people who work in the fields have gone home one after another. The earth suddenly became empty. Just me and grandma, walking slowly along the field path covered with weeds, watching. I hope to find a "land of geomantic omen" with her before sunset. As her only grandson, I have an obligation to help her fulfill this wish.
As early as a few years ago, when grandma was still strong, she began to make great efforts for her "home". She once asked my father to accompany her to the sunny place on the hillside to choose a place, but her father refused. At that time, my father was in his prime and there were too many things waiting for him to do. Father thinks grandma is healthy, but he worries about what's behind him all day. It's sheer boredom. But grandma doesn't see it that way. She said that her father didn't know her at all, didn't know her inner thoughts and the process of aging. She is a lonely tree on the earth, a dry river, snow that has not been melted for years in cold areas, and a crop that has transitioned from autumn to winter. Every time I go back to the countryside, my grandmother will pour out her troubles and grievances to me. I can't be as calm as water when I see her skinny and vicissitudes. I know that this old man is the source of my life, and I can't hurt her. According to her wishes, I accompanied her through those familiar buildings, just like walking in the wilderness of memory. How many times I go home, our footprints will appear on the dirt road. Regrettably, grandma's search is in vain every time. She never found a piece of land that reassured her.
Every time I accompany my grandmother to look for a cemetery, she tells me about things that are disappearing, and her face is full of sadness and pity. When it comes to emotion, she often has tears in her eyes There is nothing like the tears shed by an old man who is dying in the face of his battered hometown, which makes me feel more compassionate.
in recent years, I have witnessed the decline of my hometown. A village that used to be bustling is now full of dilapidated houses. The weeds occupied the fertile land like the invading enemy, and the stone roads with few people were covered with moss. Even in the bright daytime, the whole village is dead silent. If it weren't for a few yellow dogs jumping around the village occasionally, you would wonder if there was still a population here.
Apart from dogs, the most common thing is the weak faces of left-behind old people. They are like withered leaves, under the dim light of dusk, thinking about the season in full of green.
On sunny days, they will squat in the sun by the pond at the head of the village. The bent figure is reflected in the water, like a character in a memory or dream. Time bleached their rings, time stole the secrets hidden in their hearts, but left them loneliness. These old people are simple and honest, simple, like a silent land, bearing the wind and frost and rain and snow presented by time. It's just that their bodies are so close together that they seem to want to use each other's weak strength to support something. Even in the sunshine, they feel cold. Talking may be their best way to resist the cold. They talk about spring thunder and winter snow, the past and the future, the living and the dead. Finally, naturally, I don't forget to talk about the children who work outside the home-the groups of migratory birds who migrate and wander in the city. The sun and the moon rotate, the spring and autumn change, and the family has not been reunited for some years. Young people are busy living outside, while old people are waiting to die at home. Countless parents and children, in this way, rebelled against each other on their own roads, leaving permanent regrets and regrets.
There is a 78-year-old grandfather surnamed Wang in the village. His wife died young, and his son worked in Shenzhen for many years. He had to live and eat by himself. Every day at dawn, he carries a hoe to work uphill; I didn't go home until the sun set. After returning home, I ate a cold meal and went to bed to sleep. Several times, I passed by his house and found that all the leftovers he had eaten were spoiled. When it rains, he leans on a wooden stick and wears a straw hat, standing on the mountain road leading to the village and looking into the distance. Since the day his son left home, overlooking has become his habit. Until one day, when Uncle Wang was walking on the mountain road, his old illness relapsed and he rolled down the roadside ridge and passed away forever. The kind villagers simply buried him next to that mountain road. The day he was buried, the rain was surprisingly heavy. The current washed away all the soil in the new base on his grave. The man who helped to cultivate the soil was afraid that the rain would drench the old man, so he put the straw hat he usually wore on his grave to shelter him from the rain, which was also a respect for the old man who had finished watching with his life.
Uncle Wang's death was a painful blow to my grandmother. She said, "I'm going to that day, and I hope I won't die as disgraceful as Wang Lao."
Grandma is right. Death needs dignity.
