无法丈量的乡情

作者:司徒留琴人气:1385更新:2021-07-20 22:00:08

 故乡对于每一个成年人,都是最温情,最亲切 ,最复杂的词汇。几十年漂泊的岁月,故乡在我的怀念里一路疯长。由一片热土到一湖碧水;由几株玉米到一片稻田;由一条街道到一片村庄……常常想,故乡在游子的心里有多大?故乡究竟在远行人的血脉中长进了什么?故乡让她的儿女们一生在丈量什么?

二零一二年十一月二十九日 ,姐姐进城住进楼房,暂时成了拥挤城市中的一员,全家人漫天欢喜 ,说话的声音高了八度,走路的步子轻快了许多,姐夫拉着我 ,孩子般的感激,说他们能有机会住楼,全是我的功劳 ,说他们在那个小村住了三十年零一天……我很感动于他们的记忆力 ,我这一路漂泊,全没有数字概念,一切顺其自然 。去年差不多同一个时间 ,自己也成了城里拥挤中的一员,住进较为宽敞的楼房,但是心中没有一丝喜悦。离开了故乡 ,让我们不得不审视城市,城里算不算故乡?想到这个问题,难免不有几许苦涩。城里 ,不是每一个居者的故乡,充其量算作是一个临时驿站 。故乡的范围到了这里便戛然止步,城里没有清风鸟语 ,没有纯净的阳光,没有炙热的乡情……冷漠,自私 ,狭隘把故乡拒之于千里之外。那时我还庆幸 ,自己没有被连根拔起,因为姐姐还生活在那个小村,还有炊烟相伴 ,还有泥土相连,还可以经营自己的一方小园。在城里累了,还可以回到乡村 ,还可以吃到绿色的蔬菜,听一听晨曦中的鸡鸣,闻一闻泥土的味道……如今 ,随着姐姐的进城,我们与那块土地,那个小村似乎再没有什么联系了 ,随着这一切的结束,我们真的就和故乡远离吗?我们会被故乡遗忘,或者说我们真的走出了故乡?

昨天 ,我们一行八人 ,回到了月亮湖 。深冬季节,千里冰封,滴水成冰的天气 ,因为我们的相聚春意浓浓。丰盛的鱼宴,那是故乡的味道,醇美的烈酒 ,那是友情的清香。烈酒燃烧着每个人的情怀,句句话语流淌着真诚 。没有功利,没有阿谀 ,没有装腔作势的高高在上……有的是最真实的感言,最诚恳的期待和祝福。满桌的春意,生命真实地裸露 ,在物质丰富,物欲横流的现实中,大家更看重这一桌佳肴。谈论最多的话题是故乡 ,如何喝多了酒 ,怎样爬到鸡窝里偷鸡,上树摘青杏解酒……每个人的心中都装着故乡,故乡在人生之初 ,就长进了每个人的血脉,生生死死,永远相伴 。踏上了故乡的土地 ,心一下子踏实了,故乡的那份情,是最纯的美酒 ,喝上一回,醉倒一生 。“山清水秀,山狼水贼”这是月亮湖人常挂在嘴边上的两句话 ,无论词义的褒贬,乡情都是一样的浓烈。脸红了,心热了 ,眼睛渐渐有了潮湿 ,那是乡情在我们体内升温。分别时,月亮湖人依依送别,留下了回忆 ,带走的是灼灼的乡情 。这是人生的又一故乡,无法和原来的故乡泾渭分明,两个故乡连在一起还是一个故乡啊。

微蓝的晨曦中 ,炊烟成了小村的主宰。袅袅炊烟,如诗似画,不到小村 ,永远不会领略炊烟的韵味 。乳白色的炊烟,带着小村人的梦呓,缓缓不绝。炊烟的余热很快被寒冷的空气吞噬了 ,化作天边的一朵云彩。随即又有炊烟徐徐而来,小村上空,炊烟成了洁美的棉被 ,轻轻地包裹着小村 ,鸡的啼鸣,牛的深哞,马的长嘶……在炊烟中隐隐约约 ,若有若无 。有的家门开着一条缝,肥胖的水汽拥挤而出,很夸张地把味道铺盖在小村冰雪封冻的街面上。谁家的妇女 ,头上裹着花头巾,上面的花朵被撕扯得变了形状,原本艳丽的色彩 ,现在被黑色浸染得暗淡无光。手里提着篮子,篮子里装满了草木灰,刚一出门 ,那轻佻的灰尘粒子随风而去,妇女管不了这些,匆匆奔向厕所 ,急急地哗哗啦啦撒一泡尿 ,然后把那满满的一篮草木灰倒进粪坑,慌慌跑出厕所 。无数的灰尘随后追来,那妇女直奔草垛 ,一手提篮,一个胳膊夹着苞米杆,玉米杆上的霜花落了妇女一头一身。妇女一路小跑 ,寒冷像是一个顽皮的孩子,不停地追赶妇女,在她裸露的皮肤上横冲直撞。

