Articles from the old house

An article about an old house

Articles about the old house, in daily life, many people miss the old house very much, because the old house is full of memories for many people, so there are many articles about the old house, which can not only record their own past but also evoke people's memories. Let's share an article about the old house.

The article of the old house 1 The old house is a very regular quadrangle. In front of a big yard, persimmon trees, peach trees, apricot trees and jujube trees grow on the side of the yard. They are so thick that an adult can't carry them, but a child is required to carry them. Many fruits have been eaten by generations. The entrance is a spacious hall with a screen separated by wooden boards. There is a shrine in front of the screen. Behind the screen is a courtyard paved with bluestone slabs. There are three bluestone steps in the corridor on both sides, and five bluestone steps in the middle of the yard. It goes all the way to the eaves gallery. Behind the eaves gallery is a hall. There are bedrooms on both sides of the main room. On both sides of the hall, there are bedrooms, kitchens and fire rooms. Both are two-story wooden buildings.

The old house has changed as long as I can remember. Only half of the quadrangles belong to our family. Go in through the gate and split in two, and the other half belongs to the other family. Dad said that this half was redeemed by grandma to feed pigs, raise silkworms and pick Mu Zi. At that time, my parents, brothers and sisters lived in the first half of the yard, and the original hall was divided into a kitchen and a small hall. Grandma, elder sister-in-law, younger sister and cousin live in the second half, and a new kitchen and fire room are built next to them. Later, my elder sister-in-law got married one after another, and my grandmother and cousin lived in the second half. Later, we moved away and bought the warehouse house in the team. My cousin also moved away and built a new building from another house. All the old houses were sold to the people next door.

I don't understand mom's move to buy a barn. First, I'm the eldest son, and I'm in college. I have the final say in many things at home. Not only did my mother not discuss it with me, but she didn't even tell me. By the time I knew it, the barn had been bought. One more thing, it cost 1850 yuan to buy this house. I have no money at home, all borrowed from the credit union. Fortunately, dad also knows people from the credit union. Third, the original price of this house in the team is only 800 yuan. When the house is for sale, another person wants to buy it. Mom and the man bid in the village meeting room, and the price went up 10 yuan 20 yuan until 1850 yuan. Mom is a person who can do things and can't say things. It seems that she is not a person who can decide big things. I don't know where my mother got the courage and confidence for such a big thing.

I asked my mother, and she said, "Without a house, which girl will come to our house?" Oh, what mom is worried about is that the cramped, dark and shabby old house can't get a wife. Like parents all over the world, children are everything to their parents, and children's affairs are major events, which will always make parents fearless and have nothing to do with the rich and the poor, the rich and the poor, and the urban and rural areas.

This barn later became a new house.

Mother has lived in the new house for fifteen years. Two daughters-in-law and a son-in-law entered the new house.

People always say that they think about it day and night. I often think of my mother, and I often dream of my mother. Every time I think of my mother, it is her kindness and generosity, tenacity and stubbornness, and her busy and hard work without regrets. When I dreamed of my mother, she was working: cooking, feeding pigs, washing clothes, tidying up the vegetable garden, cutting grain, planting wheat, mowing grass, repairing ditches and changing terraces. Only once is an exception. In the first month of that year, just a few days after I went to work, I dreamed that my mother was standing in the water, wet and shivering with cold, calling my name. "Mom, what's the matter?" I asked her. "I am cold." She said. After dawn, ask dad to see mom's grave. Dad told me after a field trip that someone else's tap water pipe leaked and the water seeped into his mother's grave.

There are many things that I haven't thought about during the day, but they are dreams at night. Like my mother's death.

I was sleeping and dreaming when my mother died. I dreamed that the old house was singing a big play. The interpreter never thought it was a good dream, saying that he would lose a relative if he had such a dream. Before the dream woke up, the phone rang: mom left.

Mother is ill in August of the lunar calendar. At first, she just felt chest tightness and shortness of breath. She asked the doctors in the village clinic to prescribe seven or eight pairs of Chinese medicines, which not only had no effect at all, but became more and more serious. She was sent to the town health center for examination, saying it was pleural effusion. I didn't know it was terminal cancer until I received a physical examination from the county.

"Didn't you feel anything before?" I asked my mother. "No." Mom said. You shouldn't ask this, but it's no use asking. Because mom doesn't have a headache or fever. No matter how big the pain is, she would rather carry it herself than talk about it; No matter how difficult it is, she would rather suffer by herself than ask for help. She always supports her beliefs with amazing patience.

