By chance, Comrade Qiao Keqin, the editor-in-chief in charge of editing Fengshan Literature, knew that I also like reading, so he sent me an article published in various journals of Fengshan Literature. At this point, I became a loyal reader of Fengshan literature. Although it is only a county-level paper publication with "internal information and free communication", the content of the article is very grounded, and reading the local publications makes me feel very intimate. From Fengshan literature, I know that there are many outstanding revolutionary martyrs and predecessors in the small county where I grew up and lived, such as Jiang, Huang, Liao and Liao Xiying. , as well as current affairs, humanities and economic development. From the author of the article, I have a deeper understanding of the people around me. A group of outstanding people, such as Yang Xiang, (Wei), Ya, Xie, Wu Jinju, Luo, Lu Zongdao, Huang Huajin, Zou ... including public officials, teachers, freelancers and farmers. They have done their work brilliantly.
I give words the power to stay on the surface forever. Occasionally, in my own small space, I outline a different world in my heart with rough words, but I can't do it, let alone say the cabinet.
One day, a WeChat reminded me that I had been pulled into a new group, so I clicked in and looked up at the group name: Fengshan Literature Exchange Group. There are nearly 90 people in the group. I have browsed the WeChat names of all the people in the group, and there are many familiar real names and WeChat net names. Especially when I saw the name of Mr. Luo (the former principal and special teacher of Bama Normal School for Nationalities), I was so angry that I didn't dare to gasp for fear of disturbing the literati in the group. Zou in the group greeted me at the first time: Welcome Teacher Luo to join us. What a pity! How can I afford such a name in such a group? I didn't even dare to reply politely and pretended not to see it. I talked privately with my friends who pulled me into the group and said that I was afraid to speak and had no confidence in this group. The other party quickly replied to me and encouraged me to "speak out". Just two words, simple and powerful. To tell the truth, in front of such a group of people who are good at using words and coding, my inner love for words is as empty as rootless.
Words have always awed me, so I can't underestimate its ideological power.
Half a month after joining the group, the editor-in-chief Joe launched a notice about the activities of literary lovers in the group. I really wanted to participate, but I was afraid to sign up in the group at that time. Editor Joe took the initiative to talk to me privately and sincerely invited me to go with him, saying that literary lovers also include writers and readers. In this way, I was flattered to start a two-day literature collection activity with Fengshan literature people.
Because it is the first time to participate in such activities, there is nothing to say, mainly because I don't know what to talk about, which gives me more time to observe and learn from people in the same industry.
The first stop of collecting wind is Shepo Ancient Village, Mouai Village, Pingle Yao Township, Fengshan County. This ancient village is not ancient. It was built in the 1930s and took shape in the early 1980s. The ancient village is built on the mountain, with rows of wooden houses, totaling 65 households. In the early morning of winter weekend, a group of nearly 20 people got on the rented bus and set off from the county seat. When we first got on the bus, editor Joe said loudly in the car that there was a teacher Lu from Jiangzhou waiting for us to go to Shepo Guzhai at the intersection of Poxin. Everyone should pay attention in the future. He came to the county to attend the poetry association meeting, and I stopped him by phone. At this time, at the intersection of Poxin Village, a secondary cement highway, a short and strong teacher Lu, who is nearly seventy years old, came over. He dressed appropriately and knew at a glance that he was going to attend a grand and serious activity.
The car drove to the foot of the mountain of Shepo Guzhai, which was a muddy dirt road at the village level. Along the way, there were several dangerous sections washed by rain, and it took nearly 40 minutes to get to the entrance of Shepo Guzhai village halfway up the mountain. The car stopped under a big tree and finally arrived at the legendary Shepo Ancient Village. I quickly got off the bus and looked at the jujube trees standing at the entrance of the village. The wind at the end of winter blew away all the leaves, leaving only bare branches, each firmly pointing to the heights above the village entrance. This old tree has been standing silently at the entrance of the village, waiting for tourists, but I don't know that the wanderer has been gone for a long time and the old flowers will bloom next spring.
We girls, with traces of time, slowly walked into the stockade on the small stone road. The whole stockade is a black tile wooden house. I leaned against the cobblestone wall and took a photo. I touched the stone wall with my hand and didn't feel cold. Those moments without written records touched my skin, reached my heart and blood, made me homesick, and another village emerged in my mind. Take a good picture and move on. Old wooden houses were gradually printed out one by one. The doors of empty houses are locked, unlocked, open and closed. Although I couldn't see the people and things behind the front room of the house, at that time, some people were clearly interpreting and changing in front of my eyes, as if they were salvaging the old days that had not passed away.