还是那条老街 ,许多年前,老街很是忙碌,不像现在 ,街上清净了许多,少人走,牲畜们都规规矩矩待在家里 。那时小村人养的牲畜满街都是 ,鸡、鸭、鹅 、狗、猪 ,老街一样不缺 。赶上春夏之际,会有老母鸡领着鸡雏一路放歌,咯咯哒哒 ,搅扰了老母猪的好梦,老母猪会狠狠地咬着牙,以示抗议。公狗母狗公然在老街上调情 ,引得孩子们一路追看。冬天,那些怕冷的小牲畜躲在院子里,在背风处暖暖地晒着太阳 。皮糙肉厚的肥猪此时最为张扬 ,满大街散步,昂首挺胸,牵引无数艳羡的目光。谁家的猪肥 ,谁的日子就会滋润许多,那时小村人还不知道“滋润”这个词,一头肥猪 ,就是一年的油水 ,那是衡量人们生活水平的重要标准。也是一家女主人骄傲的资本,每每谁家杀了年猪,猪的肥胖是对女主人最好的评价和褒奖 。“谁谁家的猪一巴掌膘 ,那女人就是搂钱的耙子。 ”“谁谁家的老娘们,就是败家,年猪只有一指膘 ,那日还有个过。”妇女们窃喜也好,委屈也罢 。不吃粮食,谁家的猪也不会肥。男人们倒是无所谓 ,吃了东家吃西家,一进腊月,男人们像肥猪一样日日上膘。苦的是女人们 ,到哪去说理?为了脸面,她们只好咽下苦水,不断下定决心 ,明年也让自己家的肥猪一巴掌膘 。

老街的忙碌 ,不仅仅是那些自由快乐的牲畜们占满了大部分空间。春天杏花开了,杨树绿了,麻雀、紫燕歌唱不止 ,那是它们谈情说爱的季节,老街默默为它们营造爱的舞台;夏季的阴凉处,妇女们三五成群 ,打哈凑气,把生活过得欢声笑语;秋天,老街的车轮声沉沉甸甸 ,老街在沉重的车轮下幸福地呻吟……冬天,老街似乎可以闲置下来,轻松地做几个梦 ,长长地睡一觉。可是,老街的冬天一点不轻松,天天都有叫卖声灌满老街的空间 ,一串串鲜红的糖葫芦 ,让孩子们流出许多口水,那时,不是每一个孩子都能吃到酸甜的糖葫芦 ,只是那恋恋的目光追着糖葫芦一路奔跑 。每天天不亮,老街上就游走着捡粪的人 。老人多数占据白天的时间,孩子们则是抢占晨曦。窗上刚刚有了一点白 ,孩子们就忙着起床了,暗暗的街道,拾粪的孩子瞪大眼睛 ,左右环顾。前面有一个黑点,孩子心里一喜,直直地奔过去 ,多数时候都是土块,有时谁家的肥猪夜不归宿,把一泡屎留在了老街上 ,孩子们就会喜出望外 。有时 ,粪便上冒着热气,挂着白霜……太阳刚刚露出笑脸,孩子们已经走过几条街道 ,挎着的筐越来越沉,孩子们的笑多了几分灿烂。一个冬天下来,孩子们会有一个丰厚的回报 ,开学的笔本解决了,过年还可以买上几挂好鞭炮。特别勤奋的,还可以买上一身新衣服 。

