Plateau People's Articles/Peng Ruixue
In this land, it may be bustling and bustling, or it may be simple and peaceful... Reading more about the customs and customs described by others can also broaden your own horizons. vision.
When the sound of the cowbell wakes you from sleep, the delicate hands of the morning are stretching out from the wall hole, inserting a piece of pure white sunshine into another fresh day. After a gust of breeze, there were high and low sounds from far and near, including chickens crowing, ducks croaking, dogs barking and sheep bleating. The air is so fresh and smooth that you can only swallow it, and the scent of mint leaves soaks into the blood. I feel as if I have been in a holy spring, and my mind is clear after all the worldly dirt is washed away.
This is a mountain village far away from the towns on the northwest border of China's Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau. It is a simple and simple mountain village that has not yet been crushed by wheels, and is stationed together with Han and Miao people.
Auntie still simmered a bowl of poached eggs in the big iron pot where the piglets’ breakfast was cooked. Holding the bowl in my hands, the warm feeling and the fragrance of wild grass are more tempting than any breakfast I have ever eaten before. In fact, my aunt's mother-like love is enough to give me three full meals a day, making me feel that this is my home in my previous life, the place I want to reach in my dreams.
The valley in front of the village is scattered with large and small brown stones, like the severed heads of heroes on ancient battlefields, glaring at the boundless desolation and silence, silently telling a bloody history. It is more like a group of old people who have traveled through thousands of mountains and rivers, clinging to the loyalty of the dying years, guarding the last piece of habitat. A paddy field stretches between the wrinkles of the stone. This is the only place in the mountainous area of ??more than ten miles around the village where rice can grow. So the originally small field was divided into a chessboard shape, and dozens of families in the village showed their talents on this board. The overt and covert competition allows each family to get more benefits during the harvest season than the previous year, but compared with the families down the mountain, the harvest always seems insignificant and the sweat they put in is too much. Unbalanced, unconvinced, and unwilling to admit defeat, people on the mountain are deeply tired of the restrictions of the mountain, hate the harsh living environment, and long for the most fundamental changes. Yes, between the white mountains and black waters, on the edge of the plateau, in this place where there are more rocks than soil... you can imagine how the people here strive for the best chance of survival in the struggle with the sky, the earth, and the poor. Fundamental. But no one is willing to leave this small village. Even if it is a mud-walled house rebuilt on the stilts that collapsed by their ancestors, and even if the food in their bellies is always rough corn and potatoes, people are willing to deeply implant their lives and spirits. This land of poverty and desolation. Like ascetics, these people (whether Han or Miao) are never willing to abandon their simple and backward lifestyle for a prosperous and exciting life. Their stubbornness to their homeland is almost pedantic to a certain extent, mostly religious, but you have to be deeply moved by their love for the land. Here, you will understand the relationship between land and people: branches and roots, mother and child, blood and flesh, water and mountains... any metaphor seems too thin.
For this reason, people in this village cherish their land. They will not despise any place with soil between the stones, and will plant a corn plant or other seeds that can be harvested even if it is a square inch. Therefore, in this village, the front and back of the houses, the front and back mountains are always prosperous and full of green shade. Even if the sun is pouring down directly from your head, you won't feel the heat wave hitting your face. The cool breeze is blowing, the trees are shadowy, and the ancient well at the entrance of the village is filled with mountain springs squeezed out of the cracks in the stones. Take a sip, it is cool and sweet, refreshing and leaves a lasting memory. Who says this isn’t a summer resort? Although there are no towering ancient trees or wooden fish in ancient temples, you can smell the green sea and blue waves, the neighing of horses and the jingling of cow bells, which is a different kind of cave. I think that the autumn scenery of Taoyuan written by Tao Weng is nothing more than this... When I was enjoying the soothing breeze along the way, sighing at the picturesque scenery, and flying freely with poetry, my aunt's family had already harvested the rice in their own field, and called several other households to help. An elderly person from a five-guarantee household prepares the land. I think my leisure and romance are really a waste. When I get along with my aunt's family, I feel that hard work and health are so beautiful. You will find how ridiculous their coquettishness and politeness are in their simplicity and honesty. sad.
