When I returned home, I also had a birthday wine and served traditional dishes, such as crispy meat, braised elbow, braised bamboo shoots with black chicken and braised white. Now the weight is large, in the early days, the white meat will not be put in piles, then is a big bowl and then buckle a small bowl, according to the number of a table of meat slices spread on the small bowl, looks like a pile of sharp, give a person a very rich illusion. These dishes may not be loved by many people, but they are always kept in the banquet. There is osmanthus wine before the opening, each table ladle a bowl, the color of the yellow Sangsang like autumn leaves. There are also white cake, which is later called, in the beginning, everyone called "duck cake", the old people still call it so. When I was a child, I did not like to eat white cake, and occasionally after growing up to eat a little, waxy waxy, it seems that I have a nostalgic feeling, as if I was a child in the basket of adults, small people, looking at the market things, everything is very like, reach out to catch. The custom of eating birthday wine is to leave guests for dinner after noon, and in the afternoon, men and women mostly play cards and drink tea to amuse themselves. Dinner is simple, most of them are home-cooked dishes, bean flowers must have, in addition to salted rattan rattan vegetables

, sour cowpeas fried raw cowpeas, celery shredded meat, cold bean sprouts, and sometimes also cooked glutinous rice balls, very strong wine, can drive away the cold in winter. The people sitting at the table are usually old people who have nothing new to talk about. They only talk about how they were twenty years ago. They are not too old, but they look like their days are numbered. Later, he and his father went on a mountain tour, walking nearly forty miles of mountain road. The mountain color changed from dark to bright, and clouds scattered. It was the road my father walked when he was young. The stalagmites and old trees he had mentioned to me before were still there, but there were a lot more grass. When my mouth is dry, I break the tea under the rock to quench my thirst. When I am tired, I rest in the mountain temple. There were a lot of sticks supported between the mountain walls, which people in the village called "supporting the waist bar", which meant to encourage people who were tired of walking, or to teach people to be a decent man. My father also picked up a stick and put it under the stone wall. I saw gods overhead and bright paint on their bodies. Under the mountain has been harvesting rice, and the rice in the mountains is still green, down the hill, the rice looked at the yellow. Roadside pumpkins, loofah are ripe, obviously the owner can not eat, too late to pick, can only stay in the field. The mountains are covered with purple wattle, and butterflies are everywhere. Also planted persimmon trees, persimmon is very green, many hit the ground. Passing by a pond, the pond has hibiscus flowers, long and slender, but the flowers still look a little weak, like folded paper. At the foot of the hill, there is a family by the pond, with a green tile earthen wall. In the dam, there are corn and red peppers in the sun. The hoe and coir raincoat hang on the door, which are arranged neatly. Food, clothing and books, is a serious career in life, to be so clean. In the mountains, there are many tall tung trees with astringent fruits, which can be used as tung oil after maturity and can be used as maiba leaves [illustration]. Lotus-buds were still in bud and exchanged a few words with the old man who was picking food.

He wanted to pick food to sell in the town down the hill. There was a mountain temple near where I met the old man. There was a big banyan tree at the entrance of the temple. It had been a long walk by then, and my father and I were tired, and we came to rest with fresh thoughts. Father sat under the tree with his hand fanned the wind, feeling a few words, said that the scenery is better than home. I bowed my head three times in front of the Bodhisattva and placed the wattle flowers I picked on the road on the offering table. Looking back at the scenery below, I could already see the ancient town. Now writing these, as if they were standing on the hillside of the mood.

When I returned home, I also had a birthday wine and served traditional dishes, such as crispy meat, braised elbow, braised bamboo shoots with black chicken and braised white. Now the weight is large, in the early days, the white meat will not be put in piles, then is a big bowl and then buckle a small bowl, according to the number of a table of meat slices spread on the small bowl, looks like a pile of sharp, give a person a very rich illusion. These dishes may not be loved by many people, but they are always kept in the banquet. There is osmanthus wine before the opening, each table ladle a bowl, the color of the yellow Sangsang like autumn leaves. There are also white cake, which is later called, in the beginning, everyone called "duck cake", the old people still call it so. When I was a child, I did not like to eat white cake, and occasionally after growing up to eat a little, waxy waxy, it seems that I have a nostalgic feeling, as if I was a child in the basket of adults, small people, looking at the market things, everything is very like, reach out to catch. The custom of eating birthday wine is to leave guests for dinner after noon, and in the afternoon, men and women mostly play cards and drink tea to amuse themselves. Dinner is simple, most of them are home-cooked dishes, bean flowers must have, in addition to salted rattan rattan vegetables

, sour cowpeas fried raw cowpeas, celery shredded meat, cold bean sprouts, and sometimes also cooked glutinous rice balls, very strong wine, can drive away the cold in winter. The people sitting at the table are usually old people who have nothing new to talk about. They only talk about how they were twenty years ago. They are not too old, but they look like their days are numbered. Later, he and his father went on a mountain tour, walking nearly forty miles of mountain road. The mountain color changed from dark to bright, and clouds scattered. It was the road my father walked when he was young. The stalagmites and old trees he had mentioned to me before were still there, but there were a lot more grass. When my mouth is dry, I break the tea under the rock to quench my thirst. When I am tired, I rest in the mountain temple. There were a lot of sticks supported between the mountain walls, which people in the village called "supporting the waist bar", which meant to encourage people who were tired of walking, or to teach people to be a decent man. My father also picked up a stick and put it under the stone wall. I saw gods overhead and bright paint on their bodies. Under the mountain has been harvesting rice, and the rice in the mountains is still green, down the hill, the rice looked at the yellow. Roadside pumpkins, loofah are ripe, obviously the owner can not eat, too late to pick, can only stay in the field. The mountains are covered with purple wattle, and butterflies are everywhere. Also planted persimmon trees, persimmon is very green, many hit the ground. Passing by a pond, the pond has hibiscus flowers, long and slender, but the flowers still look a little weak, like folded paper. At the foot of the hill, there is a family by the pond, with a green tile earthen wall. In the dam, there are corn and red peppers in the sun. The hoe and coir raincoat hang on the door, which are arranged neatly. Food, clothing and books, is a serious career in life, to be so clean. In the mountains, there are many tall tung trees with astringent fruits, which can be used as tung oil after maturity and can be used as maiba leaves [illustration]. Lotus-buds were still in bud and exchanged a few words with the old man who was picking food.

He wanted to pick food to sell in the town down the hill. There was a mountain temple near where I met the old man. There was a big banyan tree at the entrance of the temple. It had been a long walk by then, and my father and I were tired, and we came to rest with fresh thoughts. Father sat under the tree with his hand fanned the wind, feeling a few words, said that the scenery is better than home. I bowed my head three times in front of the Bodhisattva and placed the wattle flowers I picked on the road on the offering table. Looking back at the scenery below, I could already see the ancient town. Now writing these, as if they were standing on the hillside of the mood.