sunny weather creates a beauty that frightens all beings in a matter of moments. Human beings have passionately captured the wonders of nature with their brushes and cameras, and all of them add up to several such moments and moments.
Encounter the sea of flowers
In the distance, an orange forest fire truck approached, the guide I had hired in my panic. Without his help, I am afraid that it would be difficult for me to complete this solitary search, because of this vastness and impermanence. He is my friend, the staff in charge of grassland management, and he mainly looks after the nasturtium this season.
The nasturtium here is orange in color and has large thick petals. The grass beach is all over the place, dancing lightly in the wind, reflecting the sun, like a surging golden sea. My friend led me to the side of the highway, a few nasturtiums probing out of the fence, the petals were full of water droplets, more than charming and moving, not square, the water droplets gathered a little into a lot, sliding down a petal, the branches actually stood high in an instant, shaking the straight body majestically, like a northern man with strong blood.
The sheep on the dam eat Chinese herbs, according to scientists and graduate students at the Chinese Academy of Sciences in Beijing. They have counted more than 300 kinds of Chinese medicine in this square meter of grass. When I told this, my friend had a great look of glory on his face. Naturally, it has also become a place for poaching and digging, and the nasturtium has become a favorite of poachers because of its surprising heat clearing and detoxification, nourishing yin and reducing fire.
My friend is a veteran, and when he comes back from the army, he patrols and guards the middle of this sea of grass and flowers. With a golden background, the friend dressed in camouflage is tall and mighty, his face is angular, his speech is neat and bold, and he guards this primitive land with an irresistible righteousness. The wind and sun on the dam made his face red and purple, and he was also a majestic nasturtium.
Pilgrimage to the "Tree of Merit"
When my long-cherished "One Pine" appeared in my field of vision. I let out an "ah" and couldn't close my mouth in shock. I marvel at the accuracy of the name. It stands alone on the vast grassland, lined with heaven and earth, and is so majestic and heroic.
Lao Tzu said, "One life is two, two is three, and three is everything." No wonder this pine tree from the flood spark gave rise to a second tree, a third tree, and then a sea of trees.
Sixty years ago, Saihanba was full of barren hills and deserts, and the bitter winds blew diligently in spring, autumn and winter, pushing the Hunshandak Desert in Inner Mongolia to move southward. People don't have the heart to feel the magnificence of "desert sand like snow", but can only endure the pain of houses being destroyed, seeds blown out or seedlings buried. Destroyed and buried, there is also the hope of people's survival. In order to prevent wind and sand fixation, the government decided to set up the Saihanba Mechanical Forest Farm, but the strong wind and sand almost brought this great deployment to the brink of disintegration.
It is this tree, this living specimen that gives people great hope that pine trees can survive in this land at an altitude of 1,600 meters. He let the first generation of foresters sweep away the haze of almost despair, once again carry the seedling bucket on his shoulder, carry a shovel in his hand, go into the desert, fight the heavens and the earth, and shout out all the pride in his heart for a piece of sea.
No one knows how many summers and winters this tree has experienced, but it must have witnessed generations of barrenness and wealth, condensing the sun and moon of time, and retaining the eternity of circulation. It stands like a monument on the grassland, behind it is everything in the void, and in front of it is the door of all the wonders that derive everything.
I caressed the trunk of the tree, feeling the cracks and calluses left on my mother's hands by years of toil, and I was full of pity, closed my eyes and listened, and what rushed was an endless stretch, full of vicissitudes and warm voices. I came in search of a childhood dream, and who expected it to be a pilgrimage with a lot of feelings. I hugged it affectionately, and in my mind there was both a sky full of flying sand and a sea of unbridled green.
I bowed down devoutly, and distracting thoughts arose. Thou hast also bare your roots and tendrils in the wind and sand, and thou hast withered the wild winds of the Tartars in silence. In the face of the vast starry sky, in the cold and snowy cold of the skin, have you ever thought about not fighting anymore and becoming a deserter? You finally chose to be strong and forbearing, just to become a beacon for future generations to cross the desert sea, and become a totem in a green ocean.
