"My hometown can't accommodate the flesh", I have been making a living in a foreign country for more than ten years, but the imprint of the land that raised me is firmly imprinted in the softest place in my heart, and whenever I go back during the New Year's holidays, I always have a lot of thoughts.
To be honest, my hometown in the south of Shaanxi Province really has no characteristics that can connect the memories of more than 20 years, until I came home not long ago and smelled the fragrance of the wine residues on the side of the road - then use the taste in my memory to recall the changes of my hometown for more than 20 years!
Charming earthy taste
In the 90s, I lived in a rural area in Shaanxi, because of the single ingredients and the scarcity of seasonings, the food was bland, and there was no taste at all. As I crawl in the soil, I remember the deepest taste from the wind and the gift of the earth.
At about 5 years old, the population of the village has exploded, and housing has become a problem. So, every family is building an earthen house, and if it is closer, it is said that it is self-occupied, and if it is far away, it is said that there is a good house, which is a plus point for the baby to marry a daughter-in-law. Naturally, I couldn't help when I built the house, so I just stayed and watched. I can't think of what it will look like, but I'm full of anticipation.
The scene of building a house, the source network.
When making mud, my father chopped up the wheat stalks and mixed them with the mud. I took off my shoes, followed their example, jumped into the mud, and stepped hard. My father said: Crushed wheat straw has a great effect, and the back wall will be stronger when mixed with soil.
The wheat straw and soil are blown by the evening breeze, exuding a different smell. It's rustic, full of life. The dirt that is about to become a new house will witness my growth. The soil in the field nourishes the crops and nourishes the people of the hometown.
After the adults built the structural wall, I felt like I was in a labyrinth, and the huge bay felt like Paige had found a big mud puddle compared to the crowded old house, and I was very excited. At night, I leaned against the damp adobe wall, looking at the starry sky, looking forward to my own room.
Before the end of the summer, the earthen house was built. After about two months of drying, we moved in. The excitement at that time made people think of the future when they smelled the earthy fragrance. In addition to the rustic atmosphere, there is also the smell of kerosene.
Kerosene lamp in memory, source network.
In the first two years of school, there was no electricity at home, so I often played with my friends until dark before going home to do my homework. My grandmother lit a kerosene lamp and said to me, "You call it 'lazy travel around the world during the day, and light the lamp in the dark to mend the crotch of your pants.'" Every time I think of these words, I am reminded of the smell of kerosene, which shines with hope through the beating light within the warm earthen walls.
Wheat and wine
When I grow older, I can finally help my family with farm work.
I like the earthy smell of the earth after the rain, but I don't like the rain during the wheat harvest, and the weather depends on experience. While the sun was in full swing, we wielded our sickles and struggled to cut wheat and bundle it. Strive to harvest the golden ears of wheat one by one before the rain comes. Fortunately, for most years, the heavens are beautiful, and they will not waste a little grain.
We spread the sheaves of wheat in front of the door, let the sun scorch, and then fan them back and forth with flails. In my memory, the wheat stalks and ears that have been exposed to the sun always exude the smell of fullness. After the wheat is shed, it is picked up with a sheep's horn fork and piled up into a mountain. A few of my friends and I dug holes in the high wheat straw piles and jumped like a wild man.
The wheat harvest scene in memory, the source network.
Sun-dried wheat straw enriches the taste of memory. And the wheat stubble in the field has a unique flavor.
After the wheat harvest, my father would light a small fire and burn the stubble to feed the land. When the scattered ears of wheat are ironed, they are picked up and rubbed to give you a taste of roasted wheat. When the evening breeze blows, the field is filled with the fragrance of burning wheat straw, which is intoxicating.
The next crop of wheat is corn, and after the corn is harvested, it is time to hang the wine: the adults will mix the koji with the corn, temporarily set up a pot, use a bucket to steam the mixture, and a bamboo pipe will be connected to the middle of the barrel to receive the wine—perhaps, this is the origin of the name "hanging wine". When the weather turns cooler, I add firewood to the stove, and the fire burns more and more, the wine falls faster and faster, and the fragrance becomes stronger and stronger.
My father would occasionally take a small cup and invite someone to try it when he passed by. I couldn't help but swallow when I smelled the scent. When there is no one around, I will secretly take chopsticks and dip a little, and then I will be so spicy that I will cry.
The scene of hanging wine in southern Shaanxi, the source of the picture is the palm of the water.
In my memory, the taste of the wine has naturally increased, so that now the "half a catty and eight taels" liquor is not a problem. It's just that later the adults stopped hanging the wine, because the village began to have a commissary, and the shelves became more and more dazzling, and the wine was in it. Now, the group of people who loved hanging wine back then, or wanted to find something to do in the winter wax moon, they returned to their old business, and it was the taste of wine residue that became the carrier of memories.
Muddy mud and diesel smell
Gradually, the supplies in the village became abundant, and the situation became better and better. But who knows, the smell of wind and earth engraved in memory makes the whole village sad.
