Rural prose in the process of staying behind

In the spring of February, my hometown in Bocheng, beside Boqing River, is still withered, the aquatic plants along the river are still withered, and the cold wind in the fields is still chilly. On a foggy morning, I returned to my long-lost village.

The village is quiet and lifeless, just like dry weeds on the hillside. Even the watchdog is too lazy to open his sleepy eyes, let alone bark. This is our territory. Our territory is decided by ourselves.

But no, I walked quietly in a quiet village lane, passing several courtyards in succession, with high stair doors and deep courtyards. The door of the huge scarlet house is always closed, and occasionally a crack is opened, just like an old man hobbling out sideways.

I have lived in the village for more than ten years, so most of the older people in the village know each other and have met each other. They are not grandmothers, uncles and grandfathers, but aunts and uncles. Most of the children who grew up together were over 50 years old, and all the middle-aged and preschool children stayed in the village. Except for the unfamiliar children, most of them know each other. Going back to the village is as kind as going home.

I wandered aimlessly in the fields, in strange rooms, in the corners of the old village, and walked in every alley and every ancient courtyard in the village. Although the whole village has moved, the old village has become an abandoned yard, leaving only an old locust tree and an old well, which is my grandfather's old house.

In my old home, I am infatuated with it and I can't forget to return. Although it is only a three-hole earth cave, the lintel has collapsed, the courtyard wall has been eroded to the ground, and there is no home for a long time. The third hole is as deep as three sunken frames, so I can stare at it when I look at it.

I didn't mean not to come back, I walked out of here on purpose. At that time, in order to leave this barren land, we did not deliberately express ourselves from time to time. We never hide that we have suffered some losses, and we never ask for something in return. Finally, we crossed the wooden bridge and stayed in the city to work. We are glad to have left our hometown and got rid of our sufferings.

Now parents go to the city, and brothers and sisters also have stable jobs in the city. If you don't return to the village for a long time, your hometown will become your hometown. Without land and relatives, I don't think there is anything worth nostalgia and nostalgia.

Unexpectedly, after more than 20 years, my hometown, although not written on paper and engraved on my face, has been printed in my dream, becoming clearer and more unforgettable, just like the story that happened yesterday, repeating unforgettable memories.

I came back in a hurry, in order to calm my heart palpitations and long memories from time to time. Facing the still withered vilen, my heart is flying in my hometown.

Pushing open the doors of the elders, I greeted them devoutly. They took my hand and called me by my nickname. They have been reluctant to let go for a long time, asking about their parents' health, their brother's work and their children's ages. While burning hot water, they searched for food in the countryside and talked about endless topics.

It's hard to find a few childhood companions, either with their grandchildren and nephews at home or with the sick old people lying in bed at home, old and young, with the footsteps of entering the city. In addition, everyone who can walk has left, almost none of them are young and middle-aged, and they all go out to work to make a living. Everywhere, as long as there are long bills, there are footprints of migrant workers.

When asked where all the money for working went, the left-behind old man smiled helplessly and said, "He has also gone to town." . I have been working for several years, even more than ten years, just to buy a wedding bed for my son in the city. Now the daughter-in-law talks about the object, first ask if there is a house in the city. The house is standard, and no house is zero. Therefore, marriageable boys have bought a house in the county and pinned their spirits on another city.

Bocheng is an ancient village, which was named Bocheng County in the Han Dynasty more than 2,000 years ago. Qin brick and Han tile, scattered with rubble, walk in the field, just like crossing time and space, meeting in history, throwing a brick casually, is also a Millennium brick, conveying a thousand-year charm.

But now, due to the migration of Xiaolangdi Reservoir, the fertile soil on the waterfront has become an ornamental lotus pond, and the per capita cultivated land has been reduced to only four points. Besides, gold can be dug in the soil, and every mu of land can be harvested, not exceeding two or three thousand yuan. Four points can't live, and you can't keep your affection for the countryside.

So the middle-aged people are gone, and so are the young people. Even children who have attended primary school have come out of the majority. There are nearly 10,000 people in the township, and no junior high school can be saved. Although there are more than ten or twenty primary schools in the village, students in six grades can't pass 100, and they keep losing to the county. Just like the nutrition and blood in the village, it keeps flowing into the city. No matter how old the village is, no matter how big the village is, it will become a collapsed "body" without muscles and blood.

Although the village is still trying to stay behind, the people who stay behind are getting older and younger every year. Maybe it won't be long before the village stays. Like many villages in remote mountainous areas, it has become an "empty shell" left unattended and gradually turned into a barren grassland.

Perhaps small towns will rise rapidly, and villagers living next door will get together and live together. Perhaps the new generation of villagers have not been entangled in the countryside and have long been synchronized with the city, but our generation's rural complex is still pinned on the left-behind villages and courtyards. It is a rich spiritual home and an eternal rural complex.