The sky is high and the earth is wide, the white clouds are dogs, and people are like mayflies and mustards. In addition to admiration, I can only kiss your rough skin deeply, and join the team of writing green dreams with gratitude.
Newly joined the Dream Team
If the green Saihan Dam is a beautiful dream cast by the people of Mulan Enclosure, I am very fortunate to have a dream planting experience visit my youth, in the spring of more than 30 years ago.
In the second year of junior high school, in the name of work-study, we took an open-top car to the Daevoke Gushan operation area to plant trees and cultivate forests. A group of children who were just taller than the shovel handle took the shovels and seedling buckets of their predecessors, and set foot on a land of anticipation of greenery, where they got acquainted with the desolation, the bleakness of spring and the warmth of human affection in the vast expanse of the dam. I remember two kind old men, a college student who yearns for the woods and a gentle village.
We were accommodated in a small village across the road to the mountain. The head teacher divided us into small units of three or five groups, and then the farmers took us to their homes. They live in houses that have been temporarily cleaned up by farmers for many years, and most of the houses are bags of grain, large bags of clothes, or farm tools that will come in handy during spring ploughing. Our luggage was neatly arranged on the earthen kang.
Every morning, we crossed the hill to the work area to eat, planted trees for a day, and came back in the evening. A group of young and ignorant children brought infinite life to this sleeping village in the col with their restless figures and idle voices.
The place where the trees are planted is far from the residence. We were picked up and dropped off by convertible every day. Each person has a shovel and an iron bucket, which is filled with pine seedlings dipped in mud, and filled with half a bucket of water. The car bumped on the pothole-ridden road, and we folded and turned in the carriage until we reached the bald, bare-headed hills, and we cheered and got out of the car. Many children often turn sallow due to motion sickness and vomiting.
"Send deep and shallow, bury the red skin", the construction staff explained to us the mantra of planting seedlings, and demonstrated at the same time. The shovel is stepped down hard in the middle of the forest pit, a diamond-shaped deep hole is pierced, the pine seedling roots dipped in mud are sent into the hole, and then slowly lifted up, to the place where the rhizomes meet is about to be exposed to the ground, the side of the hole steps on a foot to squeeze the sapling, and then the spade is stepped down on the back side of the seedling, and the spade is pulled back hard, and then pushed forward. Repeat again, squeeze the roots of the seedlings, and finally step on the half of the spade and smooth the ground with your feet. Three and a half shovels, a sapling stood in the forest pit in high spirits.
We listened carefully and watched carefully, but more eyes were on the construction workers. The construction workers have fine skin and tender meat, wear glasses, and wear white tourist shoes that can only be seen on TV. He was deeply shocked by our children in the mountains. He taught us patiently and meticulously, with a gentle light in his eyes. He didn't think we had runny noses, he didn't think we had mud all over our fingernails, and he told us about the university, the city, and the stories in the movies when we were resting.
We listened with our mouths wide open, and we didn't want to work anymore, and our minds were full of nonsense. We don't understand why this college student from Northeast Forestry University came to this remote and desolate place to teach us how to plant trees, and why he likes us dirty children so much.
He said that he liked the forest since he was a child, so he was admitted to the forestry university and found a job related to the forest. He said planting trees was his dream.
We were provided with a very old couple of people. The old man would always turn on the dim lights of the courtyard for us when we gently pushed the door open. The old man would also light the fire early before we got up and warm half a pot of washing water for us. In particular, the old man burns the kang hot every day, so that we can put the immature body that has experienced a day's fatigue in the warm quilt, and instantly have a sweet dream.
