It is often said that anything that has been washed and precipitated over the years and absorbed the essence of the sun and the moon, without being polluted by the filth of the world, will certainly have aura and temperament, and so will old houses. Although it changed hands long ago, I still regard it as a member of our family. The old house can't be expressed in words, but it is witnessing everything that has happened in these decades with its unique hope and cold eyes. There are many unforgettable stories in its era. Whether it is ups and downs or joys and sorrows, it will always be a beating note and a post station for the soul, which will never end.
On May Day this year, I seldom have the opportunity to go back to my hometown. The morning after I got home, I couldn't wait to take my family to the old house. The wheels are spinning rapidly on the familiar and unfamiliar country roads, but they are not beyond my thoughts of plugging wings, crossing the river, passing through the Woods and passing through the dark fields. The appearance of the old house has appeared in front of my eyes. It seems that there are two white-haired and amiable figures waiting for it at the gate. That's the old house calling and the parents calling.
Strolling in the silent village, maybe we came back too early, as if the village had not awakened from the embrace of nature. You can't hear chickens barking and dogs barking, you can't see the smoke curling across the village, you can't smell the unique flavor of food in the countryside, and there is no lively labor scene like that in production quotas. Occasionally meeting familiar faces in the past is already a toothless and gray-haired old age. The children peeped at the uninvited guests from nowhere with strange eyes. The silence and depression in front of me made my excitement sink to the bottom. What is the old house like now? Does it still know me? How should I face my haunted old house, which has been away for a long time?
When I came to the front of the old house, I couldn't see what it was like before. The scene in front of me can't help but make my brother and I burst into tears, and my nephew also lamented how this happened. Now the owner of the old house may work outside or accompany him in the county, so the old house is idle, which is also a common phenomenon in rural areas. A bare yard surrounded by a simple and worn wooden fence looks lifeless. The red willow tree in front of the door gives us shade during the day, and the willow branches are full of beautiful fairy tales at night, and it is gone. I don't know when the fruit trees planted by my father in the yard and the poplars flying behind the house were cut down. Only mottled and faintly visible stumps are telling us unfortunate experiences and thoughts. Gently touching the residual limb with your hand, a chill flows along the fingertips to the atrium.
Compared with the new brick houses built by neighbors, the four adobe houses are even more low and shabby. They hunched over there, as if groaning and calling in pain, just like a dying old man. The sparse hay on the head of the old house suggests the vitality when there is plenty of rain. Grass never fails to live up to time, but I always feel that it has grown in the wrong place, but now it has become a paradise for sparrows in the air. Two gray pigeons also love to join in the fun, cooing slowly and calling for friends. A Xiaohua Mall slipped in under the cover of hay, scaring the pigeons away. Xiaohua Mall jumped down from the roof in disappointment.
The wooden doors and windows of the old house have been in disrepair for a long time, and some of the glass has fallen off, which is the last thing I can bear to see. When I was a child, my favorite thing was to put my hands on the window lattice and stand by and watch the window, with my chin on my wrist overlooking the vast universe and watching the meteor pass by. That's the place where I once fantasized infinitely. Now the old house is so desolate and bleak, how can it not make people sigh, and how can we expect it to be the same as before?
The old house was built in the early 1970s, which is the most unforgettable thing in my first memory. At that time, building a house in the countryside caused a sensation in eight villages, showing how difficult it was and how enviable it was. Building a house is a great event in my father's life. Many nights, I can hear my parents talking about building a house. Finally, after careful consideration, my father plans to build a big brick house. After a winter of careful preparation, all the raw materials are ready. However, my illiterate but knowledgeable mother refused to build all the bricks. My mother's reason is that my father, as the president of the commune, has a bad influence on building such a good house, and others will poke my father's spine, fearing that my father will be criticized and so on. My mother's words, like the endless flowing spring in the mountain stream, still reverberate in my ears, which makes me know the world and keep simple in the impetuous society. In fact, we know that my father is an honest and upright official. After a fierce quarrel, mom and dad listened to mom and built a clean house in braided hair. My mother said it was also the best house in the village, warmer than the whole brick. This is what my mother said against her will for my father's reputation. Why doesn't my mother want to live in a beautiful big brick house? In order not to delay the farming season, the construction of new houses began before the spring planting, which is also a major event in the village, so men, women and children came to help. The villagers came to help not because their father was the president, but because of the simple folk customs in the countryside. In the past, everyone had something important, and even the whole village would come to help.
