In the summer of 1980s, every household in rural areas smoked smoke, and the fields were full of busy adults, shoveling grass, harvesting rice, transplanting rice, plowing fields, planting sweet potatoes, chopping wood, grazing cattle and cutting pig grass, and there were simple and hardworking farmers everywhere. At that time, the countryside was really full of idle people, and even the most remote mountain roads were taken away by people without weeds. However, for us rural children, the daytime is too hot. We prefer summer nights and warm and quiet farmhouses.

The countryside is very lively in summer. People are busy in the fields during the day and come home late. They will go home until they can't see the road clearly, so it is common to eat after 8 o'clock. After dinner at my house, everyone hurried to enjoy the cool. Grandpa took a small bamboo chair and sat in the yard smoking a cigarette. My father has three brothers and I have nine cousins. They live in the same Hakka house. Because our children at that time were superstitious and timid, especially afraid of the dark. At night, we children dare to play in the yard when we see grandpa sitting in the yard.

Adults shook their cattail leaf fans to enjoy the cool air, chatting about parents in the east and parents in the west, and our children were running and playing games in the small yard. The mountains in the distance are dark, the frogs croak nearby, the cool breeze blows gently, the pines burst, the trees sway, and the mountain village becomes more mysterious and awe-inspiring. I also listen to adults telling stories in the yard, but most of them are strange stories that make our children dumbfounded, that is, excited and scared. Looking back now, although these stories are superstitious, they also make us have awe of nature since childhood.

In this small farmhouse, I prefer to look up at the mysterious moon, twinkling stars, white clouds like the Milky Way, glowing red planes, meteors and passing "ghost fires". For us children who have never left the village, looking up at night gives us yearning and thinking about the outside world.

"In the moonlight, Scholar Lang, take the dog to Nanchang, Nanchang to eat the first grain, and then ask her mother-in-law ..." This is the most familiar nursery rhyme when I was a child. When I was a child, Nanchang was also the farthest place I knew. In this small farmhouse, adults can put aside a hard day's work and teach our children nursery rhymes, riddles, stories and the truth of being a man.

In the 1990s, my cousins also grew up. Finally, they slowly walked out of this quiet small mountain village, out of this small farmhouse and into the outside world. The yard is no longer as lively as it used to be. Only grandpa still sits in the yard every day, taking out cigarettes and smoking silently. In the misty smoke, maybe grandpa is thinking that they should still come back!

A few years ago, in the new rural reconstruction, the old Hakka houses bearing countless memories fell down in the rumble of excavators and built beautiful new houses again. But the former yard is gone, people are gone, and the yard of the new house is no longer lively. Nowadays, in rural houses, everyone only comes back for a few days occasionally during the Chinese New Year holiday, which is no longer the concept of home. It is more like a post station, a place where tired people can rest but can't live permanently.

The former farmhouse will eventually become a memory, a memory that our generation wants to forget but can't forget, so that every summer, I will think of the scene of that small yard and the scene of my grandfather sitting on a bamboo chair smoking.