Feng Lianwei 丨 Old house in his hometown (prose)

Old house in hometown

Text/Feng Lianwei

The old house in his hometown is located on the west bank of the Luohe River. Looking at the old house, it is reflected in many residential houses.

The first old house in his hometown was a half -cottage left by Grandpa to his father.

My ancestor was relocated from the coast of the Yuntai Mountains in Lianyungang in the late Yuan and early Ming dynasties. For generations, they were farmers, and lived on the bitter days of facing the back of the loess.

My grandparents have no ability to build green bricks, gray tiles, high walls, and majestic deep house courtyards for their father and uncle. At the age of two or three, he died one after another.

In 1946, the marriage room of the mother's marriage to her father was this half -cottage. If you trace the history of the old house of his hometown, you should start from this half -cottage. If this half -cottage is retained to the present, it should be a century -old house.

When Grandpa was built this half -cottage at the beginning, the location was selected at the east of the village at that time. Dongwu Mountain is close to the wall of anti -theft in the village. Behind the house is the east gate of the old street.

In the 1950s, as the eldest sister and the elder brother successively came to the world, his father was a small grocery dealer who walked to the streets before the national public -private partnership, and bought a acre of water fields for saving money. With a little savings, on the foundation of a semi -cottage, two semi -cottage houses with red stone buckets as walls were re -expanded. Essence

The old house in memory is still west of the courtyard. I was a family that I called my uncle. What impressed me was that there was a sycamore tree that could not be caught in his courtyard. There was a century -old locust tree behind the house; It is the two of our family's names as the aunt and the second uncle; the alley is ahead, the "former Wang" I carved the childhood mark. The "Qian Wang" cliff is a pigpen that are raised by each family, feeding pigs, and the hope of the whole family.

The courtyard wall of the old house is more than one meter -high soil wall. The cactus and grasshoppers are planted on the wall. In the summer, the red, purple, white, and yellow -colored antararin cauliflower on the wall is decorated with colorful courtyards; sweet potato flowers on both sides of the gate are (Alias, Dalihua, Dalicha, belongs to the perennial herb), every spring, the sweet potato flowers have sprouts by themselves, starting from June of the solar calendar, white, red, purple, yellow tongue -shaped flowers and tubular flowers , Let the old house shine.

The door of the old house is a Yangmu door of less than one meter wide. The threshold and door frame of the door are wood. When I was in elementary school, the lock on the door was still the old -fashioned lock. The key was similar to a narrow iron piece. When the family locked the door and walked, the key was placed on the door. I went home from school. If my father, mother or brother was not at home, I either touched the key from the door and touched the key, or the uncle and uncle of the sister -in -law who passed the door touched me. Now I think of the courtyard wall at that time. The door and lock at that time were actually for good people. If there were bandits, they couldn't stop it.

Although the old house does not have the green brick gray tiles and small bridges of the Jiangnan dwellings, the laughter and laughter of the old house, the chicken ringing dog is deeply engraved in my mind.

Chicken is the smallest and warmest bank of ordinary people. Every year when the spring blooms, you will hear the shout of "buy a small chicken". Because my house is located in the easternmost part of the village, behind the house is the only street in the village that runs through east and west. Every year in spring, small chickens are sipped on the cross alleys behind my house. Study. Twenty or thirty chicks that come to the chickens every year are the hope of spending money in the family.

Every morning in the morning, in the sleeping dream, I woke up the sound of "Oh ..." of the pheasant who started to wake up. When the family was poor, there was no alarm clock. Judging time. "Three more lights and five more chickens are when the man is studying." The chicken yelled to get up and went to school, accompanied by my teenager, it was not until I was at the age of thirteen to study in high school. The old hen was full of "giggle, giggle" in the courtyard, the sound of invitation to invite me. Take out the eggs. Whenever I take the eggs to the house, I know that this egg can be replaced with a Temple, and an egg is the confidence of the mother's life!

At that time, there was a plate of stone mills in the courtyard of the rural households. This was the main tool for ordinary people to grind pancakes. Now visiting a lot of folklore, you can see the walking trail paved with grinding plates, creating a strong folklore atmosphere. In fact, whenever you see the grinding plate, the mother sounds the sound of the mother who wakes up to grind in the ear. Suddenly got up from the bed.

Whenever I remember the old house, I remembered the taste of pancakes from the pot house in the old house, the taste of the bean, and the taste of the "fat stretch" of the occasional mother, and the taste of pork stewed cabbage in the New Year.

The pot house of the old house relies on a cottage house built on the wall of the East Courtyard. There are two earth -built pot frames in the house. There is a "pulling box" on the side of the big pot frame. A large iron pot is placed on the frame. It is used to make the whole family as the main food of beans; there is also a small pot frame placed a small iron pot, which is usually used to cook. The straw on the roof of the pot was roasted by all year round, dark and dark. The small oil tank on the wall of the pot house is covered with a layer of mud outside. The lard oil boiled by the mother in the oil tank still has a lot of temptation. After learning, I was hungry with my stomach, and I went to the hall to get a pancake in the hall, rolled the shallots, and scooped it in the small oil tank to put it in the pancake, and then put a few salt grains. It feels fragrant, like eating meat. The mother usually places the iron tadpole of the pancake on the corner of the pot house. If the weather is good when the pancakes are good, they are outside the pot house. Only when the weather is not good. In the pot house. When I was a kid, I usually eaten with dried sweet potato pancakes. I was born in the 1960s. , My brother has eaten. The mother -in -law pancake only when the production team in the summer season is divided into the new wheat or when the Chinese New Year is the New Year, until now I have just been unique about the wheat pancakes that have just been revealed from the mule and exuding the wheat fragrance. bell.

When people are poor, they always feel that they ca n’t eat enough when they are young. They are engraved with the old house pot house. The taste of the old house is the taste of the pot house. The most memorable thing is that during the Chinese New Year, the mother who made tofu in the pot house in the pot house always turned around the pot house. My mother hurts her children. When making tofu, I must give me a bowl of tofu brain first; the first pot of tofu balls fried in the fried New Year must let me eat first. The fragrance is still unforgettable.

The old house is no longer the old house in my memory. The old house retained my childhood and piled up the story of my life, but in the end, I did not retain the future of the old house. When the village streets widen in the mid -1970s, the two half -cottage houses I was born were demolished again. The old house that still stands in my hometown is the old house where I move from childhood to teenagers to adults to the elderly.

Today's old house can no longer hear the voice of his father and mother, because they have reached another world. The door of the old house is usually locked. When we go home, we are no longer locked; when we leave the old house, we must lock the door.

Oh, the old house in his hometown, a soul of the years, left an indifferent feeling ...

[About the author] Feng Lianwei, from Linyi, Shandong. Member of the Chinese Writers Association, a member of the Chinese Society of Prose Literature, a member of the China Natural Resources Writers Association, a member of the Shandong Writers Association, the vice president of Shandong Provincial Society of Prose Literature, and the Deputy Secretary -General of Shandong Natural Resources Writers Association. The works are scattered in "Reading", "Prose Overseas Edition", "Prose Baijia", "Oasis", "Chinese Report Literature", "Contemporary Prose", "Shandong Literature", "Times Literature" and other magazines; Won the "Times Literature" annual prose award, "Qilu Works New Year Exhibition" for Best Works, National Prose Contest, etc. "Water Leave incense", "Water, Saying" and other prose collection.

- END -