To My Hometown - Spiritual Writings by Renowned Authors

Author: Hong Hai / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: Lotus root and water chestnut are friends drinking wine. Chewing thin slices of snow lotus root, I suddenly miss my hometown. If I were in my hometown, every morning in early autumn, many villagers would pass by in front of my door: the men with purple-red arms and legs, muscles prominent, tall and straight, giving a sense of health; the women often wrapped in white-and-blue headscarves, barefoot but wearing short summer cloth skirts. Their physiques may not be as tall as the men’s, but they possess a different kind of graceful beauty. They each carry a pair of baskets filled with fresh, jade-colored, long-sectioned lotus root, from the lotus root hometown’s ponds or the winding small rivers outside the city. They wash the lotus root repeatedly, so it remains so white. It seems they believe this is a high-quality delicacy meant for human enjoyment, an important subject in morning paintings. If it were covered in mud, it would break the sense of harmony that people appreciate; it would be a sin they wouldn’t want to bear, so they wash it so white before bringing it into the city. When they want to rest, they place the bamboo, sit on it, and casually pick the tenderest or older lotus root from the basket to chew and quench their thirst. Passersby would stop, the little girls in red clothes choosing a section, the elderly in white hair buying two. Thus, the light and sweet flavor spreads to every household and every person. This scene is almost a daily routine until the leaves fall and autumn deepens. Here, lotus root is almost a rare delicacy. It is probably shipped from our hometown, but the quantity is small, most of it being snatched away by the attendants and tea room staff serving the wealthy and the rich; the rest is sold in larger fruit shops, placed between golden mountain apples and Luzon mangoes, reserved for those willing to pay high prices. Those selling it on the streets are not entirely absent, but their lotus root is either as thin as a beggar’s limbs or as astringent as unripe persimmons, making it hardly worth admiring. Therefore, except for one time, we haven’t eaten lotus root this year. That one time wasn’t bought; it was given to us by our neighbors. They didn’t buy it themselves but brought it from relatives in our hometown. The lotus root had been away from its homeland for some time, so it no longer had its jade-like color but was covered in many rust spots. When peeling it, the knife felt rough. When sliced, it had a slightly sweet taste but no freshness, and it seemed to leave a mouthful of, making me not want to eat the second piece. Only the child was happy. He chewed all the slices and, for half an hour, didn’t ask for any dates. Thinking of lotus root, I also recalled water chestnut. In our hometown, almost every day in spring, we ate water chestnut, which has no flavor, with its taste entirely dependent on a good broth. But such tender green color and rich poetry—the "taste of no taste" is truly intoxicating. Along every street, in the small rivers, there would always be one or two open boats, full of water chestnut, harvested from Taihu Lake. It was so convenient to get, naturally allowing us to enjoy a bowl daily. But here, it’s different; you can’t easily find it unless you go to a restaurant. Of course, we don’t go to restaurants. Occasionally, we attend friends’ banquets, but it’s not the season for water chestnut, so we haven’t eaten any this year. Until recently, when Boxiang’s relatives from Hangzhou came, they gave him several bottles of bottled West Lake water chestnut, and he gave me one. Only then did I finally taste it. I, who had never been particularly attached to my hometown, suddenly felt it was incredibly lovely. I myself couldn’t understand why such deep emotions arose. Upon further reflection, it was actually very simple: because there is something to love in my hometown, and what I love is only found there, it binds me and makes me unable to leave. For example, if my close family and dear friends are there, how can I not cherish and miss them? But is it just because of love for my hometown? No, it’s just that a few people in my hometown are holding me back. If there were nothing to hold onto, would there be anything to love? Like me now, occasionally pulled by lotus root and water chestnut, so I began to miss my hometown. Where I love, there is my hometown. P3-4