When I returned to my hometown during the Spring Festival this year, I felt that the New Year's flavor in the village was even more bland. Because there are many old people who have gone in the past two years, according to custom, such an old man who has passed away cannot post Spring Festival couplets or set off firecrackers for three years. Therefore, many people's homes do not see the atmosphere of the New Year. This year, there were more people eating at home than in previous years, and I didn't serve it at the table, so I only took a small bowl for lunch and ate a few fried golden cicadas and two pieces of stewed fish. In previous years, when I came back, I walked through the streets and alleys of the village, and there was always a tidal wave of thoughts coming to my heart. I didn't go around this year, I sat in the sun with my mother and chatted for a long time, and went to a neighboring village to see my childhood friend who raised ducks. Compared with the rapid changes in the city, although there is no shortage of new houses and new yards in the village, most of the old houses that are uninhabited are becoming more and more dilapidated, like an old man, declining year by year, and becoming a hollow village. Some of the old houses had collapsed and no one had repaired them, and they were overgrown with weeds and trees. Every time I see it, I can't help but think of the people and their faces that have lived here, and the footprints and laughter left here in my childhood. 
There are also four abandoned old houses in the home. My sister planned to start the spring, so she knocked down the four adobe houses and built new ones. When I heard this, my heart was very sour. I still remember very well how my parents and neighbors shed the adobe under the scorching sun and built the house with lime, and when my uncles and brothers asked me to take a few raw eggs and put them in the lime, and in a moment they became hot and hard-boiled eggs. After the house was built, my grandparents lived in the Xili room of the adobe house and left within a few years, and our family of six slept on a plate of clay kang, and when I was sick, I spent my days in a drowsy on the hot kang with a radio in my arms. On the stove all day long, a big black iron kettle sits boiling water, boils mung bean and sweet potato porridge, stews cabbage ......My father worked as a carpenter in the house, sawing wood, boiling glue, and sang Lv opera "Li Er's Sister-in-law Remarried" and "Borrowed Year" on the radio from time to time. 
In the blink of an eye, nearly 50 years have passed, and the adobe house is warm in winter and cool in summer, although the beams are still solid, but in the end it cannot withstand the erosion of the years, and no one has lived in it for many years, only used as a warehouse for storing grain, and the wall skin is slowly peeling off, and it is even more dilapidated. I can't imagine it being toppled down, as if most of my childhood memories of my hometown have been eradicated and buried. 
And the old jujube tree that has been so tall since I can remember, every autumn the whole family thinks about beating jujube together, and I am afraid that one day for some reason, it will also disappear. 
After 30 years away from home, my love for my hometown is hidden in every grass, tree, brick and wall. Every time I go home, I want to use words, ** and other ways to record and preserve those disappearing things in a timely manner, leaving an indelible nostalgia. Perhaps, our post-70s generation is the last generation of people who love their hometown, and people in the future will never have such a deep attachment when they go out from here. Now the post-80s and post-90s generations have left the village and gone to all parts of the country, and the closest ones have also settled in the county seat. The children who returned to their hometowns during the Chinese New Year looked indifferent and alienated in the face of a large table of dishes and a room of relatives, and some did not want to come back. Of course, none of these children will want to come back to cultivate the land and protect this ancestral homeland. I often think that many years from now, when our generation also leaves this world, the dialects with regional characteristics that have been passed down in this land may be replaced by Mandarin. And aunt, aunt, uncle, uncle, and uncle, these affectionate titles may forever become historical memories. Traditional customs such as Chinese New Year, kowtowing, and visiting relatives will also gradually fade, and the hometown specialties on the table may slowly be lost. All the customs and homeland feelings will eventually fade away with the passage of time and the change of times. In this fast-paced modern society, people are busy with work, life, and affairs, and no longer have a strong sense of nostalgia and nostalgia for their hometown. Every time I think of this, I wonder how many people are like me, and endless sorrow wells up in their hearts? Our generation shoulders the responsibility of inheritance, but it is powerless to stop the torrent of the times. 
Summer shoot the streets of the village).
When the characteristics of our hometown gradually disappear, when the taste of humanity and family affection fades, when our hometown is no longer the destination of our soul, how will our spiritual home be barren? The village is lonely, the fields are desolate, the river is veined, and no one can answer. After the Spring Festival, countless people who grew up in the countryside will embark on a journey of running for their dreams and lives. In a strange city, in a foreign land with bright lights, on a non-stop journey, thinking of hometown, maybe Nalan Xingde's "Sauvignon Blanc" will float in my heart: "A trip to the mountain, a trip to the water, walking to the side of Yuguan, a thousand tent lights in the middle of the night." The wind is changing, the snow is changing, the dream of the broken hometown cannot be realized, and there is no sound in the old garden. ”