In 1998, the village was very windy and rainy.
After a few days, the muddy water in front of the door was so swollen that it almost reached the front of the house, and we had to retreat to the house on top of the house.
Image source network. In the relentless flood, the tables, chairs, poultry, and clothes of the villagers upstream rushed down. Some houses near the river have unfortunately collapsed. After two days of light rain, the flood waters receded. We went from the house behind the house to the earthen house that we had built with great painstaking efforts. Everything was there, except that the path in front of the door had been destroyed, the roof of the hall had been destroyed by scraped branches, and the seeping rain had damaged the walls.
Faced with a dilapidated house, the parents were in a dilemma: if they didn't renovate, where would the family live; But the house is close to the river, and what about the flood when it is renovated? The county's dream of giving me a list was out of reach, but they sent a working group. In this way, the dilemma of the parents and the urgent needs of the villagers were solved.
First, a concrete embankment was planned and built along the river, and then the funds were subsidized according to the damage of each family. During that time, the neighbors were full of gratitude. It didn't take long for the muddy dirt roads to be paved with smooth cement when it rained, except for the repaired houses. The second uncle, who had some savings, bought a tricycle for transportation. If we are the same age, you must have heard that "the wind is the wind, the road is smooth".
The agricultural tricycle that is now abandoned, the source network.
I still remember those days, I actually had a different love for the taste of diesel.
He helped the neighbors bring back the TV and the fan, and when I heard the noise, I flew over as if I were doing it. As soon as I smell it, I always feel that he brings back freshness and hope. Finally, under my repeated expectations, my father asked him to buy the first color TV in the village. Half of the children in the village always run to my house, and I am both proud and reluctant to give up, for fear of watching the TV badly.
One morning, my parents didn't go to work as before, and stayed by the TV in luxury. They said that they were going to ** the 50th anniversary military parade, although I was still young, but the shocking scene made me like an adult full of tears and excited. I thought: that majestic wind will definitely turn into a gentle breeze and drizzle, to moisten our field, and make our village better and better.
Gasoline smell with surprises
The smell of diesel brings hope, and the smell of gasoline makes hope no longer dim.
Later, my father bought a motorcycle. Not only is it convenient for us to catch the market, but it also serves as a tool for me to go home after living on campus. I was so brave enough to step up and just touch the ground on my toes, and I followed my father's example of pinching the clutch, turning the accelerator, shifting gears, and setting off.
My father would sometimes tie the fruits and melons from the field to the back of the car and go to the market, and use the money to buy fresh goods. As soon as the car stopped, I couldn't wait to catch up and loosen the "surprise" on the shelves. Sometimes it's the book I remember the most, and sometimes it's the ingredient that my mother misses.
Of course, I've ridden long distances on my own.
Cars and roads in memory, picture source network.
After the results of the high school entrance examination came out, I drove away from the cement road in the village and went to the county to collect the notice in the fresh and indifferent wind of the summer morning. The smell of gasoline accompanied me through that extraordinarily exciting day.
The seasons turn, and the smell of gasoline remains the same. It was three years with my father.
To get to high school, you have to pass through the county seat. As I look at the county, I can't help but think of the future of my hometown. In the three years of heavy study, my hometown has achieved the dream sky. Concrete roads have been widened, solar street lights are lined up, and an activity center has been built on the open land.
Adults play chess, singing and dancing, students play ball, and children throw sandbags and skip ropes. Seeing that scene, I was as happy as my neighbors: my original dream of a beautiful hometown has gradually come true.
The smell of the wind
After going to school in Xi'an, I went home less often. And every time I return home, I bring surprises.
When I was a sophomore, my father told me that our family's old house was going to be demolished, and the county had approved a piece of land nearby to build a community for the benefit of the people. When the time comes, you don't have to worry about losing a new house when you get married!
We lived in it before we graduated from college. The neat building gives the hometown a new look and shows vitality. In the middle of the three rows, there are many shops, and there is a larger activity center at the rear. Naturally, it became a gathering place for after-dinner tea.
The wind is always warm there, and even in winter, it is no longer as bitter as it was when I was a child. People are in high spirits and often talk about the changes that have taken place over the years: from poor and backward villages, to today's abundant materials and improved environment, as well as more diverse lifestyles.
The "New Year's Flavor" of Huimin Community in Southern Shaanxi (personal photo).
The "freedom of firecrackers" that people in the city envied, painting the ground with cannon scraps, and adding the flavor of the New Year with the smell of sulfur, I remembered the taste of my memory again.
The smell in my memory comes from the wind and the earth, but the wind does not actually have a taste, the smell of earth and wheat straw, grain and wine, and diesel and gasoline is only blown by the wind, and it becomes much more profound.
The flavor remains the same, but it is constantly changing the hometown.
Smelling the breeze, it seems to have the taste of memory, and the taste of memory is carrying the transformation of hometown. Every time I look back, it is always caressing the softest part of my heart, quiet and beautiful.