And these are all things that the principal and teachers have repeatedly told us not to allow. The teacher told us to help the residents clean the yard, press water and chop firewood, and burn the kang ourselves. But the practice of the elderly often weakens these statutes, rendering them ineffective. The old man had already cleaned the yard before we picked up the broom, and let the cauldron heat up early in the morning when we were sleepy, especially when we dragged our tired bodies back, and the charcoal fire in the stove was warming people. The old man often quietly lifted the curtain to see our sleeping appearance, and tucked the quilt corner for the child who slept dishonestly.
The old man treated us like his own children, giving us arms to snuggle up in when we were homesick, wiping away our tears with cracked hands and caressing our little heads.
There is a small stack of firewood in front of the old man's house, and firewood is neatly stacked. Our arrival caused the stack to be reduced rapidly. Later, every morning, the old man would quietly go up the mountain with a basket on our backs and quietly collect some dry firewood, but never cut it, as if for fear of disturbing an old man who was older than them. They maintain the most primitive and harmonious coexistence with the mountains and the plants and trees on the mountains.
Children in the countryside have an amazing sensitivity to firewood. We see not only the shrunken stacks of firewood, but also the baskets that are placed in the corners of the walls every day. At the same time, I also saw stacks of firewood (waste wood that was eliminated after logging) outside the forest farm operation area.
As a result, there was a scenery on the mountain beam that made the leaders of the forest farm puzzled and scratched their heads. Every night when we went back to our accommodation, we started to carry the wood, one for two, the younger one in the front and the older one in the back. First a few of us, then all the children. It turned out that each family added firewood to the students' stoves little by little.
The leader of the forest farm found the principal, and we relented, changing from frequent to occasional, and then to unscrupulous. This group of children who were placed in the mountains have enough primitive wildness in their brains, and obedience is only temporary, unrestrained, and daring is the true nature.
By the time we returned home, the poor little stacks of wood in front of every house in the village had turned into a heroic and flamboyant stack.
On the day of the tree planting, the adults and children in the village, as well as the young and handsome construction workers, stood under the car to see us off. The luggage was placed in the compartment of the convertible and we sat on it. The car moved slowly, and the dust kicked up blocked them. We were all crying in the car, and our minds were full of scenes of hugging the construction workers and not being able to bear to get in the car. The construction worker also cried, he made an appointment with us to visit us at the school, and we will come back to plant trees next year, and he will also be our construction worker.
My grandparents didn't cross the mountain to see us off because they were too old. We still vividly remember what they said, "Come back next year and come back to live". We cried out of the yard and brought the gate to the old man.
Thinking of the words "come back and live", we looked at the firewood stack at the door and hated that we didn't stack the firewood higher.
Journey to continue your dreams
The following year, we moved to the Sandao Estuary Forest Farm. Lived in the old sheepfold of the forest farm.
In the sheepfolds that were discarded, there was a thick layer of sheep dung on the ground. The walls are nailed with wooden planks, and the windows are covered with makeshift plastic sheeting. The spring wind on the dam was strong and strong, blowing the plastic sheeting all night long.
When we got into the open-top car again, our jaws dropped at the sight. "Infinite, vast, vast, open" are a bunch of words that pop around in my head, but they become pale, barren, and barren again. We shouted loudly in the car from the mood of the emotion, as if the sound could be transmitted along the boundless expanse to the unreachable distance.
With a slight wave of nature's brush, the ink is splashed to create a majestic and magnificent picture. Between the round and wide sky, the grandeur and magnificence make people forget. In the history class, the teacher painted a picture of the Khitan people pulling women, children and yurts on ox carts, and men riding horses and whips to drive sheep on the land.
The car we rode in seemed to be an ox cart with wooden wheels, and we looked up, the white clouds changed their form soothingly in the clear blue sky, the sheep reflected the white clouds in the green grass like a blanket, the hounds looked around the sheep with alert eyes, and the men on horseback threw out the crisp and loud whips.
