Childhood Spring
Time for most of us is like a gently flowing stream, rarely with big waves, only occasionally disturbed by mischievous children throwing in a pebble, causing ripples.
I almost can't remember what my hometown's spring was like…
2008, I believe was a memorable year for many Chinese people. That year, words like snow disasters, earthquakes, and the Olympics were intertwined, with suffering and glory coexisting. For me personally, it was also a very important year. After a hot summer, I carried with me an acceptance letter, and after a 34-hour red-eye train journey from a rustic Shandong province village, I arrived in a city known for its leisure and tranquility. This marked the beginning of my student life and a new stage in my life. It was also from this time that my hometown became a place I could only reach by traveling over 2,000 kilometers, and my childhood spring would always linger in my mind.
I've been thinking about it carefully, I've already had twelve years, and I haven't returned to my hometown in spring.
The spring in my memory is when the poplar trees began to produce deep red 'moth larvae'. They hung on the branches, swaying in the spring breeze like graceful dancers, twisting their bodies. Mischievous boys would collect these 'moth larvae' in schoolyards and insert them into their nostrils to scare shy girls.
The spring of memory is when you climb the willow trees to pick the tender green branches. These branches are only valuable in early spring, and they become willow flutes. Choosing the right willow branches is a skill, experienced friends will choose those with smooth surfaces and moderate thickness to separate the 'bone' and 'skin', and a whistle that can mimic the sounds of cows and frogs was created.
The spring in memory starts with a series of delicious 'snacks' from nature. First, there are elm money growing on tree branches, one by one like green candied fruits, attracting countless children to climb trees and eat a feast before coming down. There are also white locust flowers, locust trees are tall, to taste the honey-like locust flowers, you also need to ask adults to make a hook-shaped rod, tilt your head, one by one, hook down the locust flowers like grapes, and then enjoy the deliciousness.
There are too many beautiful memories in the spring of memory, mother made watercress dumplings, bees working on roadside wildflowers, fish swimming in the river…
All of this is like an old record that has been playing for a long time. When the song starts, in this concrete city, it brings me deep comfort.
