八年了,我总是站在讲台上,为我的学生一遍又一遍地讲述这个故事。现在,我想将这个故事讲给更多的人听——每年的年关,我们一家三口都要冒着风寒回到远在百里之外的故乡过年,一为探慰年迈的双亲,二来也可逃离城市的喧嚣,尽情呼吸山野的明净空气。下车出县城,尚有十多里山路。半道上,疲惫不堪的我们想找个地方歇歇脚、讨口水。于是,我们踅进路边山脚下的一间正升起炊烟的茅屋。茅屋小得就象是守林人临时搭建的草棚,但拾掇得十分利落。屋前的晒坪亮光光的没有一根杂草。房门边上圈了一方小小的火坑,坑内煨着一只黑乎乎的瓦罐,一个头上缠着黑布巾的老人弯着腰,扑哧扑哧地向火坑中的 For eight years, I always stand on the podium, for my students to tell this story over and over again. Now, I would like to tell this story to more people - every year of the New Year, all three of us are going to take the cold back to the hometown as far afield as Barry, a gestation for elderly parents, and secondly You can also escape the hustle and bustle of the city and breathe the clear air of the mountains. Get off the county, there are still more than 10 Lixin Road. Halfway, exhausted we want to find a place to rest, to saliva. So, we hurried into a smoking cottage at the foot of the roadside hill. The hut is as small as a temporary shelter by a ranger, but the pick-up is very neat. There was not a single weed in the shining ground in front of the house. There was a little fire pit on the side of the door, a dark jar was simmering in the pit, and an old man with a black towel wrapped around his head bent over his waist and puffed into the fire pit