My grandmother is 8 years old and lives alone in a dilapidated tile house in the mountains. After years of washing, the eaves have already collapsed. The roof is covered with cobwebs and the walls are covered with mildew spots. It seems that as long as the grandmother lying in bed coughs, the house will be crumbling. Grandma has been insisting on living alone since my grandfather died. Her parents were worried about her health and forced her to move to a newly-built house, but she didn't want to live or die. Parents can't beat her, so they have to follow their wishes. Every month, her parents prepare daily necessities for her. When eating meat, shovel a bowl for her alone. In the winter of 211, a rare gale tore off half of Grandma's roof. Her parents once again asked her to move out of her old house and live together. But grandma was tough and still asked to stay in the old house. After her father quarreled with her, she had to ask someone to buy asbestos tiles and repair grandma's roof again. Grandma said, "I have lived in this room for most of my life and I can't bear to leave." My old man walked in this room, and I will leave myself in this room. "
For grandma, aging itself may not be terrible. What is really terrible is the emptiness and loneliness that comes with aging. This decaying house has condensed too many memories of her life. She is familiar with the smell in this room and the songs, cries, joys and sorrows left by her grandfather in the room. This room is one of grandma's most important survival documents in this world. Leaving this room, her soul will have nothing to convert to. When an old man lives to the end, he must grasp something to make his later life less fearful and pale.
Grandma is going to be a village watchman.
It's not just grandma. In the countryside, people who stick to the land have always existed, but they keep watch in different ways.
grandma Zhao in our village, her wife died two years ago. Her only son, in his thirties, hasn't found a wife yet. Seeing that all the young people younger than himself in the village are married, he is worried all day, blaming Zhao's mother-in-law for her incompetence and not being able to give him a relatively well-off family. Mother-in-law Zhao faced her son's scolding, and her heart ached and her tears dried up. She used to ask matchmakers to propose marriage for her son everywhere, but the result was always in vain. My son took French leave in a fit of pique and went to work in Fujian. A year later, Zhao's mother-in-law's son sent back a message that he had settled down outside and got a local sister from Fujian as his wife. His wife was pregnant, and she was afraid that she could not come back to see her. I hope Zhao's mother-in-law would take care of herself. When Zhao's mother-in-law heard the news, she was both sad and happy.
but in any case, the big stone that has been weighing on grandma Zhao's heart for many years has finally fallen to the ground. During that time, her face was calm and indifferent. Once, mother-in-law Zhao came to chat with my grandmother, held her hand tightly and said, "Sister, in this life, I can finally close my eyes." Say that finish, muddy tears fell from her ravine cheeks. Just after the fall of 29, the weather in early winter has been slightly cold. The drizzle fell on the dark green leaves and made a slight noise. Grandma Zhao braved the drizzle and wandered around the front room of her house. Eyes always staring at the tall, straight nanshu. Those nan trees were planted when she first gave birth to her son. After several decades, I am old, my son is older, and the trees are taller. In the shade of two trees, there is a bird's nest in each. Those birds come to the tree every year to flirt and carry on the family line. They know Zhao Popo, and Zhao Popo knows them. Only the trees are silent, and they witness the sadness of people and animals at the same time.
Mrs. Zhao originally wanted to keep these trees for herself, but now she has changed her mind. In this cold winter, she sold all these big trees that accompanied her day and night in the wind and rain to a wood processing factory in the town for 3,5 yuan.
the day after selling the tree, mother-in-law Zhao remitted every penny of the money to her son who was far away in Fujian.
Winter is drawing to a close. Seeing that the next spring has finished dressing and is about to stumble into the world, the villagers found Zhao's mother-in-law's body next to a nanshu pocket. Mother-in-law Zhao lay flat on the ground and walked peacefully. She specially changed herself into clean clothes, and there were some leaves of Phoebe bournei blown by the wind on the clothes.
there is a price to pay for watching.
Every morning, the most important thing for the villagers is to fetch water from the only low-lying puddle at the head of the village with buckets. My grandmother is naturally among the water fetching teams. Parents told grandma not to fetch water, and they brought it back for her, but grandma insisted on going. She said, "I just want to see how the water in the village is gone." Grandma couldn't carry two buckets of water, so she found a big plastic pot filled with wine, rubbed two straps with hemp rope, and carried the water back in a pot.
