In China, many people like bamboo, including literati, dignitaries and poor Confucian Ding Bai. Although they have different identities and different views on bamboo, their preferences are the same. Before my wife wants to marry me, let me draw her a picture of bamboo and ask her why. She can't say why, but she likes it.
Since the Tang and Song Dynasties, bamboo seems to have become the carrier for China literati to express their feelings, especially in the Ming and Qing Dynasties. Bamboo is used as a metaphor to express an attitude towards life. Zheng Banqiao is the most famous of the Eight Eccentrics in Yangzhou. "For forty years, he painted bamboo branches and waved his thoughts day and night." His bamboo brush is unique and distinct, and at the same time, because of his understanding of life, he feels more noble in the painter's own personality. There is also a famous bamboo painter named Xia Chang, who was born in the Ming Dynasty. There was a famous saying at that time: "One bamboo in Xia Qing, ten ingots of gold in the west". It can be seen that his reputation has already spread far beyond the Great Wall. Every time I read Xia Chang's Bamboo, the sound of gold and jade is endless, and the purity is hard to add. By the Wei and Jin Dynasties, bamboo had been favored by scholars. Without bamboo, where would there be "seven sages of bamboo forest"? In the most free, flamboyant and liberated era in China's history, literati gathered in the bamboo forest, reclining in the breeze, strolling, talking about poetry and playing the piano, how happy they were. It's refreshing to be friends with bamboo. No wonder right general Wang Xizhi was able to dedicate the preface to the Lanting Collection, the world's first running book, to us in Huiji Mountain where bamboo was cultivated in Maolin.
However, what I want to say at this time is not China's painting and calligraphy or literati tradition. In life, bamboo has the same frequent contact with us. Especially a few years ago, chopsticks were mostly made of bamboo, with bamboo chairs, beds and mats at home and bamboo rakes in the countryside. At dusk in summer, as soon as the sun goes down, adults will move bamboo beds outside to eat. The family is either lying down or sitting with a cattail leaf fan in their hands. Children will go out to catch fireflies and run back when they are tired. They will lie on the bamboo bed and count the stars. At that time, the night sky was clear and there were many stars, unlike now. Bamboo beds are also exquisite. The longer you sleep, the cooler the weather will be. Because of much sleep, sweat seeps into the bamboo meat, which darkens the color and makes the bamboo surface smoother. Although these things are common and mostly rough, they are also necessities of life after all. If you can meet an old bamboo chair engraved with two sentences, it will be unique.
My grandfather also has a baby, a bamboo tobacco pouch, which is more than a foot long. The pipe head and cigarette holder are all wrapped in copper, made in Huang Cancan, and a string of red ears are hung on the cigarette rod. What a coincidence. You don't usually smoke this kind of pipe. Only when you go out to visit relatives, don't wear it on your waist to earn face. At home, most people smoke without copper. This kind of tobacco pouch is more common, that is, just find an old bamboo root, cut a hole, and then poke the bamboo joint inside. Of course, it's easier said than done. I have tried to dig a bamboo root that can be used as a cigarette bag many times, but I have never dug it, because the root is in the soil, so I have no experience and I don't feel very clear. This regret has been retained until now.
Grandpa also dried tobacco himself. He gets a lot of sun every year. Put it away. Several times during the Chinese New Year, I heard that he went to other villages to sell baskets door to door. Actually, it doesn't sell much money. This kind of smoke is very strong. Once I secretly took a sip, which made my tears flow out. When I learned to smoke, I smoked a few more. Although I didn't cry, the smell was impressive.
I can't name the grass that lit the cigarette. After drying, I made it and hung it on the roof beam. This kind of grass burns slowly, just like mosquito-repellent incense. When several old people sit together and chat, they often see each of them holding a stick in his hand, grabbing a pinch of tobacco, stuffing it into the tobacco nest, lighting it and taking a deep breath. Sometimes, they haven't finished smoking, and they have to make up two more. However, they can't smoke anymore. If they smoke again, they will suck soot into their throats. There are two ways to remove dust. One way is to puff your cheeks and blow hard, and the other way is more elegant. After the smoke goes out, tap the sole twice.
Watching grandpa smoke is a pleasure, especially at night. It's cold in the mountains, even in summer, you should cover yourself with a quilt. After turning off the lights, I lay in the back nest and grandpa sat on the edge of the bed. I can see his silhouette, an old shadow. It was quiet all around. He touched the tobacco bag and struck a match-at this time, there was no need for some tobacco. Later, he heard the sound of the head of the tobacco bag knocking on the foot of the table. Silhouette turned around and tucked me in before undressing and sleeping.
I can sleep with my grandfather, from primary school to middle school, as long as I have a problem with him, because my grandmother died long ago, when I was less than two years old. I had no memory. My mother said that my grandmother loved me very much. Once, I had a boil on my head. My grandmother stewed a boa constrictor, which will soon be cured and will not recur in the future. But I still can't remember my grandmother's appearance, how tall and fat she is. She didn't even take a picture when she died. In a sense, my grandmother is just a virtual title to me. Maybe she loves me, but this kind of love is like a pinch of air, obviously by your side, but she can't hold it.
