Memory and a Dirt Road

Childhood memory is always sweet but nothing is sweeter than the childhood memory in my hometown. The dirt road leading to my hometown, rugged and zigzag, rests deep in my childhood memory. I didn't live there for long, left when I was about six years old. However, every time I took that small road when visiting home and hiking on the hill across the village, I always feel a strong sentiment with the land that my ancestor chose. Looking at the countless valleys and mountains, it seems that they are trying to tell me the vicissitudes of its long history.

About three hundred years ago, my ancestors found this piece of land deep in the mountain and decided to settle. Generations have been farming there endlessly since then. Family tree was unfortunately destroyed during the Cultural Revolution and we do not have a detailed written family history of the village anymore. According to Grandma, the house she had been living since about a hundred year ago had not changed much ever since she could remember. Now it is about to become a ruin. Dad often mentioned that there were wolves and wild boars deep in the mountains when he was a boy herding sheep. I remember adults were talking about leopard going into the village and killing sheep in the pen when I was little. There is a valley a few miles from the village called the Bear Valley. I surmise that ancestors must have had contact with black bear there at some point in the history.

Unforgettable childhood memories are still fresh in my mind. I vividly remember the air and even the smell of my hometown, the crow of the rooster, the creak of the gate. The sky was always clear and blue, and water in the little creek in front of the village was clear and clean. Every time I had the opportunity to return to my hometown, we always walked along the same path along the small creek. During summer time, we would see many morningstar lily flowers beautifully decorated on the side of the mountain. Between the peace and quietness, occasional birds chirp unfiltered does wonders for the mind.

At the entrance of the valley leading to the village, there is an ancient tree, like a huge spectacular green umbrella. Grandma said that it was deity tree, she always reminded us to leave something every time we pass by to show respect as well as ask for blessing. In the village near our yard, several large stepping stones in front of the house was always shining as a result of generations of sitting. I remember the last time I saw my grandmother was 37 years ago. Grandma insisted that she would stand on that stone watching us walking away. That was the last time I saw her.

I also remember that my mother would, under a small kerosene lamp, teach me and my brother how to count using match sticks, or do math with abacus. The influence of the early teaching had on our future education was priceless and set the foundation for our future pursuits.

Occasionally when I dared to go outside under the pitch dark night, I would see infinite numbers of stars in the sky twinkling. I have never seen a night sky as beautiful as I remembered since I left my hometown.

There was a primary school in the village at the time. I vaguely remember what it seemed like the first day of school. About a dozen students sat cross-legged around a small table and began classes. Since there was only one classroom and one teacher for all the kids, different grades would take turns to have classes. It seems I could still hear the sound of older students reading their textbooks.

The village eventually got electricity in the nineties, years after I left for college and eventually the United States, and finally connected with the outside world. Today, the village stone mill is still there, highway is only a few kilometers away, internet speed in the village is faster than what I have in the United States. Every family has running water connected from the mountain spring behind the village. Even solar panels and street lamps were installed at the village center. However, none of the development can change a cruel reality. The village has about less than twenty residents left, either elders or young children, vs. the more than one hundred people in my memory. Most adults only return to the village for Chinese New Year, or tomb sweeping for ancestors in the spring. The old school is also long gone.

Recently I saw on the Internet that a neighboring village had completely disappeared from the map since about forty years ago. From time to time, the thought crosses my mind that one day my hometown would also disappear from the world. There is an unspeakable sadness in my heart. I used to feel that individual life was short, but now I know that even my hometown will suffer from the same fate one day. By the time we realize, earlier generations are gone along with their memory and the hometown will also look completely different. We are all just visitors to this planet. No one can stop time. In the sweep of history, we are on this planet for a fraction of a fraction of any measurable unit of time.We just need to have a peaceful mind and enjoy the time we have on this planet.

The tree was still there, smoke from the chimney was still rising. As I was walking through the road again, I realized that even though the small dirt road was getting farther and farther from my life, the love for my hometown would follow me for the rest of my life. With that said, I also realized that my nostalgia was not just about the dirt road but more about the childhood time that would not come back.