There was indeed a horse running next to the car, and the horse was ridden by an old man in an army green coat. His skin was purple-red by the wind that blew all day long and the strong sunlight that blew all day long. With the pace of running, the horsehair and ponytail floated back, and the uncle's military coat was also blown high by the wind.
The uncle's surname is Qin, and he is a forest public security officer who makes a cameo appearance as our construction worker. The way he gallops on a horse sketches out how many heroic images we have in our minds. As soon as we rested, we monkeys beside the uncle and begged him to let us ride his horse. He laughed and told us to hold on to the saddle, to put the forefoot on the stirrup, not to clamp the legs too tightly, and especially not to startle the horse by shouting loudly. Then with the reins in hand, we took turns riding around the meadow, occasionally trotting a few steps, and each boy had a hero's addiction.
The dam is flat as far as the eye can see, but there are some soothing undulations in it, like the surface of the sea swelling with waves. There are a number of cols as far as the eye can see. "Looking at the mountain and running a dead horse" is the description of the land by the people of the dam. When people point in front of them, it may take half a day to walk. The horse is Uncle Qin's foot strength, and he is used to riding a horse to run around in one "wave" after another, bringing water and seedlings to the children, counting the number of children at any time, and not letting any child be left alone in which col. He also has to pick up the pine seedlings that the naughty and lazy children threw away at any time.
He took the saplings he picked up and told us about the hard-won pine seedlings.
Each pine seedling has to be "hatched" little by little in the nursery under the dam, but a pine seed does not have a very high hatching rate like an egg. It is picky about temperature, light, soil, and the water it drinks, neither from wells that have just been drawn up, nor from rivers that are not clean enough. For this reason, people built a 3-mile-long, one-meter-wide water trench through the farmland, and watered it with water that had been irradiated at the right temperature, so that the pine seedlings slowly broke out of their shells and grew into green seedlings. These darlings, who condense sweat and wisdom, grow to a foot tall before they are wrapped in swaddling clothes made of straw curtains, transported to dams, and planted in tree pits.
I recalled Uncle Qin's words from memory, and wrote the words on them, but the anger and hope on his face always appeared in my mind. We bowed our heads in shame and remained silent, he stroked our heads, and the palms of his hands were full of pity to us. Since then, we have cherished every pine seedling.
Uncle Qin's hometown is under the dam, and because of work, he came to the dam with his wife and children. Guarding forests as forest police officers and assisting in tree planting during the busy tree planting season. Riding a horse is because it is convenient for work, and if you have something, you can get on the horse and leave. He instructed in digging pits, planting trees, pruning branches, and he also caught the bad guys who were cutting down and hunting. The work and personality that he said he could not do without the horse. There was an opportunity to work on the dam, he flatly refused, he was used to the days of riding horses in the woods. His wife fought with him for this, but, "not a family, not a family", this woman who has followed him for half her life, always compromises this stubborn man, cooks for him with peace of mind, worries about him, and accompanies him to dream of guarding the forest. It's just that she also has to think about her home under the dam all the year round and her elderly parents. Our group of children from the dam evoke the nostalgia of Aunt Qin every day.
More food on the dam is wheat. We ate millet, stick rice, and stick noodles brought from the dam. When we were holding a stick of rice porridge full of lunch boxes, the air above the venue was filled with the sound of sucking and sucking. Aunt Qin always showed a little sadness. We called back a few lunch boxes of stick rice porridge for the eldest mother, and the eldest lady ate with tears in her eyes.
The eldest lady pickled a small vat of carrots, the color is pink and crystal clear. It tastes crispy, sour, and slightly salty. For every meal, my aunt gave each of us one. A lunch box of rice porridge with sticks and a radish, we ate heartily. When the dam was lowered, the small tank of the eldest mother's house had already bottomed out.
