This is a book about grandfathers and granddaughters, a book about farewell, and a book about unspoken love.
Lin Xiaohe, 32 years old, editor, has lived in the city for eighteen years. Grandpa Lin Yougen, eighty-one years old, is a farmer and has guarded the old yard in the south all his life. After a phone call, she rushed back overnight and stood in front of the courtyard door that she had visited countless times in her childhood. Her grandfather was no longer there.
She began to sort out her belongings. In the old cardboard box, she found a stack of pencil drawings she had drawn since she was seven years old, with "Grandpa and Me" crookedly written on them; in the cloth bag at the bottom of the box, she found thirty-seven letters she had sent back from the age of eight to sixteen, many of them; in a rusty iron box , she found the only photo of her grandpa and grandma, with grandpa's words on the back - years are not lost, and we grow old together; on the wedge in the main room, she found the black bamboo pole that had been hung for decades. It was shiny, with an arc pressed in the middle, and its elasticity was still there.
She knew that pole.
During the autumn harvest when she was seven years old, her grandfather finished picking rice for the first time. The empty baskets were hanging on both ends of the pole, and she and her brother quietly climbed in. Grandpa came out, glanced sideways, said nothing, put the pole on his shoulders, walked onto the yellow dirt road, and then raised his voice: We sell piglets for ten yuan a pound. It was the brightest evening in her memory, with golden rice fields, bumpy baskets, wind blowing on her face, and the world firmly supporting her on her grandfather's shoulders.
Purpose: This book is about "silent love" and "late understanding". What it wants to say is: There is a kind of love that never opens its mouth, but it is full. There is an understanding that comes too late, but it comes eventually.