In the early spring morning, when it was warm and cold, we walked on the way to school, and our little hands reached into our cuffs involuntarily. A flock of white geese stepped on the ice, and the ice crackled. Some crushed the ice and fell into the water, quacking in fear. There is a thin layer of ice in the pit where the braid is twisted. In order to build our new house as soon as possible, the villagers stood waist-deep in the pit regardless of the cold and biting mud, grabbed the straw with their bare hands, twisted the straw rope in the mud with ice ballast, and then took it out to build a wall. Their hands were frozen stiff and red with cold. Yisow's hand was cut in the front yard, and Wang Ge's crotch was scratched like a eyeball by mud in the backyard, which made everyone burst into laughter without complaint. The moved father invited the master of the commune canteen to package jiaozi for 100. He is skilled, quick and dazzling. If he wins the jiaozi skill competition, he will be the only one. But the atmosphere in rural areas is not as good as before. In an era when people do things and everything is measured by money, the hard-working, kind and simple folk customs are also contaminated with copper smell.
A few days later, four big brand-new houses were completed. The front of the house is brick-concrete structure. At that time, people called it "one side clear". Other places are made of straw and yellow mud. People call it "braiding". The oval, purlin and column feet of the house are all made of red pine, and the roof is made of wooden boards and reed mats. People call it "one red to the top". Now I remember how magnificent the old houses in the village are.
After the house was completed, we started busy spring planting, and there were some finishing touches that we needed to do ourselves. I can't help but mention fourth sister here. Her contribution to the old house is indispensable. The first few sisters are married, and the fourth sister is the eldest in the family except her parents. Up to now, I sometimes feel that only she and my second brother inherited my father's temper. Sixie is a man, honest, kind, cheerful, selfless and helpful. She can cry if she wants to. At that time, she was a primary school teacher in her village. Her class is like telling a story, colorful, informative and interesting. It's not boring at all, and it's very popular with her classmates and parents. After work, she led us to make the tail work of the old house colorful and beautiful. Fourth Sister was afraid of heights and weak in physical strength since childhood. What supports everything is the joy of moving into a new house. Get up in the morning to fill the mud. After work, we worked as coolies for her. She started as a bricklayer. At that time, the newly built old house felt particularly high, and the roof exceeded the branches of poplar trees. Fourth sister stood on the springboard trembling, blocking the hole under the edge of the house. She was careful at every step and didn't dare to look down. At first glance, she would feel dizzy. Fourth sister told us stories while working, fearing that we would avoid work. I remember she told a fairy tale about hunters and tigers. Speaking of the funny part, she stepped on the air and fell off the springboard. Although it didn't break, it scared Fourth Sister to sit on the ground and cry. She wiped her tears with muddy hands. The mud on her face looks like a panda. We looked at Fourth Sister in horror and smiled again. Fourth Sister knew that she looked funny and smiled through tears.
When we moved into the palace-like old house happily, the sky was clear and golden autumn was everywhere. The whole courtyard has begun to take shape and is a typical northeast residential building. There are four main rooms, one wing on the east and one wing on the west. The courtyard cover is a fence more than one meter high made of mud, with red willows inserted at the root of the wall. A year later, it will luxuriously replace the mud wall. Poultry and livestock pens are arranged in an orderly manner. Although it is not as good as the big landlord's deep house compound in the past, it really makes the whole village feel refreshed and envious.
The warm sunshine shines in the quiet courtyard, as if the sunshine also likes the newly completed new house, stopping at the glass window with slow steps and shining with dazzling light; After a while, I stopped at the kitchen table and my mother was cooking, as if I were hungry. What attracts it is the smell of small rice. After a while, I stayed on the hen laying eggs in the henhouse, and the hen closed her eyes happily; Stopped on a fruit tree begonia planted by my father, and the smiling faces were red and covered with branches. What a warm courtyard.