谈到故乡 ,绕不开的是一种味道。每每谈到故乡,人们津津乐道的是谈起故乡的小吃,特色美食。胃知乡愁 ,不错的,那些谈论美食的游子,哪一个心中不多了几分急切 ,眼里含了盈盈的泪 。在我的故乡 ,谈到美味,上了年纪的人不约而同地想到“烩菜”,现在回想起来 ,它的味道也许不是最美,但人们为什么念念不忘,固执认为那是天下第一美味 ,全是一份乡情在里面。每到隆冬季节,常常会有故乡人打来的电话,乡民又到杀猪的季节了。无论工作多忙 ,尽量抽出时间,几十里上百里地赶过去 。农家能吃到的,在城里 ,也许十几分钟就能解决问题,但是,故乡的那份味道在城里绝对吃不出来。鲜嫩的血肠 ,厚厚的肥肉 ,浓香的烩菜……如果你的桌子上了一大碗瘦肉,那是杀猪宴会上最高的待遇。憨朴的乡民,粗糙黑厚的皮肤 ,浓烈的小烧……他们没有精彩的语言,只顾大碗上肉,大口喝酒 。辛苦了一年 ,他们很满足地享受一回生活的美味 。如果自家独享,他们感觉那味道淡了许多。于是几十个电话打出去,左邻右舍 ,远方宾朋,大家齐全了,那味道才最浓烈 ,那美酒更醇香。主人常常不入坐,每张桌敬酒,巡视 ,及时添上缺少的菜 ,脸上是真诚和满足 。一顿美餐结束,主人忘不了提前一年发出邀请,客人应答着 ,满心欢喜,满心醉意。杀猪宴,是人们一年生活的一个总结 ,更是明年生活的一个期待。烩菜,成了蓄满乡情的载体,没有了乡情 ,一切美味都会黯然失色 。

 

故乡的牧场,芳草连天。每一片草叶,都写满了淳朴的乡情。浩瀚的四书五经 ,写不尽沉重的乡情 。那缕缕乡情,滋养着故土,温暖着乡思 ,呼唤着渐行渐远的脚步;故乡的土地 ,永远都是最肥沃的。一位诗人说过:“那是一片肥沃的土地,今年插下一根车辕,明年就能长出一辆马车。 ”诗人的浪漫想象源于故乡的那份浓情 ,诗人心里的那片沃土,一定在故乡,只有故乡的那片土地才会如此神奇 。想一想 ,哪一位痴恋故乡的游子,他的灵魂不生长在故土?故土的肥沃,不仅仅是车辕和马车的问题。山顶上眺望的目光 ,大漠中跋涉的脚步,物欲横流时的坚守……那份营养来自哪里?毋庸置疑,来自故土 ,来自乡民骨子里的那份简单 、善良,超然;故乡的天空,永远都是最清最蓝。高高的云端 ,是故乡最优秀的歌手——云雀的舞台 。一个个爱情故事被它们演绎得精美绝伦 ,那不倦的歌喉,清纯如甘泉 。无垠的天空,也无法盛下那多情的音符。于是 ,那叮咚的韵律藏满草间,深埋在泥土中,就连故乡人的梦中也蓄满清脆。有了那份爱的滋养 ,故乡才会风轻云淡,草绿天蓝,土肥畜旺 ,人杰地灵 。故乡,天之大,地之大 ,但是故乡的爱天地装不下。

 

人的一生,也许就是一次丈量乡情的过程。无论走多远,无论如何努力 ,你都无法走出乡情 。故乡 ,在我们行走中生长,故乡有多大,乡情就有多大。故乡大过天 ,大过地,而它始终被游子的思念包裹着啊。

 

英译版本:

Hometown is the most warm, most kind and most complicated vocabulary for every adult. For decades of drifting, the hometown is in my nostalgia. From a hot soil to a lake clear water; from a few corn to a rice field; from a street to a village ... often think, how big is the hometown of hometown in the hometown? What did the hometown grow in the blood of the far away? What is your child a life?

November 20, 2012, his sister entered the city to live in the building, temporarily became a member of the crowded city, the whole family was happy, the voice of the speech was eight degrees, walking The steps are very fast, my brother-in-law is grateful, saying that they can have a chance to live building, all my credits, say that they live for 30 years and one day in that village ... I am very touched by them. Memory, I am drifting, there is no number concept, everything is natural. Last year, almost the same time, I also became a member of the city, living in a spacious building, but there is no joy in my heart. Leaving your hometown, let us have to examine the city, is not a hometown in the city? Thinking of this problem, it is inevitable that it is not a few bitterness. In the city, it is not the hometown of every home, and it is a temporary station. The hometown is here to stop, there is no breeze and bird language in the city, there is no pure sunshine, there is no hot nostalgic ... indifference, selfish, narrowly refused to be a thousand miles away. At that time, I was fortunate, I didn't have a renovation, because my sister also lived in that village, and there is a smoke, and the dirt is connected, and I can run my own homework. Tired in the city, you can also return to the country, you can also eat green vegetables, listen to the chicken in the morning, smell the taste of the earth ... Today, with your sister's entry city, we are with the block The land, the village seems to have no connection, with this end, do we really stay away from your hometown? We will be forgotten by the hometown, or we really got out of your hometown?