A branch with a red persimmon hanging near the top of the mountain seems to protrude from the beam of a family, which makes us curiously step up to the persimmon tree of that family. It turned out that the house was a little tilted because it was uninhabited for a long time, just leaning against the lush but lonely persimmon tree in front, like a forgotten sentry. There are rusty years on the stone mill and mortar under the eaves, and the whole courtyard has the coldness of "the rusty lock of the residual door can't be opened for a long time, and the gray brick path is covered with moss". Looking at this scene in front of me is also a kind of possession and a kind of loss. I always feel that something is missing.
In the village, one of the few well-preserved old houses left an old couple who were nearly seventy years old. Doors, naves, incense burners, pigsty doors and henhouses are all affixed with couplets written by their owners. The firewood in the fireplace is burning brightly, and the iron tripod is sitting on the iron tripod to make lunch. The hospitable old couple invited us to their home for lunch. At the dinner table, while eating farm food and tasting the black thorn plum wine brewed by Zou, a farmer entrepreneur, I realized that five of my classmates were elderly people over 75 years old and three of my peers were teachers. Teacher Lu Zongdao is the oldest, 76 years old. However, in their manners, I didn't feel the "old" of their age at all. They talked and laughed from time to time, and frequently raised their glasses with their post-1995 colleague Wang to talk about their love for literature. At this time, this old wooden house also made me feel the "ancient style" of its years, but it was warm and harmonious. The "cold" I felt before may be the lack of the smoke from the roof and the bursts of laughter from the black tiles.
When I returned to the village head, I stared at the dusty path leading to the outside of the village. Perhaps it makes the wanderers in the village go further and further, so that they forget the way home and make the village rusty.
From the winter of the same year to a Sunday a few days ago, Teacher Lu Zongdao warmly invited this group of literary collectors to kill the first pig in his hometown Jiangzhou. On the four-story reinforced concrete roof of his house, we listened to Mr. Lu's detailed introduction, witnessed the Hutou Mountain attached to Jiangzhou's water, soil and people, and learned the origin of Jiangzhou's natural fairy bridge full of magical colors. While drinking pig blood circulation, eating pig soaked meat and drinking corn feast, we enjoyed Teacher Lu's poem "Laughing at My Brother for a Thousand Years" praising Yinyang Mountain in Jiangzhou. In fact, Mr. Lu Zongdao is not a formal teacher. He is an out-and-out rural farmer and has been farming all his life. He was a high school student in the 1950s, when he was a scholar. But because the environment was endangered at that time, he worked as a substitute teacher in the primary school in the village. He has always been obsessed with literature, which makes him full of optimism.
With this group of people who have positive energy hobbies and forge ahead, I feel the charm of words even more. Although Mr. Lu is short, plain and even a little ugly, and he has been implicated in cultural hardships before, he has a lover who is still handsome and never gives up, keeps his home clean, feeds his four-year-old pig, and waits for his children and grandchildren to go home for the New Year, and she is as clean as a retired veteran cadre herself; /kloc-Wang after 0/995, her lover gave up the car dealership business to support her literary hobby and accompanied her wholeheartedly to follow us to every collection point; Xiaohua, the lover of Yang Xiang, vice chairman and secretary general of the County Writers Association, was personally busy running around the founding meeting of our association. According to Yang, whenever she wants to write an article quietly, her lover does all the housework as much as possible, picks up the children from school in the morning and evening, and helps with her homework. Her lover's actions make her feel that her out-of-touch literary hobby is so important and sacred.
From joining the league to collecting wind activities, I was gradually infected by this group of people's love for words, which spurred me and made me full of motivation. On weekdays, the casual conversations in the group, such as "poetry is flat and elegant, prose is scattered but not scattered", make me love reading more. Nowadays, reading has become a brand-new learning process, instead of always emphasizing entertainment as before, there is a sense of shame of not reading and not making progress, which aroused my interest in pure reading and let me continue to grow.
Slowly, I learned to write some short articles and try to contribute to literature from the media. After being published four times, I got up the courage to contribute to Fengshan literature, which was actually adopted. Finally, I had my first article in the paper version of Fengshan Literature, which made me excited for several days. Editor Joe immediately sent ten copies of Fengshan Literature printed with my article to the guard room of my unit and told me by WeChat. I quickly put down my work and went to the gatehouse where books were kept in another office area. But the doorman told me that he had sent all the books to the director's office. Well, I'm getting off work, so I think I'll pick it up tomorrow.
I went to work early the next morning to get books, and the director's office door was closed. The doorman saw that I ran twice empty-handed and said to me a little shyly, "I have another one here." When I saw it, it was about our Fengshan, so I took it and wanted to read it slowly. Why don't you take it first? " After listening, I looked at him in surprise and answered him eagerly: "I'm in no hurry." Keep this, and I'll get it when the director comes back. " Later, I added cheerfully: "There is an article I wrote in the book, on a certain page." "Well, I haven't seen the back yet, so I have to take a closer look." The doorman gave me an admiring look and smiled back at me.
The fact that the doorman received the book really surprised me, that is, the moment of surprise, which made me understand that my relationship with Fengshan literature has long been deeply rooted.