The internal structure of an old house is the same as that of an ordinary house. The cauldron in the kitchen is connected with two kang in the west, occupying half of the room, separated by two kang cabinets with bedding on the upper and lower floors. The cupboard door is the most fashionable pyrography pattern, such as landscape, flowers and birds, fish and insects, etc. A row of large cabinets and two pairs of small cabinets near the north side were the most popular furniture at that time. There is a landscape painting on the front, and Liu Yuxi's bamboo slips say "Yangliuqing Jiang Shuiping, I heard the song on the Langjiang River." There is a photo frame with Chairman Mao's badge on it. I remember that at that time, my family collected all the badges of Chairman Mao in different periods. Later, as my sisters gradually left home, all the badges were lost, which is very regrettable. Walls and ceilings are decorated with old People's Daily, Reference News and Heilongjiang Daily. When you put up the wall, the best layout is placed outside, such as a good article and beautiful pictures. After pasting, the house is as bright as light snow, which is the most special wallpaper of that era and updated every year before the old calendar year. Brothers and sisters lie on the hot kang, just like solve riddles on the lanterns. She read a passage. Let's guess where it is. I'll draw an illustration for her to find, or find a word to ask you what to look at. As far as you can see, you will never get tired. The newspaper wall gives us the opportunity to read words and look up at the outside world, and it is also the biggest gift that the old house gives us.
The old house in memory is the big stage of life, and the mother is always the protagonist. Whether it's life, life, life, life, life and ugliness, she sang red in the old house, red in her children, red in Shili Eight Villages and red in the black land. Wrapped in semi-feudal feet, she kept walking through the hall, measuring every inch of the old house, picking up the abandoned time in the old house with her hard-working and rough hands, and caring for the blood and inheritance of the old house. Every time the chimney of the old house rises slowly like a lotus ribbon, accompanied by the fragrance of farm dishes, it is the silent and cordial call of the mother. Whether playing with friends in the haystack in the dark or doing farm work in the field, when I see the smoke from the old house and my stomach growls, I shout, mom wants us to eat, and then I run home like smoke. No matter what mom cooks, we all eat with relish. In fact, having an old house and a mother is our spiritual sustenance. What we eat is the taste of mother's love, not the warm taste of the old house.
As far as I can remember, my mother keeps two pigs every year. One is to be sold to the country, and the other is to be kept for the New Year. At that time, every family had the task of raising pigs. If the task is not completed at the end of the year, the production team will deduct a lot of work points. However, people can't even get enough food and clothing, and there is no extra food to raise pigs. Our family often assigns tasks to our neighbors. I buy piglets in early spring every year and tie them in the yard to feed them carefully for a period of time. In order to save feed, in busy housework, my mother sometimes digs pig grass in the wild by herself. My mother won't let us go, because it's too hard and she will come back to cook for us at noon. Mother's back was bent by a basket of pig grass, and she almost staggered back all the way. A lock of sweat-soaked hair clung to his forehead, and his face flushed by the scorching sun was full of tiredness. I quickly helped my mother to the stool and brought the cool well water that had just been drilled to quench her thirst. Mother swallowed a bowl of cold water and her tiredness disappeared. In this way, year after year, day after day, my mother is like a robot, never tired.
I remember one time, just a few days after my mother bought the pig, the rope tied to the pig broke, and the pig dragged the usual rope and quickly ran outside the hospital, ready to escape. It would be great if the pig bought for hundreds of dollars ran away. My mother grabbed the rope regardless of her age, but the two little pigs were very powerful in regaining their freedom. My mother was dragged far away, and finally two piglets were saved, but my mother dislocated her shoulder. Because the ligaments of the elderly are slack and not completely cured, habitual dislocation is formed. As children, we all feel very guilty.
It snowed, frozen the earth and everything withered. Whenever this season, the old house is full of spring and vitality. Since the pig was killed, the old house has been immersed in a peaceful atmosphere. More than a dozen people in our family, including brothers and sisters and foreign men and women, gathered in the old house. In fact, my mother worked hard for a year, just looking forward to the reunion of her children and foreign men and women in the old house. At this point, my mother's face showed a smile that had been accumulated for a year, and even the wrinkles seemed to be flowing with a cheerful and clear stream.
The fire in the room is booming, the kitchen is filled with steam, a large pot of pork stewed with sauerkraut and blood sausage, and the unique smell of pig-killing vegetables floats out of the old house along the crack of the door. With the snow all over the sky, the smell of firecrackers filled the village. Whenever the old house is happiest, the people in the old house are also the happiest.
