It has been more than thirty years since I left my hometown. I always have an unforgettable feeling about the hometown where I was born and raised. What haunts me the most is the river in my hometown that still has no name. It carries too many happy childhood memories for me and my friends.
My hometown is located behind Tiangui Mountain. It is a small natural village called Mijiazhuang. To the south of the village, there is a little-known river, winding its way from west to east in a quiet valley. The water is not deep but beautiful, the river is not wide but elegant, and it always hums gracefully all year round. The melody, singing beautiful songs. It surrounds the village like a silver ribbon, interpreting the scenery of the four seasons of my hometown with the changes of seasons.
Spring is here. In the small river in my hometown, spring songs are floating, and ink paintings are painted. "Spring River Plumbing Duck Prophet", after the awakening of hibernation, domestic ducks, wild ducks were swimming in the river in groups, sometimes diving into the water, sometimes emerging from the water, sometimes playing, sometimes peacefully, feeling lonely. The winter river adds a bit of noisy atmosphere.
On both sides of the moist river, many small flowers rushed out, lilac, dandelion, mother-in-law, etc., which decorated the river extremely enchantingly.
Spring is the season when farmers change their clothes. Groups of women carry the dismantled inners and outer garments of their cotton-padded clothes and go to the river to wash them. They put soap or soap on their clothes, and after rubbing it for a while, they picked up the mallet, one after another, "papa" - "papa" to make the Andante of Time; some even had words in their mouths. Humming the song "In spring, I am not busy doing farm work and unpacking laundry, and in winter I am not in a hurry...". Look again, there are pieces of cloth of different colors hanging on the large and small stones on the river bed. It really looks like a series of ink and blue landscape paintings, decorating the river bed with colorful and mottled colors.
Summer is here. The creek is the most comfortable, lively and joyful place. The poplar and willow trees on both sides of the river have long been luxuriant, and the dense leaves cast thick shadows. After finishing work at noon, people go to the river to wash their faces, sit on the rocks, smoke a pot of cigarettes, sweat off, and take a nap before Go home for dinner; birds keep jumping among the branches, calling for friends, and occasionally cicadas sing loudly on the branches. People's laughter, water, frogs, birds, and cicadas all converge into A joyful and harmonious pastoral symphony...
After lunch, groups of almost naked boys jumped into the river with a "plop" and "plop". The water suddenly splashed on the calm river, creating ripples in circles. Unwilling to be left alone, they often play the game of "Zha Mengzi". They plunge into the water with a sudden force and then poke their heads out of the river dozens of meters away. After wiping the water droplets from their faces, they wave their hands to each other excitedly. Next, they started splashing water on each other again, and the water splashed up more than one meter high with their hands, shining brightly in the midday sun, like countless diamonds scattered, and the quiet river suddenly became noisy. stand up.
I remember when I was in fourth grade, after lunch one summer day, a few of us troublemakers, those carrying shovels, those holding washbasins and ladles, ran towards a big rock in the river east of the village. Because I heard from several people that there were several black-faced fish hidden under the rock. They were as thick as children's arms and more than a foot long. They had a flat and wide mouth, a long beard, a strip-shaped tail, and moved slowly. To be honest, we have caught fish countless times, but we have never seen such a big fish. It is so attractive! When I got to the big stone and looked at it, I found that the flowing water had to be blocked and allowed to flow elsewhere, so that the water under the stone could be scooped up. Just do what you say. Two people blocked the water and dug trenches, and the rest took turns splashing (scooping) water. After a lot of intensive work, the water was finally scooped out, but no fish came out yet. We were anxious, so we used a shovel to dig out, and finally came out. Three black-faced fish came out one after another, wagging their tails reluctantly and staggeringly.Several of us rushed to catch it. After several attempts, we could not catch any fish. The reason was that the fish had a very smooth layer of mucus on it. We had no choice but to scoop it out with a basin, and finally won a big victory. When we returned to the school gate with our rich trophies in hand, we saw the teacher standing in front of the door with an angry look on his face. We predicted that something bad was going to happen, so we stood obediently at the door of the classroom and let the teacher train us enough. After school in the afternoon, we wrote another review...
Autumn is here. The apples and pears are ripe in the orchards on the banks of the creek. The branches are bent by bright red apples and yellow pears. We spied that no one was around, so we sneaked into the orchard, picked a few apples and pears, ran to the river, picked up the clear river water and washed them, then ate them hungrily, the juice and nectar flowing from the corners of our mouths. It flows down, is eaten in the mouth, and is sweet to the heart.
Sometimes, we use baskets to carry potatoes or sweet potatoes and radishes to the river for washing. The gurgling water, the crystal clear river water, washed again and again. It was so refreshing. It was countless times cleaner than washing things at home.
As the sun sets in the west, smoke rises from the cooking pots, and the cattle and sheep returning home at dusk go down the mountain. They run to the river to drink water, making a sound of "buzzing". The happiness they feel after drinking enough water is really indescribable. describe. The people who finished work put down their farm tools in twos and threes and roughly washed the dust and fatigue from their faces... The riverside ushered in the richest noise of the day.
Winter is here. After counting nine, the river was covered with thick ice, and it was completely white, making the river look pink and jade. The boy took a small wooden board that he made simply by himself, and tied a two-meter-long rope to the edge of the board. One of them sat on it, and the other ran with the rope, taking turns enjoying the joy of skating. When skating, you inevitably have to fall a few times. Everyone wears thick cotton clothes made by their mother and they don’t feel any pain at all. If they fall, they will trigger a burst of laughter. This laughter ripples in the empty river ditch, adding to the cold winter. Very warm. When we were tired from skating and thirsty, we went to look for ice beads to eat. On the fast river surface, when water meets stones, it will stir up waves, which are slowly frozen into ice balls of different sizes. They are round like beads, crystal clear and translucent. When you hold them in your mouth, they are smooth, cold and refreshing. I can eat several in one breath...
Xiaohe in my hometown, you are like a pure, selfless, kind and kind mother! From generation to generation, you chant your strong local accent, reflect the bright moon on the green mountains, kiss the sunrise and sunset, and devote your whole life to silently dedicating everything; you are like a piece of beautiful prose, with profound artistic conception, soul-stirring, and deeply touching feelings. You are like a history book of your hometown, recording the vicissitudes and desolation of the farming era, and witnessing the vicissitudes and changes of the times.
ah! The river in my hometown, you are the most beautiful painting and the most beautiful song in my heart, which will always melt in my blood and be imprinted on my heart. Li Yanghai
(The author is a retired teacher from Mijiazhuang, Pingshan County, Hebei Province. Hebei Provincial Writers Association member, Hebei Literary and Art Research Association member, and Shijiazhuang Poetry Association)
■ Regardless of what has been taught by generations Heroic myths, no matter the smoke stream deep in the memory, no matter the straightforward enthusiasm of the uncle and aunt of the boss, no matter the diligence, bravery and studiousness of the brothers and sisters to the west, everyone has thousands of memories or great hopes for the place where they were born and raised. . Hebei Radio and Television Newspaper Integrated Media Communication Column - "My Hometown, My Village" invites you to tell your true feelings: a story, an object, mountains and rivers, a friendly face and a smiling face, a tragic song of heroic past, and a vigorous and prosperous future. Traces...
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