Pick the red wild fruits on the field ridges at will, wipe them with the corner of your clothes casually, and the thick black hands stained with loess have been stretched out in front of you. Hygiene or deliciousness have become legends at this time. Inspired by a sincere smile, are you willing to refuse this warm hospitality? Why think you are a guest? From the moment your feet step over the old locust tree at the entrance of the village, you are a friend of this village. Chewing sour fruits, listening to aunts and dads tell jokes about the love between children, and watching brothers and sisters chasing and playing in the dirt. The simplicity and reality of pastoral life are vividly expressed in the most innocent way. After the ashes were extinguished, the aroma of roasted potatoes evaporated from the warmth. It was lunch, and the aunt took the time to pick up firewood and simmered it. While peeling and blowing, the little brother's hands and lips were covered with black firewood ash. He probably felt an insect bite on his forehead, slap, slapped him, and with a few black marks, he instantly completed the look of an African native, causing a burst of laughter. With a roar, he pulled open the hem of his clothes, shoved a few peeled and still hot potatoes into my hand, took off his coat, yelled "take it", and laughed until he was curled up in a patch of oranges. ’s sister.
The aroma of brother's wine filled my ears, and I didn't know when a large number of shirtless men and women were sitting on the field ridge. They ate the same baked potatoes, a sip of wine, a sip of roasted peppers, and a few bloody puns. It's hot and spicy, and the days of **** excitement are brilliantly performed.
My father, who had attended a private school for several years and also served on the Korean battlefield, was a well-known capable man in dozens of miles around. Whether it is picking, plowing, plowing, or mowing in the field, or cooking, washing, cleaning, or sweeping at home, he can do it all. More importantly, he is eloquent, upright, and impartial. A few years ago, he used his personal power to persuade the township leaders to insert electric poles into the small village and build the school into the mountains. In the early years, people supported him in running for village chief, but because his mother had been ill for many years and the children at home were young, he declined the kindness of the villagers. But he is still an uncrowned king in people's hearts. In front of and behind the mountains, whether they are Miao or Han, anyone who has difficulties or good things will come to him for help. He will also do his best. Over time, adults became accustomed to calling him "Uncle Master" and children called him "Master Teacher". Only few people except his aunt knew his real name. People will not connect his current fame with the prominent family background of his ancestors, nor does he need the protection of his ancestors who were ranked fifth in the Qing Dynasty. In this small village, he lives an extremely ordinary life, and he and his fellow villagers strive to live like a human being. I knew that he had already hatched a plan in his mind, which was to develop and utilize the limestone formations in the back mountains to find a way for the villagers to get rich. To this end, he must persuade the villagers to raise funds to build a mechanical farming road leading to the township. Listening to his careful plan and sincere request, I was convinced by him. Of course, his "villagers" were even more eager to give it a try. I seemed to see the stubbornness of the buildings in the people's laughter and laughter.
After having had enough wine and food, the men began to take a nap. They lay casually under the tree among the stones, lying on their backs and snoring loudly. The woman took off her shirt and carefully wiped the dust off her body in the ditch water. The plump body the color of sandalwood, the posture as natural as a wild flower, is a living religious oil painting, but it has pure humanity that even Leonardo da Vinci cannot describe. Time seemed to have stopped at this moment, and Sunshine easily squatted on the stone to guard his children. I think the highest state of human civilization is to dare to take off the fig leaf that surrounds the body and return to the purity when we first came into the world. The real sexual culture is by no means fully supported by men's strong reproductive organs and women's strong vaginas. At this time, whether it is a primitive or avant-garde conclusion, it is difficult to interpret this simple pastoral style. The joy of A-mei's impending marriage teases the hidden plots in women's lives. They turn their backs to men and read women's happiness on their respective skins. Perhaps, they will not be able to understand feminism, the needs of women's hearts and the independence of women's humanity in their entire lives. However, in the most real love between two people, in the marriage life of smooth skin, they know how to make their men love them more. This woman understands the true meaning of life and love far better than those urban beauties who think they are elegant and have less doubts about men. Therefore, the old and young women in this small village all look so gentle and quiet... In the quiet mountain bay, I almost fell into a desolate, lonely but classical and elegant artistic conception and couldn't extricate myself. This is a mountain village I have never dreamed of. It makes me feel familiar and attached.