Since there is an old house and parents who look after the house, I am most willing to return to a quiet small village and a warm and nostalgic old house in summer. Lush vegetation is dotted with barren land, and fruits, pears and peaches are covered with branches. Their wish is to give sweetness to mankind, which is the season for rural children to feast their eyes on. After my father retired, he turned the small courtyard into an experimental field, and when he walked around it, his stomach bulged. After dinner, night fell, and people who had worked hard all day fell asleep in the country. In the garden, parents often sit on a small bench to enjoy the cool air, the cool breeze blows gently, insects chirp and plants whisper to each other. The first harpsichord I played was Mother's Kiss. "In that remote mountain village, my dear mother has white hair and gray temples. The past time is unforgettable, just like the kiss my mother gave me. Kiss the tears on my face and warm my young heart. Mom's kiss, sweet kiss, makes me miss the present. "
Looking up at the night sky, the sky is vast, and the stars are silent, but they are sent to you in the dark. Fireflies shine with love under the grape trellis. A locust is also looking for a mate in the dark. This sound is familiar to me. According to my father, it has something to do with butterfly lovers, an ancient love story in China. After Liang Zhu died, he became a butterfly, and the horse's son became this locust. Butterflies fly in front and locusts chase after them. The sound of his wings is very similar to the sound of people shouting "three (sa), three (sa), three (sa)". It has a fatal weakness. When he caught it, he squatted in the dealer's field and beat it with the rhythm of his wings. It will be attracted by the sound and fly to you soon. When it felt that the situation was not good, it had become a turtle in the jar. I used to catch it in the wild with my playmates.
Lying on the heatable adobe sleeping platform in my old house, my father's snoring is so familiar, so sweet and so beautiful, just like a new lullaby, which always makes me carefree and sleep peacefully.
The joys and sorrows of the old house are inseparable from the people in the old house. The untimely death of my second brother is the saddest thing witnessed by my old house. His departure is the biggest loss for our family, and it is also the last time that he and I haven't seen our second brother in the old house. If the second brother were still alive, he would be a playboy now, but now his soul is still so handsome and uninhibited when dreaming. After his father retired, the second brother was the successor appointed by his father. His father's eyes had already seen that only the second brother could continue the prosperity of the clan. At that time, the second brother had a good social relationship, a wide network of contacts and a strong ability to handle affairs. When things happen, he has his own unique views. He disagreed with his father and often quarreled. Sometimes in the middle of the night, his second brother cried and rode his bike to live in a unit more than ten kilometers away. Many times we will stand on the side of the second brother, but now I think my father is right. Second brother is like a ship without the correct guidance of navigation marks, and sooner or later it will run aground on the rocks.
After decades, I still have a lump in my chest, which is hard to say. I often wonder, if second brother is still alive, what am I doing now? In junior high school, my second brother wanted me to be a soldier. He wanted to send me to the army to develop, to be a literary and art soldier or a medical soldier, and to go to a military school from the army, but I never expected that I would take his class again. Now, like duckweed, we are scattered in the economic tide of the world of mortals for our lives, flapping at the big place under our feet and busy with petty profits. I can only look at the old house in my hometown from a distance. Only my parents and my second brother stick to the old house. Their grave is only one kilometer away from the old house. I imagine their souls wandering between yin and yang, and they are frequent visitors to my old house. I seemed to see my mother's busy figure outside the house, and heard the endless noise between my father and my second brother in the old house, which turned into a heart-to-heart talk.
I was born and raised in Sri Lanka and was loved and cared for by the old house. Being with my old house for more than 20 years has given me the warmest and happiest time. Now being separated from my old house for more than 20 years has given me permanent thoughts and good memories. I am about to enter sixty years, and the short meeting makes me stop with tears, look back, stare and daydream. I entered the fast lane at the same time as the old house. I really hope the time is wrong and stay in a good time. What an absurd wish. I know that no matter how far away from my hometown's old house, my roots are deeply rooted in this soil and connected by blood, which will always be my soul station.
Goodbye, goodbye.
Green once again dresses up barren land,
The golden dandelion flower was broken by tears.
The word "wild goose" returned to the north, and I embarked on the road of no return.
My parents pushed me into the sky with anger,
I scattered the seeds of missing on the buildings in my hometown.
As a literary lover, it is my long-cherished wish to leave a few words for my old house and future generations with my poor calligraphy and rough words. I am praying silently, so let the old house stay where it is and melt itself in the changing time. I also hope that through the construction of new countryside, a brand-new old house will miraculously appear.