On the open-top car home, each of us carried a noodle dumpling in our pockets, and Aunt Qin was worried that we would be hungry on the road, so she got up early and steamed two large pots of dry food for us to eat in the car. When we ate, we all bowed our heads and said nothing, and tears dripped on the dry food. We remembered that we had missed an appointment with the handsome construction worker last year, and we were worried that we would move to another place next year.
The inheritance of dreams
I wrote down my tree-planting experiences in light-hearted words. In fact, the bleeding blisters on the palms and soles of the hands, the backache from tiredness every day, and the peeling of the face layer by layer are the truest portrayal of tree planting. It's just that I want to remember with a happy and beautiful attitude, because there is the most beautiful human affection, there is a persistent adherence to dreams, and it is precisely because of the perseverance of generations that a green ocean has been created. So it must be remembered happily.
The fifth grandfather once told me about their experience of planting trees back then.
Since the early 60s, the county has supported afforestation on the dam. The fifth grandfather was the leader of the production team, and in response to the call of the township commune, he organized the strong young people in the village to plant trees on the dam. The owner of the car drove the cart, which was loaded with grain, potatoes, and pot stoves. A group of shabby-dressed, but enthusiastic people planted trees on the dam at the beginning of spring.
Dam on the Spring Festival Gala, at the beginning of April, the apricot blossoms under the dam are in full bloom, the dam is still a picture of withered grass weather, every morning, there will be a thick layer of frozen soil on the ground, the scorching sun at noon shines unobstructed, people have nowhere to hide in a flat and vast land. The face is tanned, peeled, and the white and tender skin is exposed, and then sunned, then shedding, and the cycle repeats. When the mouth is dry and the heat is unbearable, the wind and snow will come at any time, and the sand will carry the snow on the face, burrow into the neck, and freeze people rely on each other to keep warm. Nature, whose face changes like a flip book, treats this group of tree planters shouting the slogan of "fighting heaven and earth" like cats and mice.
They leave early every day and come back late. The ox cart walked in the vast desert, and the bell jingled on the neck of the ox, cutting through the night sky and the stars and moon in the sky. The dim kerosene lamp was lit in the kiln, and the hand with chilblains held the nest, chewing the years with pickle lumps. Year after year, I watched the plants and trees grow and wither, planted trees and dreams in the endless vastness and desolation. Many people have dedicated their entire youth to this land in need of greenery, and some have even paid with their lives.
That's why I never complain about the hardships and tiredness of planting trees.
A few years later, I graduated from the Normal School and was fortunate to continue the dream of planting trees and storing greenery. I returned to the mouth of the three rivers. The late fulfillment filled me with anticipation.
I gave up the privilege of sitting in the cab and sat on the roof of the convertible with the students, blowing the wind on the dam beams, watching the children open their arms, shouting at the top of their voices, and chirping for joy.
Time seems to have pressed the pause button in the past few years, their backs are like me, and their faces are like my classmates. The grandparents' firewood stacks, the handsome construction workers, the team carrying wood, Uncle Qin's horses, Aunt Qin's salted radishes and noodles all emerged one by one. Thoughts wandered back and forth in memory, and I didn't want to come out for a long time, and my tears had long since become unsightly.
In order not to let the children see it, I turned my head, but I saw the turbulent forest sea, undulating and rolling, full of pride. The green pine is straight, ready for battle, and the picture of "Autumn Point Soldiers on the Battlefield" roars. The birch is sporadically embellished, charming and graceful, with a thousand points of shyness, like a love affair that lingers through the ages.
The hour hand seems to have moved.
As we approach the forest, our hearts almost break free from the shackles of our bodies and jump out freely. I scanned everything in front of me, looking for familiar houses and faces. The old sheepfold is gone, and the stone-walled family compound is gone. My hopeful face didn't appear in the crowd that greeted us.
I instructed the children to find their luggage and arrange accommodation. It is also necessary to press their infinite novelty and excitement. When a military coat appeared in my field of vision, I threw away the basin in my hand and ran away.
