When I was a child, my mother used to take me to the depths of the canyon and let me sit on a small ridge as big as the collar of hemp fiber and immerse myself in knee-high paddy fields for transplanting rice seedlings. This canyon is cool, with only about three hours of sunshine every day. This is a very barren valley in the village. My home is at the entrance of such a valley. There are also dry lands in the valley. Here, my mother grows sweet potatoes, radishes and the like. There is a deep stream leading there in the middle. There is a bridge on it, but whenever there is a flood, it is often washed away. My mother often repairs the bridge. Because this is the valley where my mother works alone, I can't go to Tolai's neighbor's house. On that day, uncle carpenter, who is good at building temples and sacred furnaces, will definitely come back from there, cut down two logs from the mountain, and cross a narrow stream, lined with chestnut boards and piled with mud. Then, tell our brothers that it will become a solid clay bridge if we walk firmly. After a year or so, the earth bridge was a little old and overgrown with weeds. Under the weeds, rows of white gaps are exposed, just like those seen on the rafters on the eaves of the shrine. Moreover, no matter how old the bridge is, chestnuts will rot. At first glance, the back of the bridge is covered with mushrooms. Mother took them off and cooked the dishes in the lunch box for us. This small bridge leading to Tiantian is related to her family's livelihood. My mother has built it many times in her life. If it is narrow, it is an area where typhoons often transit. I think it needs ten trips. No matter which time it is erected, the bridge is always piled with soil and mushrooms grow on the wood.
I said goodbye to my mother when I was nine years old and made a little novice monk in a temple in Kyoto. But when I think of my hometown, the bridge built by my mother will emerge in my heart. The bridge is still fresh in my mind. In my journey, whenever the train passes through this valley, it will definitely appear. In a country like Japan, for some reason, there are only such deep valleys and hills. Whether in Aomori, Shikoku or Kyushu, I have seen canyons like my hometown. In those valleys, towards the depths, there must be a small bridge erected.
Mother did her best to build the bridge for the meager harvest. This is the way to get our family's rations. It can be said that this is a life-threatening bridge. Therefore, this bridge, however simple, is still beautiful!
Now, I don't need to appreciate the famous works of Hua Yue or Tomioka Tessai Murakami. I couldn't help crying when I saw the landscape paintings of the weedy bridges exposed by the rural painters.
This is it ~ hehe ~