Yesterday, we went to eight people and returned to the moon lake. In the winter season, a thousand miles of ice, dripping into ice, because our gathering is strong. The rich fish banquet, that is the taste of the hometown, the beautiful spirits, that is the fragrance of friendship. The spirits burned with everyone's feelings, and sentence words flowed sincere. There is no utilitarian, there is no Aunt, there is no high height of the dressing, some is the most authentic feeling, the most sincereLooking and blessings. The spring of the table, the life is truly naked, in the reality of material abundant, material desire, everyone value this table. Talking about the topic is hometown, how to drink too much wine, how to climb to the chicken, steal the chicken, picking the green apricot, every person is installed in his hometown, the hometown is in the beginning of life, I will grow into everyone. Blood, life and death, always accompanied. I have embarked on the land of my hometown, my heart suddenly, the love of my hometown, is the purest wine, drink one, drunk, my life. "Shanqing Water Show, Mountain Wolf Water Thief" This is two sentences that the moon lakes often hang on their mouths, no matter the meaning of the meaning, the nostalgia is the same. Blush, heart is hot, the eyes gradually have wet, that is the hometown of rising in our body. At the same time, the moon lake people sent home, leaving memories, take away the burning nostalgia. This is another hometown of life, can't be distinct with the original hometown, and two hometown is still a hometown.

In the dark blue morning, smoke became the dominance of villages.袅袅 袅袅 烟, such as poetry, not in the village, will never appreciate the charm of smoke. Milky smoke, with a small village's dream, slowly. The waste of smoke is quickly swallowed by the cold air, and it is turned into a cloud in the horizon. Then there was a cigarette, and the small village was over, the smoke became a clean cotton, gently wrapped in the village, the chicken, the deep scream of the cow, the horses of the horse ... There is no. Some homes opened a seam, obese water vapor is crowded, and it is exaggerated to cover the taste on the streets of the village ice and snow. Who is wrapped in a flower head in his head, the above flowers have been torn, and the original gorgeous color is now dark, and there is a dim light. In the hands, the basket is filled with grass ash, just go out, the light dust particles go with the wind, women can't take these, hurried to the toilet, hurriedly slammed the laser, then, then The full basket of grass poured into the dung pit and panicked to the toilet. Countless dust followed, the woman went straight to the grass, one-shot, a arm clamping the rice rod, the frost on the corn rod fell a woman. Women are running all the way, the cold is like a naughty child, keeping catching up, rushing on her bare skin.

The old street, many years ago, the old street is very busy, not like now, there are many streets, and the less people go, the livestockTomaled at home. At that time, the people of the village were full of streets, chickens, ducks, goose, dogs, pigs, and old streets. On the occasion of the spring and summer, there will be a children's chicken collar to sing the song, giggling, burn the good dream of the old mother, and the old pig will bite to teeth, to protest. The male dog frying dog is open to the old street, which leads the children to look at it all the way. In winter, those fear of the cold livestock hide in the yard, warm and warm in the back wind. The skin thickness of the skin is most common at this time, and the street will take a walk, and the head is very chest and traces countless envy. Whose pig fertilizer, who the days will moisturize a lot, then the small villagers don't know the word "moist", a fat pig, is a year of oil water, it is an important standard for measuring people's living standards. It is also a capital of a hostess, and every one who kills the pig. The fat is the best evaluation and praise for the hostess. "Who is the pig, the woman is a scorpion of money." "Who is the old lady, the loser, the pig is only one finger, there is still a good time." The women have a happiness, grievance Also. Don't eat food, whoever pigs will not be fat. The men don't care, eat the east to eat the western house, one into the moon, the men are like fat pigs. What is the woman, where is it? For the face, they have to swallow bitter water, constantly determined, and make their own fat pigs in the next year.

