Text: Daqingshan people

Picture: Source network

There is a scene that everyone who came from that era or lived in that environment People always have some associations, that is: the wisp of smoke under the sunset.

People living in modern cities cannot see or appreciate this kind of scene. Cooking smoke belongs to the countryside.

Under the setting sun, the afterglow of the setting sun dyed the fields into a golden color. In the increasingly dense twilight, wisps of smoke rose from the roofs of every household.

What is the smoke? It is home, a warm home, and the taste of sweet food. The smoke is also calling, calling people who have worked all day to go home, calling children who come home late to go home for dinner.

When I was young, I often went to far away fields to cut grass, and didn’t finish my work until the sun went down. Dragging my tired legs, walking and resting, I was already sweating through my clothes and hungry. Sometimes I really wanted to just lie there and rest motionless. Only when I saw the smoke rising in the distance would I I mustered up my energy again and headed home step by step. Where the smoke rises, there is a home with a warm fire. The mother has prepared meals and is waiting for her children. At that time, returning home and having a full meal was the biggest wish. Although materials were scarce at that time, almost every meal was made of whole grains, and there was not much meat and vegetables. But for a child who had worked hard for a day, He said that the food at home was always so delicious and he could never get enough.

Later I went to school in another place and experienced homesickness for the first time. When you are far away from home, especially when you are sick, you miss your hometown and your loved ones very strongly. So every time it’s a holiday, I feel particularly eager to go home. Carrying my luggage and walking on the path home, I saw the wisp of smoke from the roof of my house in the distance. I couldn't help but walk faster, wishing I could fly back home. I knew that at this time, my mother was standing outside the courtyard, looking out for a long time, anxiously waiting for her son to come back. At home, a pot full of meat pies that had been prepared was being heated in the pot. As soon as I entered the house, the first thing I did was eat. At that time, my appetite was really good. In the blink of an eye, eight or nine of the bowl-sized pies were eaten. My father and mother sat beside me and kept asking: Are you full? Eat some more! The pies made by my mother are really delicious, golden, soft, fragrant and delicious. Nowadays, I can never eat such delicious pies anymore. My mother is a master in making pies. Seeing me devouring my food in a hurry, my father smiled and said, "It really looks like that fast shooter!" At that time, there was a popular American TV series on TV, in which there was a fast shooter who ate as fast as he drew his gun.

At that time, the wisp of smoke under the setting sun was the warmth of home, the mother's concern, and the homesickness of the wanderer.

Later, the family members also left the village and moved to live elsewhere. The old house remained vacant, and I rarely returned to my hometown. The wisp of smoke from my hometown has become a fading memory.

Whenever the sun sets in the west, looking at the brilliant clouds on the horizon, I always feel that something is missing. Yes, it is the smoke. The sunset without the smoke will lack aura and connotation. Only in the countryside can there be cooking smoke and human fireworks, which are full of human warmth.

The wisp of smoke under the setting sun will always remind people of those difficult years, but more importantly it is the memory of childhood joy, mother's love, father's hard work, and the wanderer's attachment to his hometown.

The wisp of cooking smoke under the setting sun is a beautiful oil painting of the countryside, with criss-crossing streets, chickens and dogs smelling each other, the green mountains in the distance, the winding river beside the village, and the cooking smoke drifting in the twilight.

The distant village is warm and the smoke is lingering in the ruins. The pastoral life described by Tao Yuanming is a paradise described by literati. But the people who really live there don't have so much leisurely rural countryside life, working at sunrise and resting at sunset. What they have is just hard work and a simple and poor rural life. Only those who have had such a life experience can feel the hardships and difficulties of life, and can feel and cherish the deep family affection and nostalgia in the smoke from the kitchen.

Unfortunately, with the development of cities, demolition and reconstruction, villages, fields, and the simple folk customs, family affection, and nostalgia unique to that environment will soon drift away with the wisps of cooking smoke. Pass away and become an eternal memory.