Uncle Qin's white hair has a lot more, but what remains unchanged is still his purple face, which is the seal of the wind and the sun on the dam.
I applied to the leader for Uncle Qin to be the builder of my class. When the children saw Uncle Qin, whom I described repeatedly, the first thing they thought of was to ride his horse. These comfortable children are all they want to play, and they don't understand that in addition to those happy memories in my heart, it is more of a dream, a dream of childhood, a mother, a warm humanity and a warm village.
Because of Uncle Qin's age, the leader and his wife no longer let him ride a horse. But he still did not change the habit of running around, and his two legs were no less than the four legs of a horse. Like him back then, I watched over the students in the flat and vast meadow with him, delivering water and seedlings, and leaving no child alone.
At noon, together with the students, we grabbed two steamed buns in one hand and devoured them with pickle strips. After eating, Uncle Qin watched me and the students wrestling and playing on the sand.
When the wind was blowing, we hid in deep pits. The wind blew overhead, leaving a whistling sound that blew the sand from the edge of the pit into our heads and necks. The children snuggled up to me and Uncle Qin, we were their support after they left home, and they found safety and warmth in us, just like the hot kang head of the grandparents' house in the Gushan Forest Farm back then, like the wheat noodles and dumplings that Aunt Qin gave us, and like the farewell hug given to us by the handsome construction workers.
Uncle Qin said that these children are no longer like us back then, they always keep shouting that they are tired, they are homesick when they are tired, and they are unwilling to work when they are homesick, and they go home crying. Uncle Qin and I not only have to coax these crying children, but also try our best to help these squeamish children plant trees.
Each person has a ridge, and the children are initially going hand in hand, and soon there will be children who will fall behind. Uncle Qin and I perfected our skills in "three and a half shovels", and quickly caught up with the children in front, but we had to turn back to pick up the new and backward children.
One day, after helping a child catch up with the group, he turned around to find a child in an invisible col. I hurried across the mountain bag, and the scene in front of me made my hair stand on end. The child was holding a shovel, stiff there, his eyes glazed over, and a wolf on the other side looked straight at the child because of the shovel in the child's hand, or because he was distracted for a while.
I screamed "Uncle Qin, wolf" in my throat. Uncle Qin and I shouted loudly and ran towards the child, he quickly took out the matching gun at the same time, fired two shots at the wolf, and the wolf turned his head and ran away quickly.
The moment I held the child, I felt his helplessness, fear and grievance. My heart was full of self-reproach, I had left him in a terrible col, and I was afraid that he would never dare to set foot on this land again for the rest of his life, and he would be full of fear of a col all his life.
After a long time, the child cried out with a "wow", and Uncle Qin and I wiped the child's tears and told him, don't be afraid, there are so many of us, wolves are actually afraid of people. Only we know the paleness of this in our hearts. On the grasslands, there is not only a lack of greenery, but also a lack of food for the animals. Under the strong desire to survive, it is normal for animals to take risks with red eyes.
The field department later arranged for us to plant trees in a closer area. After that, we ended hastily and went down the dam.
The children recalled the days when they planted the trees and recalled Uncle Qin, and they were still extremely excited. I said to the children, "Every night when you go to sleep, I actually hang around outside your dormitory to see if your doors and windows are firmly closed, and I don't go back to sleep with a flashlight until the sound of you sleeping soundly comes from the house." "The kids said they didn't know at all.
They are also looking forward to life on the dam, they say it is fun, and they want to go if they have the opportunity. Their desire to go back to the dam is a far cry from what I had in mind.
However, I'm glad that they are still dreaming of planting trees. They still have the dream of a tree in their hearts.
About the Author:
Deng Wenzhi, Manchu, from Weichang Manchu Mongolian Autonomous County, Chengde City, Hebei Province. Literature lover, has published works in "100 Essays", "Chengde Evening News", "Chengde Daily", "Chengde Radio and Television News", "Rehe" and so on.