A day in my hometown begins in the early morning, and the mountain village in the morning fog is dreamlike and picturesque. The mountains arch the mountain villages, the trees cover the farmers, and the outline of the curve winds in the dense fog. When the sky in the east was a fish-belly white, a crow broke through the silent sky and caused a crow. The rising sun rises in the crows, and beautiful light is scattered all over the wilderness of the mountain village. Plumes of smoke rose from the farmer's kitchen and drifted away with the wind. There is no mist in the kitchen smoke in the morning fog, but there is a little more smell of firewood. The peasant woman cooked breakfast and started her day's farm work. In the yard, Chinese parasol trees are in full bloom, and clusters are hanging in the air like purple clouds, swaying into dynamic and gorgeous colors with the wind. The corn cob hung on the wall of the room, and the exposed corn seeds exuded a strong earthy smell, showing a golden harvest scene. The door gods and Spring Festival couplets were dimmed by the wind and rain, as if they still recorded the scene of family reunion during the Spring Festival. The upside-down word "Fu" is the common wish of farmers, and the kitchen god shrine enshrines the years. This decoration gives people the impression that rural life retains more traditional customs, and the relatively slow pace of life in rural areas is closer to the quiet nature. There are hoes, shovels and other farm tools in the corner of the yard. People often complain about these tiring farm tools, but in their hearts they sincerely feel the "treasure" handed down from generation to generation, which is the place to save lives.
Walking out of the house is the street ditch, and the houses built by the ups and downs of the mountains are hidden in the shade. Through the farmers, you can see the cultivated land all over the mountain. Spring ploughing and autumn harvest, harvest the grain of the four seasons, and supply rations to survive. When I was a child, I read the poem "It was noon when I was a child, and sweat dripped down the soil", which deeply touched my heart. Later, I learned that the hardships of farming made me feel more physically difficult, and I was sure that the hardships in those poems were really written with sweat.
There are short graves in the cultivated land, where ancestors are buried. The simple desire of "returning the soil to the soil" is a deep gratitude to the land. The edge of the cultivated land is connected with the foot of the mountain, covered with thin soil, with trees and weeds. Wildflowers don't want to be gorgeous in the world, but bloom for the wilderness that carries them. The artificial fish scale pit on fertile land is surrounded by several stones to prevent soil erosion, and cash crops such as pepper and walnut trees are planted in the pit.
Baiyun Mountain Temple stands on the cliff at the top of the mountain. The outline of the temple is set against the blue sky and white clouds, and the morning bells and drums linger all the year round. Sanskrit fills the loneliness of Shan Ye, and the quiet life shuttles through time. Climb along the mountain road and step out of the temple gate. There are several courtyards in the temple, and the middle corridor is connected by a loop. The main hall is dedicated to my grandmother, who is said to be the elder sister of the God of Wealth, and the Baiyun Mountain Temple is my grandmother's Dojo. The main hall is made of bluestone with red bricks, and the beams support the cornices. Inside, Grandmother Feng Yixia showed compassion and protected people's livelihood with good weather. Villagers often come here to pray, repent and seek novelty, seeking a place with pure and peaceful mind. I especially love an ancient temple called "Grandma Mai Temple". Born to be immortal, the history of drought and lack of food in the old days is too profound. The name of the temple contains the wish to pray for a full meal and avoid fleeing famine. The small temple built with rough stones is narrow and dark, leaving traces of smoke and fire. The simple structure has stood for a hundred years, and the incense has been worshipped by many people. I sigh that the construction technology is solid, but I can't help admiring Grandma Mai. The afterglow of the setting sun filled the temples in Shan Ye, and the walls of the temples were covered with mottled moss and weeds. Vicissitudes are accumulated over the years. That kind of devotion to life is a feeling after the changes of the world. From a distance, the buildings are as patchwork as a chessboard, and the vigorous growth of crops calls for a bumper harvest. As each season comes and goes, it is actually an explanation of crop life.
There are several acres of ponds outside the village, without lotus leaves as foil, without the grace of Jiangnan. In the water, however, there are many aquatic plants swaying with the graceful water flow, in which fish play, and the wind wrinkles the water waves and shakes the reflection in the water. There are mountains and water in the reflection, and the northern landscape has its own charm. The pines and cypresses near the pond have grown into wood, and the lush branches and leaves block the light of the forest path. The winding path is often crossed by pedestrians, who are either absent-minded or calm. There is a clearing near the pond, and the ground is full of fruits and vegetables, which enriches the farmers' vegetable baskets.
This used to be the threshing floor, and the follow-up work of wheat harvest was completed here. The era of harvesting wheat with bare hands is slowly coming through time and space. Under the scorching sun in May of the lunar calendar, I put on a long-sleeved shirt and a straw hat, with a sickle in my left hand and a sickle in my right hand. The wheat fell in rows, put it on a wheelbarrow and tied it up, grabbed the balance with both hands and twisted his ass, sending the wheat to the threshing floor. Wheat straw and seeds are separated in the roar of threshing machinery in the field. On windy days, lift the wheat with a wooden shovel, and the wheat skin will fall with the wind, and the wheat grains will fall vertically. Speaking of the production team, I also had the experience of picking wheat ears together. "Grain returning to warehouse" was a requirement of wheat harvest at that time, and I think it was a fashion to advocate saving. When I was in primary school, the school would have a wheat holiday, and my mother would always let me work in the fields. She taught me that only labor can survive in society. Diligence is a basic quality of human beings. Mother teaches us her attitude towards life by example, which is actually a kind of "wealth". The past is like a dream. In the dream, there are wheat fragrance, cicada singing phoenix tree and happy footprints in the snow, where there are traces of growth.
The wind is blowing. From the direction of hometown, the message of hometown, guarding our life password. We have been drifting all our lives, but our hometown has always been an indelible direction. Clouds, floating from my hometown, are like cotton planted by my mother in the field. They are as warm as spring, so I am no longer afraid of the cold of life, and my heart is permanently stationed in make it mine.