One winter, now I can recall that it was getting dark. My mother hugged me and came to my grandfather's house. Before I had dinner, she said that she would go to see my grandmother. Then I walked up the mountain with my arms in my arms. I walked for a long time in a big bamboo forest and finally arrived. At that time, my grandmother had not been buried-maybe it was economic reasons, geomantic reasons in the cemetery, and the days were not good, so I wrapped straw outside the coffin and put it in my own field.
My mother asked me to kneel on the ground and kowtow, saying some blessings, and I began to cry as soon as I said it. When I cry, I get up, squat on the coffin wrapped in straw and let go of my voice. I don't know why, what's sad? She cried and lied as if no one had seen her. When I was an adult, I asked my mother. She just said that she missed her grandmother very much. I think my father was too young to be modest in some trivial matters of life.
At that time, I told my mother that I wanted to go back. My mother ignored me and cried by herself. At this time, a gust of wind passed through the bamboo forest. I clearly remember that bamboo leaves rustled like a group of people running in the forest, and several yellow bamboo leaves floated in front of me. I picked one up from the ground and watched it again and again.
This memory is a bit loose, but that evening in front of my grandmother was my first memory of bamboo. Over the years, people have grown up and run around and seen a lot of bamboo, but for me, these bamboos can only be seen. I remember there is a purple bamboo forest in Putuo Mountain, and my mother also believes in Bodhisattva. She has never been to the Dojo of Guanyin Bodhisattva. On this small island in the East China Sea, there is a bamboo forest with purple bamboo poles. I don't remember why. Anyway, some stories are mostly made up by later generations, for the sake of pilgrims' pockets. There is another place in Jiangxi, whose name has been forgotten. There are many camphor trees in Jiangxi, but this place has its own characteristics. They built a white bamboo garden. It is said that there are more than 100 kinds of bamboo. I have walked around the garden several times. Some bamboo poles are square, while others have patterns. It's really novel. It must have taken a lot of thought to get these bamboos together.
Bamboo reproduction is accomplished by roots, also called bamboo whip. Bamboo whip grows very fast and will occupy a large area in a few years. Of course, I'm not talking about the pot. Excellent varieties of potted bamboo should be selected. This kind of thin bamboo can also be used as a forest, but when it comes to spectacular, it is of course bamboo. Bamboo has thick stems and large shoots, especially on hillsides or in valleys and streams. Seen from a distance, it is full of vitality. Even in severe winter and twelfth month, it is still full of green. However, sometimes Hou looks like Huang Cancan's, which may be due to the light. For nine days, the snow closed the mountain. If the car wants to drive in, the wheels must be chained, so that it can slowly climb up two steps and often stall. At this time, passengers can only get off. If this is the case with them, if there is a bamboo forest hidden in the snow, I believe the trouble of entering the mountain will disappear.
In grandpa's mountain village, almost every family has its own bamboo forest. These bamboos are rarely cut down. Only when the money is tight will it be cut down and sold to people who make popsicles or packaging projects. In the past, scaffolding was tied with bamboo, but now the construction team rarely uses bamboo, which is unsafe and has low reuse value. But bamboo has other uses, such as bamboo shoots, which can be used for cooking. Now that people have a good life, bamboo shoots are a kind of delicious food. In spring, especially after the rain, countless bamboo shoots emerge from the ground and grow taller than people in the blink of an eye.
The memory of bamboo shoots is not sweet. When I was about ten years old, I had a holiday, and my little brother took me to his house as usual. Along the Panshan Highway, I took a bus for three or four hours. Just got off the bus, someone called my little brother on the opposite hill: "So-and-so, your son was born!" " "I heard that, my little brother ran down excitedly. He just ran two steps and turned back. He gave me two bottles of oil in his hand and let me go by myself. Because the mountain road is rugged and there are too many stones, he is afraid of running too fast and damaging the oil bottle. I was holding an oil bottle in my hand and said calmly, "Don't worry, you go first, I know the way. "Although I am only ten years old, I know that on the other side of the mountain, it is a pleasant thing to have a cousin who has just been born and just came to this world.
So I slowly groped down the mountain according to my memory. When I met a place with stones, I arched my waist and groped carefully before sticking out my feet. When I crossed a mountain stream and walked into a bamboo forest, I suddenly lost my mind-the mountain road was covered up because of the lush vegetation. Fortunately, I saw a lot of bamboo shoots, so I carried two bottles of oil and wandered around the bamboo forest. Those bamboo shoots are tightly wrapped, peeled off, tender and crisp, and they will break when touched, and one will break easily, but there is no place to put them. I got bored after playing for a while. It was getting dark, and I suddenly became anxious. My brother is so bad that it's no big deal to have a baby without me. In a rage, many bamboo shoots were kicked off.