The busy old street is not only those who are free and happy livestocks. Spring apricots, poplar green, sparrow, purple sword songs, that is the season that they talk about love, the old street silently creating a love stage for them; summer is cool, women are three or five complexes, Harbard, laugh, laugh, laughter; autumn, the wheels of the old street sink, old streets happily in heavy wheels ... Winter, old street seems to be idle, easily do a few dreams, I slept long as she asleep. However, the winter of the old street is not easy, and every day, there is a space called the sound of the old street, a string of fresh red sugar, let the children flow out many mouthfuls, then, not every child can eat sweet Sugle, just the love of the love of the sugar gourd. Every day, the old street is swing on the old street. Most of the old people occupy the time during the day, the children are grabbing the morning. On the window, I just had a little white, the children busy got up, secretly, and picked up the child, and left and right. There is a black point in front,When the child is happy, I rushed straight. Most of the time is the earth block. Sometimes the fat pigs are not at home, leaving a bubble in the old street, the children will look out. Sometimes, the feces are hot, hanging white cream ... The sun just smiles, the children have gone through several streets, and the baskets are getting more and more sinking, and the children's laughter is a bit splendid. A winter, the children will have a rich return, the book of the school is solved, and I can buy a few firecrackers in the New Year. Specially diligent, you can also buy a new clothes.

Talking about the hometown, it is not a taste. Every time I talked to my hometown, people Zujin Lao is talking about the snacks, specialties of their hometown. The stomach knows the hometown, not bad, those who talk about food, which one is not much more eager, and the eyes contain the tears of Yingying. In my hometown, I talked to the deliciousness. I got a "rickets" unconsciously. Now I think it is not the most beautiful, but people don't forget, stubbornly think that it is the first delicious, all one The nostalgia is in it. Every time I go to the winter season, there is often a call to the hometown, and the villagers have come to the season of killing pigs. No matter how busy work, try to take time, dozens miles rushed over. The farmer can eat, in the city, maybe in the city can solve the problem for a few minutes, but the taste of the hometown can't eat in the city. Strenuous blood, thick fat, strong flavor dishes ... If your table has a large bowl of lean meat, it is the highest treatment at the pig banner. The simple villagers, the rough black skin, strong little burning ... they don't have a wonderful language, just take care of meat, big mouth. Hard work for a year, they enjoyed the delicious life of life. If you live alone, they feel that the taste is full. So dozens of calls played out, left neighbor, distant guests, everyone is complete, the taste is the most strong, the beautiful wine is more alcoholic. The owner often does not sit in, every table is toast, patrol, and add a lack of dishes in time, and the face is sincere and satisfied. At the end of a meal, the owner can't forget an invitation in advance, and the guest should answer, full of joy, full of drunkenness. Killing the pig banquet is a summary of people living a year, and it is an expectation of next year. Cai dishes, become a vectors of nostalgia, no nostalgia, all delicious will be eclipsed.

Hometown pasture, aromatic grass. Every grass leaf,Full of simple nostalgia. The vast four books are five times, write unsatisfactory nostalgia. The hometown, nourishes the soil, warms the hometown, calling for gradually farther; the land of the hometown is always the most fertile. A poet said: "That is a fertile land, this year plugs, you can grow a carriage next year." The romantic imagination of the poet originated in the hometown of the hometown, the fertile soil in the heart , Must be so amazing in the hometown of hometown. I want to think about it, which is the hometown of my hometown, his soul does not grow in the trend? The fertile land of the trend is not only the problem of the rivers and carriages. The eyes of the mountain, the footsteps of the trek in the desert, the insight when the material wants ... Where is the nutrition from? Undoubtedly, from the hometown, the simple, kindness, superfluous; the sky of the hometown is always the clearscent. The high cloud is the best singers in the hometown - the stage of the skylark. A love story is exquisite, the tireless voice, is pure as Ganquan. There is no macro that can't be in the sky. So, the rhythm is hidden in the grass, buried in the soil, and even the dream of the hometown is also full of crisp. With the nourishing of the love, the hometown will be light, the grass is green, the soil livestock, and the people are outstanding. The hometown, the big, the earth is big, but the hometown of love is not installed.

The person's life may be the process of measuring the nostalgia. No matter how far, you can't get out of the hometown, no matter how hard work. Hometown, growing in our walking, how big is the hometown, how big is the nostalgia. The hometown is big, and it is over, and it is always wrapped in the wrap of the wanderer.

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