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故乡的小土路

童年是美好的，对我来说最美好的莫过于故乡的儿时回忆。家乡那条弯弯曲曲、朴实无华、崎岖不平的小土路，寄托着身居在外的我对儿时故乡最深沉的思念，最浓厚的情感。虽然我在故乡生活不长，不到六岁就离开了故乡，每一次走上那条小路，回家爬上村对面的山梁，回望这块祖辈生养的土地，总有一份放不下的情。泥土里悠荡着家乡人的淳朴，那些个土里土气的词藻，浓浓的乡音。遥望着无数的沟沟壑壑，像是在向我们述说着久远的历史沧桑。

大概在三百多年前，祖先找到了这块深山里的黄土地安生，就这样祖祖辈辈居住下来了。世世代代的人在这里耕作不休。祖先的家谱在文革期间烧毁了，已经无据可查家族的历史。奶奶住的房屋自她记事起一直没有多少变过。现在已即将成为残垣断壁。爸爸经常提起山里以前有狼，有野猪，我还记得儿时听大人说有一次豹子进村在羊圈里咬死几只羊。山后有一道沟叫熊沟，我想一定是祖先在那里和黑熊有过交往。听说山里还常有野猪穿行，但许多的大动物经历世世代代的生活后，现在也只停留在地名之上。

难忘的记忆，满满的回忆，童年时光记忆犹新。

犹记得故乡的风采，天空蓝的清澈，小溪静静流淌，每逢有机会在暑假期间回到故乡，总是沿着那条小路。不时看到遍野的山丹丹花点缀在山坡上，鲜艳无比。童趣时光，如此难忘。在这条小土路的上路处，有一颗古老的大树，象一巨大的绿荫伞，长得十分壮观，奶奶说是神树，总提醒我们每次路过都要留一点祭物，以示尊重和求神保佑。家门口的几块大石头已经被多少代人座的光亮亮的。记得最后一次见到高龄的奶奶是在三十七年前，奶奶坚持一定要站在门口那一块石头上望着我们的背影徐徐离去。

记忆中故乡的夜晚是美丽无比。家人围着一盏煤油灯下，记得妈妈用小火柴棍教我和哥哥一起算数。大概就就是有妈妈这样的孜孜教诲，我们从小就会背口诀表，打算盘。记得偶尔在漆黑的夜晚到外面的时候，仰望夜空，可以看到天上无穷的星星点点闪烁，充满无限的幻想和憧憬。长大以后再也没有看到过记忆中那样美好的夜空。

当年的村里是有小学的。隐隐约约记得似乎是第一天去上学的情形。大概十几个学生盘着腿坐在炕上的小桌子上开始上课。学校只有一个教室，一个老师。小山村学校都是多个年级在一起上课，但分不同的时间轮流上课。似乎至今我还能在耳边听到当年高年级学生朗朗的读书声音。

村里在我去美国之后的上个世纪九十年代终于通了电。与外面的世界连在一起了。虽然村上的石碾石磨依旧，现在高速公路已经修到离村庄不到五六里路的地方，村里的网络信号比我在美国的网速更快，家家都有从山后引来的自来水，就连太阳能照明都装在了村口。可是这些变化都无法改变一个残酷的现实，村里从记忆中的一百多口人到现在已经只有留守的大概二十几个人了。或老或小，成年人大多只有逢年过节回乡，或清明祭祖扫墓。原来的学校也早已一去不复返了。

最近在网上看到故乡一个邻近的村庄已经完全在地图上逝去四十多年了，我不时地想着有一天我的家乡也会人去村空，从这个世界上消失。心里是一种说不出的滋味。以前只感觉到一生的时光竟是如此的短暂，太多的不舍，但现在才知道就连家乡也是如此。等我们明白过来时，长辈们已经带着他们的记忆走远了，故乡也会面目全非。不知道哪一天，所有这一切都会荡然无存，融进历史的夜色。我们都是尘世间一粒小小的尘埃。我们都是过客，如烟的时光，谁都抓不住。在历史的长河里，我们在这个星球上的时间是短不可测的。就该携一颗从容淡泊的心，走过山重水复的流年，笑看风尘起落的人间。

古树未枯，炊烟渐冷。走过山山水水，走过流年岁月。与故乡的小土路渐行渐远，而故乡的气息将是追随我们一生不变的情怀。同时我也突然意识到，割舍不掉的乡愁并不全是关于家乡的土路，而更多的是一去不复返的儿时。

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