I often think of my old house. A place that makes me happy and warm.
From my memory, it has been standing there like an ancient tree that has weathered the storms. Let us rest in the harbor at home. When it was built, I was not quite sure.
Located in a remote village of 852 farms in the reclamation area of heilongjiang province, the old house is an ordinary farmhouse built on a mountain. Brick wall red tiles, wood doors and Windows. Four houses, a fire kang, are typical of the northeastern folk house structure rental serviced apartment. The furnishings were simple, except for a bee - brand sewing machine, and there was no other fancy furniture. The west end of the old house is a primeval forest, a natural oxygen bar, where the trees are in the sky, bosky and bosky, and the sound of the song, it is a good place to be in the hour. The old house was a mountain, a small, nameless, but a lot of trees, a lot of grass. The mountain wind blew, a faint smell of dandruff.
In retrospect, my family lived in the hills and dug the ground for the well. A hundred flowers in the spring; Hear the frogs croak; Autumn harvest; Winter mu wind snow. It is a blessed place to have the hills, the hills, the natural and the land.
The old house had no walls, and the draught was far away. Simple as it is, it is not luxurious at all. However, "the mountains are not high, there is a fairy name; Water is not deep, but dragons are. In my opinion, the old house is not shabby, it is my heart, it is more expensive than the mansion in the city, which makes me want to go.
The old house was the source of my life, and my body was filled with the blood of the old house, and the marrow was filled with the genes of the old house.
It can make me cry, make me laugh, let me look back, in time and space conversion, can let me find the reality and the past node. In the film of life, you can touch the temperature and vicissitudes of time. Let me no matter how far, how long, have a way home.
Unfortunately, I lived in the old house soon after I got into college in the early 1980s and left the old house. Our family left it on and off. It was like an abandoned old man who stood alone for the rest of the year, watching the back of us, and we never lived with it for years. To become a guest in the land of the wandering son, began the spirit of the wandering master of chemistry hong kong.
It's been years since I left the house. The bird is fond of the old forest, the fish think of the deep, I am like a kite no matter how far up, the heart is tied a red line in the old house. The total fantasy becomes a cloud float to the old house.
Finally, I set foot on the land where I fell in love. I returned to my old house at sunset. Like a son and daughter in a foreign country back to their parents.
When I stood at the entrance of the village and looked at it deeply, it was like sleeping in a deep sleep. Perhaps it was too tired, and it slept so peacefully and quietly and sweetly as the mountains that stretched across the distance. Not even my arrival.
I approached the old house in silence, and suddenly in my mind the poem of liu changqing, "the sun is far, the White House is poor". There was no noise in the old house; The birds languorously perched on the trees next to it, and combed their feathers. Perhaps they were as I was now -- I dared not push open the wooden door, afraid that I might disturb the old house, and shatter its dream.
The old house is really old. The walls were covered with moss, the concrete walls under the windowsill had been peeled off, and the door frame could only see the shadow of the spring couplet that had been posted in the past. The glass on the door and window was broken, and there were several dark black holes. The two doors opened a deep, shallow crack, like a crow's feet dotted around the old man's forehead. I looked at our old house is difficult to control, roof as if still in the chimney smoke from kitchen chimneys, firewood rice smell seems to be flowing around, in a trance I saw hard-working mothers in hearth beside busy scene, my tears flow to • • • • • •
The same evening in memory, the setting sun was sinking, the chickens and ducks, the geese, walked in the same direction -- the old house of smoke and smoke. After school MD Senses, our sister played hidden cat. That's when we're happiest. You hide me, in front of the house, in the stubble, and in every nook and cranny. The dusk was going to close, and mother was standing on the dirt road in front of her house, calling for us to go home for dinner, or to bring us home with the calloused hand. Then home poor, does not have wide variety of goods, we like to eat most is my mother with the surface to processing of rectangular sawtooth biscuits, a catty of biscuits around 27, eight pieces, eat a sweet heart. Wayan is very concerned about us, and some of our lives take the initiative to do it. It was her job to divide the biscuits. She gave us the cookies fairly. We were all wrapped in our pretty little handkerchiefs. Four younger sisters, her biscuits are often cheated by us into the belly.
Mother is the busiest man in the family. In the old house there was a ticket for a sewing machine, and there was a sound of dada dada in the room, which was the mother's hard sewing. The four sisters wrote well, she often gave her mother an emotional recitation of her masterpiece at the sewing machine, and every mother's face would show a smile of pride and happiness.
The mother had no culture, only one year's book, and ate all the hard work without culture. She paid special attention to our study, and often told us the importance of reading. Sometimes we lay on the table in the light of the kerosene lamp and wrote homework, and mother worked side by side with us.
His father was a soldier in the army, who was a soldier in the village. He was a good cadre in the village, and he would never get a penny from the public. He doesn't pay much, and the family of seven is scraping by on his meager income. Although life is hard, my father still scrimped and saved to buy some famous books, comic books and storybooks. The third sister was enthusiastic, and she volunteered to be the home librarian. She locked the book in a wooden box. Read books to borrow from her, books can't be a little broken, or you can't get them out. Often because the book has a little corner, we have to say nice things to her sister, especially the four girls who like reading, reading fast, always following her behind her buttocks to borrow books.
My cousin, who was living with us, joined the book. His cousin was a young man who loved to draw and was not taught, and a horse was painted to life. The third sister likes horses. In order to borrow books, his cousin always paints horses and changes books.
Our sisters have been reading and studying in the old house when they are free, and there is a strong atmosphere at home. My father's face was smiling whenever we saw us reading at the table, yard or corner. The father must have not read the words in the night of the siege, but he knew that the poor in his family would also teach his children to read well. In retrospect, my parents were enlightened and visionary. Later, five of our sisters were admitted to the university, and a local name was known as "five golden flowers". In particular, the fourth sister, who was the top scholar in the college entrance examination of the state administration of agricultural reclamation, was admitted to the southwest university of political science and law, and is now a top ten lawyer in Qingdao, which is a great career. After I graduated from college, I worked in middle school, and I also mixed some "honor". Now Qingdao development zone also has its own business.
It is a miracle that an ordinary peasant family has walked out of five college students. Today, our sisters have a successful career and a happy family. It must be nice to have a parent.
Now the mountain is still, the water is still, the old house is still, but the old house no longer see the parents around the fire to add coal. And we don't have the sound of borrowing books around our three girls. Everything is quiet. The earth is silent, the old house speechless. The old house seems to bless us in a special way, silently recalling my endless memories.
The old house embraces us, we are the children from its embrace to the new world.
The old house has feelings, warmth, elegance, more verve, energy and taste. It nurtures us, edifies us, inspires us. It is the cradle of our growth and the monument to our hearts. The old house will live forever, with the sun and the moon.
I stroked the old house, feeling that it was so kind and warm, like a mother's hand, though old but warm. Every place is so familiar. Almost every place has a story, a fairy tale, a laugh and a laugh.
Leaving the old house, I dared not look back. Because I know the old house must be like me, with tears in my eyes.