Dad hurried out with a handful of herbs in his arms. Someone in the back hill fell and was injured. My brother went horseback riding outside the village. He didn't forget to pick up his slingshot, saying he wanted to let me, a person from afar, taste wild game. My brother led several men to see the rocks and plan the route. Their enthusiasm lit up the smoke in the small village houses, and it was already evening. Auntie is busy in the kitchen. A-mei was embroidering her wedding dress in the dim light. A few embroidered sarongs fluttering in the wind at the corner of the eaves still tell the story of the charm of the Miao daughters. Apart from this, there are almost no traces of the ancient Miao village in the buildings in the mountain village. That was a fire from the sky more than ten years ago, which burned many houses and broke the boundaries of ethnic groups. Since then, dozens of families have been forced by fate to rebuild their homes in hardships. The dry locust tree at the entrance of the village still has traces of burning. It has become an altar for the villagers to worship the gods. It is also the best testimony that the village has climbed out of the ruins.
The evening breeze is filled with the heavy smell of burning firewood, like a fence that surrounds the comfort of the small village. The house was filled with the rich fragrance of wet new grains. Breathing in the joy of the farmers' harvest, I feel my own paleness. For many years, the poems I wrote with the passion of life are nothing but shriveled characters. They have not been soaked by the sweat of farmers, have not been conceived with the hope of harvest, and have not been stained by the blood of first marriage... I once conceived in the city The plateau scenery I have seen thousands of times is so monotonous and dull in the rich and vivid colors of the busy village where I was born, with abundant rice and ripe crops. I know that I have been separated from the land for many years.
This is a border village on the plateau. This is a mountain village far away from the town. This is a corner with more rocks than land... There are no magnolias growing here, but there are beautiful and fragrant girls. They put on beautiful dresses and floated into the night like butterflies. There is no opera house here, but it is a kingdom of music. From the bonfire-lit woods around the village, young men and women sing antiphonal songs from time to time. They tune the strings of love and stir up waves under the thick night curtain. The wave of enthusiasm seemed to make the small village drunk. My father was already a little tipsy, so he raised his glass and insisted on having a drink with his aunt.
Brother and Brother also shouted, making Auntie's face blush. She kicked them out in feigned anger. "Chasing the Sun" is being played tonight in the school next to the old locust tree. There are young and old men in the room: drunk, half-drunk, and wanting to get drunk; those who smoke cigarettes, those who smoke hookahs, those who are learning to smoke... this It is by no means a lonely mountain village.
The blue, cloudless night sky is filled with dense stars, so bright and so close, it feels like they will be blown away by the wind at any time. It was more like a thick diamond-encrusted quilt, which made me a little breathless. Squinting my eyes, I thought about Pengshui in my hometown under the moonlight, and the waves were as smooth as silk in the wind. Nostalgia gradually arises, like the late night mist on the plateau, light and lingering. Gently, my aunt covered me with one of her clothes, and then sat at the other end of the drying yard, beating soybean straw. I still fell asleep, just wanting to quietly experience the night in this plateau mountain village. Lying in the big bamboo basket used for drying grain, some scenes from my childhood can't help but come to mind. At that time, every clear summer night, after my adoptive mother had finished her housework, she would let me rest on her lap, tell me the story of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl, and sing me some old songs. She said that in a few years she would become a little star in the sky and she would look at me forever. In my memory, my mother has never seen the stars with me on a summer night, but the way she made clothes on the sewing machine under the lamp is the greatest comfort in my heart. Just like an aunt at that time, my mother gave me my youth with her hard work. The most stable days. I know that as long as my mother still sits by the machine, life will be pleasant...
After burning the last stick of incense, Auntie stuffed a few hot eggs into my Xingxiang . I was already in tears. I just nodded my head as my father told me to come back in the future. I really don’t know what else I should say. This small mountain village I passed by on my journey of life ripped out the emotions of my daughter from the bottom of my heart and made me heartbroken when I said goodbye.