Since the severe drought in 26, most districts and counties in Chongqing have been short of water. Our village has a high altitude, and most of the residents are halfway up the mountain, so the water shortage is particularly serious. The rice fields that used to be abundant in water have not been sickle-opened for several years. Cracked gaps in the field, like some wounds that drain blood, tear at the flesh of the earth. The golden rice in the past has disappeared, and the noisy frogs in summer nights have disappeared. Farmers who depend on the weather for food all look up to the sky and sigh. After sighing, I had to carry a hoe and plant some drought-tolerant crops such as wheat and sorghum in the dry land to maintain the living rations.
There used to be a pond in the village. Because of the long drought, there was no water storage at all. The small amount of water stored has been turbid for a long time, and the water surface is full of residues, so people can't drink it and can only meet the needs of livestock. In order to save water as much as possible, people in the village use dirty water in the pond for washing and bathing, which causes most people in the village to suffer from skin diseases.
The water in the puddle that can be drunk by people is extremely limited. There are few landscapes leached from the ground, and nearly 2 families in the village are counting on this puddle. Those who go early can still get clear water. The person who runs to the end can only pick two buckets of yellow water with mud. Therefore, before dawn, people from all households went to the puddle to scoop water with flashlights. It was like a group of thieves stealing the treasures of nature.
in the summer of 21, I made a special trip back to my hometown and wrote a survey report on the drinking water problem of local villagers, which truthfully reflected the situation to the local government departments. The government has also sent people to investigate on the spot, but the problem has never been properly solved. Later, I repeatedly encouraged the village cadres to report the situation to the upper side, but I still haven't seen the following.
I feel deeply sorry for the people living at the bottom!
The rainy season is another disaster in the countryside.
The mountainous areas in southwest China are mostly hilly areas with great climate change. Every summer, there will be floods. Dense and turbulent rainstorms, like crazy bullets, are shooting down and impacting the thirsty surface for a long time. Trees were broken by wind and rain, and even uprooted. There are constant landslides of earth cliffs in the village, and landslides and mudslides can be seen everywhere. Those boulders and mud layers collapsed from the mountain, destroying crops, not to mention the fear of destroying houses and causing casualties.
behind the old house where grandma lives is a mountain. When the rainy season comes, the hearts of our whole family are tight. Rain often falls at night, making it too late to take precautions. Crackling rain, like countless small beasts, hit the tiles on the roof. Grandma's dilapidated house seems to have opened a skylight. The cold running water ran down the hole, and in a short time, the ground was soaked and the water could drown the ankle. The whole house is like a broken boat floating on the river and leaking from the wind and rain. Lightning and thunder thundered outside the house, as if the enemy on the battlefield had breached the city and was waving the flag and shouting at the main business. Whenever this happens, parents will rush into the house, rescue grandma from the "camp" and take refuge in the stone house not far from them. Although, the stone house where my parents live is not much stronger than the old house where my grandmother lives.
My grandmother is lucky after all. In times of crisis, she has a son to lean on. There are more elderly people in the village. They are unaccompanied and alone, and no one cares about their lives. In recent years, five old people in our village have died in the rainy season. Among them, two were swept away by the flood; Two were buried by landslides; A poisonous snake that was hiding at home was bitten and poisoned to death.
people in my village are so tenacious in the double suffering of drought and flood. The earth is also in this purgatory of water and fire, ravaged and exhausted.
my native land has aged before my grandmother.
cold comes and summer goes, and autumn ends and spring returns. Grandma is still dragging her old body, wandering in the mountains and rivers of her hometown, looking for a place where her soul can get peace. Every time she looks for it, her fear and anxiety will increase. Sometimes, she will visit the graves of Uncle Wang and Grandma Zhao. To those who left before her, talk about their inner anguish and hesitation. Also ask them by the way: I wonder if there is any hometown there. If so, will it be the same as this one?
Grandma hoped that she would lose a hometown when she was alive and find a paradise after her death. This is the wish of an unfortunate man who has lost his homeland.
who will put the souls of these unfortunate people to rest?