Rural Essays: The Sour Pear Tree in My Yard
Text: Qin Huai River
Image: From the Internet
In front of my old dormitory, there is a cliff with a pear tree. Because its fruit is small and sour, let's call it sour pear.
Since the beginning of my memory, it has always been like this, as if it hadn't grown taller or thicker, always the same. However, in recent years, the branches on the tree's head no longer sprout, they have withered and dried up, like an old man, standing alone by the cliff, enduring wind and rain, and experiencing the changes in the world. As for whether it grew naturally or was planted by my ancestor when our family split from the old dormitory around 1930, it's now impossible to know. I've also wondered about our family's cliff-side land, which is high and steep, and being able to grow for a century by the dry cliff edge is not easy. In my hometown of Wanjiashan, there were many sour pear trees, and I've tasted a lot of them, most of them were sour or astringent. However, this tree of mine seems different, its fruit is a rich yellow, the size of a thumb, but its taste is definitely different. It's sour with a hint of sweetness, and sweetness with a hint of sourness. Around the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, when the Zhangjiacun gathering time, the pears were almost ripe, and at that time, picking one up and putting it in your mouth, you wouldn't even spit out the pear – the taste was truly extraordinary.
The ripe pears would fall to the ground, and you wouldn't need to climb the tree to pick them. In my memory, our village's Yin Yang Old Man was dying in bed, with a chanting, and my grandfather's fourth generation brought me, a bag of sour pears to visit him. He was lying on his bed, eating one pear after another, so sweet and fragrant. Even now, when I think about it, it feels like it just happened yesterday.
The children eating sour pears grew old. When I stand by the sour pear tree, my thoughts wander, and I feel a deep sense of awe. Sour pear tree, you've aged, you've weathered a century of wind and rain, you're a hundred-year historical epic, and it's our family's history.
No matter when and where I think of my hometown, I always think of you, my sour pear tree in front of my family's dormitory.
Welcome original work submissions, submission email [email protected], this number accepts rural sentiments, nostalgia, and memories. Please include the manuscript and author name, as well as a personal original declaration, accompanied by images if possible.