In those years, my father went out to work, and my mother and my brother and sister lived alone. The family has less labor and a large population, and the food standard is the lowest in the team, and the food owed is the highest in the team. In order to earn work points, my mother often doesn't even go to my grandmother's house once every six months, although it is only ten miles apart; In order to earn work points, my mother often goes out with the stars and the moon comes back. Because there is no food ration, my mother is "invited" by the squad or even the brigade to attend the study class; Because of poverty, many people mobilized their mothers: "What's the use of reading so many books? Let the boss come back and you can earn a few points. " My mother doesn't care about this. She never talks about letting her brother and sister go home to earn work points. She never tells us about her hard work and humiliation. She is still in the rain, day and night, in the house. Although there is little food, sometimes we even have to borrow food from our neighbors for turnover. Mother carefully adjusted the tune and never made us hungry. Although the clothes were old, my mother washed them cleanly and mended them neatly, and we were warmly dressed. I even learned needlework from my mother. Although the house is small and damaged, my mother asks us to clean up the house and the outside every day, so that there is no garbage on the ground, no dust on the furniture, and things should be returned to everyone after use. Mother turned a poor life into a warm and elegant life.

We grew up, worked and got married. It is rare to go home at ordinary times, even if I go back, it is like lighting a fire. You go back in a hurry and go in a hurry. Although the Spring Festival is richer, it is also a trip from the East to the West. From the wine table to the wine table, there are few opportunities to get along with my mother alone. Because of this, my mother thinks I'm busy, and things at home never come to me. No matter how big the difficulties at home are and the disputes are chaotic, I can only learn from others.

I am not a sentimental person who loves to cry. Just like my mother, she bears hardships and stands hard work, gnashes her teeth, silently swallows her own pain and tears, and survives again and again with perseverance. However, more than a year after my mother died, I can't do this, and I dare not talk about my mother, whether it's my own or someone else's; No matter in reality or in movies, you can't see the funeral scene. From time to time, my throat will choke and tears will fall. I am submerged in the ocean of missing, gratitude and guilt.

Mom is at home, and mom is at the root. When mom is gone, home is gone, and roots are gone, people become sheep in the wind, duckweed in the water and prodigal son in the world. Although houses exist, they are only earth walls, gray tiles and dirt yards. No soul, no emotion, not even care.

Mom has been gone for several years, and the new house has become an old house, with purlins and rafters rotting and walls cracking. When dad is the only one living in the new house, when it is windy and rainy, he is always worried that he will not be able to support himself and collapse. He told his father on the phone.

We talked about tearing down the old house and building a new one where dad lives, which is safer. It took half a year before and after, and the new house was finally built. When I finished, I looked back and forth, inside and out, up and down, and my wife said sadly, how happy it would be if my mother were still here. I turned around and wiped away the tears.

Mother's grave is next to the old house. When mom was buried, the grave was still outside the bamboo forest. Now, it has been hidden in the dense bamboo forest. My feelings for my mother are also like this bamboo, emerging one after another. The older you get, the better your conditions are, and the deeper your thoughts are, so that you are tightly wrapped. Although there is a gap between Yin and Yang, every year in Tomb-Sweeping Day and the twelfth lunar month, I will tell my mother about the big events and small feelings at home, and I often look at my mother and son, speechless.

Dad lived in a new house, used tap water, took a hot bath, watched a big color TV and burned a gas stove, which made us feel much more at ease. I will go back to see my father every two or three weeks and have dinner and chat with him. Every time he goes back, he either boasts about the past with people who come and go, explains and comments on major events at home and abroad, or is busy in the vegetable garden, or is busy with those fruit trees and flowers. Those vegetables are seasonal, without chemical fertilizers and pesticides; The fruit trees are all planted and grafted by Dad himself. Flowers and trees are common species. Dad planted them in broken pots, waste tanks and corners. They are high and low, messy and colorful, and the house is surrounded by colorful, full of vitality in spring, summer, autumn and winter.

The second old house was built in the late 1960s. It is a typical dry paving base in Songnen Plain, facing north and south, with loess rammed on all sides. The rafters, targets and wheat stalks are all made of sorghum stalks, and there is a thick layer of alkaline earth mud. From a distance, he looks like a dusty country boy.

