The Famine of 1960: Bringing Space to Warm up the Famine Years

Yangui Village: Six years of ups and downs on the loess of northern Shanxi In a semi-arid mountainous area eighty miles away from Datong, the cave dwellings of Yangui Village are embedded in the loess slopes, like open eyes of the earth. When the grain shortage was at its worst in 1960, the grain storage cellars in the caves were at their lowest. Descendants walking to the west entrance clutched the last handful of oatmeal noodles and still gathered together to steam according to the old rules - the hot air carried the aroma of wheat and floated out of the caves, but it could not warm the hungry winter. In 1962, the spring breeze just blew over the top of the Green Mountain, and the boundary of the private land was quietly expanded. The villagers carried hoes to dig up the soil in the early morning, burying their hopes in the newly cultivated land; in 1964, the call to learn from Dazhai in agriculture resounded throughout the valley. The hoes dug through the hard mountain skin, and layers of terraces were spread along the mountain. Green seedlings sprouted even after beads of sweat hit the loess. But as soon as life looked promising, news came that the educated youth had returned to the city in 1965. Under the old locust tree at the entrance of the village, the educated youths bundled their luggage and walked to the west entrance. The mutual help passed down from the west entrance made them reluctant to part with the bags of oatmeal noodles stuffed by the villagers. Unexpectedly, in 1966, the criticism of feudal superstition swept into the village, and the shrines hidden in the corners of the cave dwellings by the old people were uncovered. There was also an indescribable tension in the colorful patterns. In the past six years, on the loess slopes of Yangui Village, there has been the suffering of hunger and the anxiety of changing policies, as well as the warmth of mutual assistance and the enthusiasm to build terraces. The fragrance of oatmeal hides the tenacity of survival, and the secrets of time are locked deep in the cave dwellings. The descendants of the West Exit, in the semi-arid mountains, lived their lives like a book mixed with the fragrance of wheat and loess.