Somehow, at the foot of the mountain, it began to get dark. At this moment, I heard grandpa crying. He stood on high, calling my name. It's the first time I heard my name reverberate in the mountains so clearly. I looked up and clutched two bottles of oil tightly, and tears welled up in my eyes.
The next day, someone in the village scolded, which animal did good things and destroyed all our bamboo shoots! Grandpa quickly pulled me into the house.
I wonder if anyone will apologize for this later. I don't need to do anything. Where's grandpa? Actually, I don't need it, because what's the point of apologizing or paying compensation? After living in the mountain village for so many years, what has Grandpa never seen? Many years later, I think of these and feel funny. How much truth has changed in the face of life.
My grandfather gave birth to eight or nine children, and one daughter and four sons survived. When the eldest son was young, he worked as a firecracker in the production team, and his eyes were blown up when he inserted firecrackers. Later, he transplanted a dog's eye, and now he is still alone. The third son adopted a relative, the younger son was around, and the second son was very promising, but he worked 800 miles away-this was his only pride. As he grew older, he felt more and more that his second son was good, the city was good, the road was flat, the house was tall, there were many vendors on the road, and there were bears in the zoo, so he often clamored to go to his house.
A few years ago, because of the language barrier, I sent him to my uncle's house and translated for him every day. One day, my second aunt asked me to accompany him to the bathhouse. He is very happy and never goes to the bathhouse. On the way, I suddenly remembered that I didn't bring soap, so I told him to stand still on the road until I came. He readily promised. But when I came running with soap, I couldn't find his shadow. I ran all over the street, but there was still no one. So I called my second uncle, my second aunt and all my relatives. Everyone was in a hurry and didn't go to the TV station.
Finally, on another road, I saw him. He stood in front of a booth, hunched over and looking around with an insole in his hand. At that time, I was more than ten meters away, watching him bow his head through the gap of the crowd, and suddenly my heart was hot, as if I saw myself, and I saw a teenager standing in the world with two bottles of oil in his hand.
The city is naturally better than the city, but he hasn't lived for a month, and he is clamoring to go home and ask him what he wants. He said he was busy at home. "Busy at home, what can I do for you?" Who dares to let you work? What can you do? "Well, you can still give me a hand. Knowing that we can't beat him, everyone can't help but let him. On the way to see him off, I asked him what he was doing home. He said that the corn is almost ripe, there are many wild boars on the mountain, and there are badgers. This beast will spoil it the most.
I asked where the cornfield was, and he said you didn't know. On the mountainside in the north, bamboo forests have sprung up. I said, isn't my brother going to see it? He said that beast, like a badger, didn't feel bad. I think he is still in high spirits, boasting that he doesn't look like a man in his eighties. He said, wow, I've been worried about my life.
Seeing corn is to build a simple shed in the field, with a quilt, a tobacco pouch and a battery lamp. Wild boar is fierce, but if you don't provoke him, just shout. It's simple to say, but I know that even a young man, sleeping alone on an opaque hillside, listening to the wind and enjoying the moon, and watching out for wild animals, must not be something to enjoy.
In 2002, what we were worried about finally happened. Grandpa cut a bundle of firewood and fell down when he got home. Even the firewood fell into the terraced fields four or five meters deep. I'm not too surprised to hear the news. It seems that one day, sooner or later, God has arranged everything for people. All we can do is wait slowly.
Grandpa is still very strong. He broke several ribs and spent several months in the hospital. After leaving the hospital, we were all happy for him. Determined never to let him work again, even if he clamored to see the cornfield and shouted "there is not enough firewood", he would not agree to him. However, these beautiful wishes can only be wishes, and grandpa who can't work has no meaning. Soon after, he passed away.
People from all directions flocked to grandpa's house, and many strange faces, everyone said: it is human nature to live to such a big age, and it is also a long life. I stood among them and watched carefully. Grandpa is clean, wearing a new Chinese tunic suit and a new quilt. Beside his head, there is a box of cut tobacco, a bamboo tube with red ears and a piece of copper skin of Huang Cancan. The coffin has been prepared for more than ten years, so don't worry. The next day at the funeral, these things were put in the coffin in turn. I remember he told me that he started smoking at the age of seventeen and smoked until he was in his seventies. I think his children and grandchildren are very clear about his thoughts, and some even secretly stuffed some money to Shoucai.
Mother fell on Shoucai, and her mute was already crying and humming feebly. I comforted her because of her poor health. When I closed the coffin, my mother held it tightly, just like in front of my grandmother. I don't know why there are so many coincidences and so many similar situations in the world across time and space. Slightly different, this time I cried.
Grandpa's coffin was placed in a wheat field, not wrapped in straw, but in a hut made of cement bricks. I put the wreath brought from the county seat in the wheat field, and when I stand on the highway waiting for the bus, I can see it as soon as I turn my head.