Alkaline soil was transported back from the village by my father in the spring, and piled in the yard in a circle, like a crater that has been silent for many years. Every year before the rainy season comes, my father will take care of the old house to prevent water leakage. Father drew water from the pulley well behind the house and poured it into the bucket. The water in the pit spread bit by bit. When the alkaline soil is soaked, my father will gather the soil in the middle bit by bit, and at the same time spread some chopped wheat straw, patiently and carefully stirring it like dough. When the mud was ready, my father climbed onto the roof and made a careful inspection. When he found a leak or hidden danger, he first blocked it with clods, then sprinkled some dry soil on it and began to wipe it. If the mud is mixed dry or thin, and the wheat straw is put too much or too little, radioactive cracks will appear on the roof, and my father will wipe it for the second time or even the third time. The roof has been painted. It's time to paint the outer wall of the old house. The mother standing on the ground laboriously handed the heavy rubber bucket to the father standing on the ladder again and again, and the sweaty father waved the clay board again and again, which was light and skilled. It took only a day or two to renovate the old house. Over the years, those two figures who worked hard in the bright sunshine have been deeply engraved in my mind.

Summer has come, I feel familiar with Yan's return, and the old house has ushered in a new owner. The two swallows who returned to the north chose the land of geomantic omen under the eaves, so they ran around all day, busy with grass and mud. A few weeks later, when the nest was built, the swallow calmed down and began to hatch eggs wholeheartedly. One morning, I accidentally found a few bare little guys in the swallow nest. The little guys are all pink and tender, screaming with long necks and asking their parents for food, as if their heads had been sharpened. This looks a bit like us. Their stomachs are not big, but they have never been full. Swallows fly tirelessly, and they make hysterical noises. The chattering family under the eaves adds a little vitality to the old house and gives it new life. Swallows are very popular in rural areas. Anyone who wants to hit the swallow's mind will be scolded for "hitting the swallow blind" And no one dares to touch the swallow's nest, because this family is very lucky to build a nest. Swallows love their homes and report spring. With the protection of swallows, the life of this family will get better and better, and no one can break this luck by himself. It is not difficult to imagine how lonely and desolate the old house or the whole village would be at that time if there were no swallows.

An autumn rain and a cold, I don't know when, the swallows who stayed in the old house for a summer flew away, and autumn came quietly. Old houses are immersed and surrounded by the joy of harvest day after day, and many people's roofs have become natural threshing ground. Corn fell, millet fell, sorghum fell, and piles were neatly spread out. Autumn is a grand festival in the countryside. Standing on the roof, you can see people cheering and bumper crops from a distance. In a trance, the world has become bigger, our horizons have widened, and our hearts have widened inexplicably. At this time, the old house is as honest as a charitable father, riding on his shoulders, and I feel particularly practical. Standing on the roof for a long time, tired of watching, I fell down on the high grain pile and looked up at the sky in late autumn and the white clouds swimming in the sky. A cool breeze swept over my face and armpit, wrapped in the smell of harvest in the deep fields, and a faint smell of kitchen smoke, which was the sound of firewood burning and food going through fire and water. Sometimes there will be crows from far and near, so the dream will sink a little, and I will become a bird flying high and lost in a beautiful flight.

When heavy snow and light snow came one after another, the old house wrapped in silver hung like a hermit in late winter. At this time, the old house was quiet, and many people began to cat in winter, so the brazier came in handy. The brazier is made of sticky loess mixed with messy old ropes by hand, with a large opening at the bottom and fire resistance and heat preservation. Every night after cooking, my mother carefully rubbed out the burning charcoal fire in the stove pit, put it in the brazier, then compacted it layer by layer with a soldering iron and carried it to the kang to warm her family. My brothers and I won't let me or you fight for the best position in the brazier. We will roast our hands and feet for a while, and soon our bodies will be warm. If you are hungry, throw some potatoes into the brazier. After about 20 minutes, the potato suddenly swelled when it swelled with heat and contracted with cold, and put a fart in the brazier, and suddenly there was dust everywhere. My brothers and I muttered, "Potatoes are all Liu's, you can cook them by farting", while pulling tender potatoes. Baked potatoes are tender, smooth and sweet, soft and delicious, and the simple aroma of potatoes is everywhere in the room. Sometimes we throw soybeans and popcorn into the brazier, and soon the brazier crackles, and crispy soybeans and popcorn become our luxurious snacks.

Time flies. Forty years have passed. Although the old house has been repaired many times, it is still doomed to decline. Doors and windows rot, walls fall off, roofs collapse, and time is relentless. Just like an old man in his twilight years, he fell down on an early spring morning without a struggle or even a humble cry. Since then, every time I go back to the countryside, I will stop there quietly and look at the once vivid past of this land. I think that is my most sincere commemoration of the old house and my deepest memory.