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Grandpa Jia Jia's Forest Villa

   Walking into the Russian jungle, I lived in a log cabin here. The natural and original nature, the chirping and singing birds, wrapped my whole body and mind in the longing green. I couldn't help but think of the writing letter "Golden Rose" written by Soviet writer Kon Baustovsky. The smell of humus soil and the smell of the jungle in my perception filled my whole body at this moment.

  This is a real pastoral.

  Grandpa Kajia, the forest villa built with 40 years of painstaking efforts, greeted us with a unique primitive style.

  In order to show the appearance of the former founder, this old man in his seventies climbed up to the wooden roof step by step along the long wooden ladder. The blue sky turned his flying hair and whiskers into clouds, connecting the sky and the wooden house.

  I was moved by the brave behavior of the old man, and by the scene that made my heart tremble...

  The rain fell in the jungle at noon.

  The not very dense raindrops hit the dense birch forest and the young leaves of aspen, scattered into the rhythm of a pipa, and we let it hit our faces and bodies as much as we want, so that the tiredness can be washed and dissipated in the primitive rainforest.

  In the reclaimed space opposite the wooden house, there were still the ashes of last night's barbecue and the oven full of smoke. A broad ax became a sharp weapon for us to go into the forest from time to time, cut down branches and light the campfire.

  In the rain, the white catkins flashed, and Grandpa Ka Jia appeared again. He hobbled towards us through the little fence. Hong Zhong's voice, with traces of singing that she is used to. He came to tell us the story of his life.

  The flashing camera highlights his long-hidden topics:

  he used to be a reporter for the Russian "Pravda" and wrote a large article;

  he was the editor of a certain Russian philosophy magazine, and he had a relationship with Chinese scholars a long time ago. Communication;

  he has been a singer, and the stage has left his singing years;

  he has waved a paintbrush, and his art works are everywhere in the cabin...

  He left all this for Grandma Kajia—

  this beautiful Russian ice and snow athlete in his early years had attracted countless envious eyes with his vigor and beauty on the sports field, but in the end he fixed his gaze on Grandpa Kajia.

  For the sake of this beautiful ice and snow athlete, Grandpa Ka Jia did not leave his singing career, his literary world, and the luxurious and noisy life he once had. In this primitive countryside, he started his life. 40 years of farming and Ning Xin...

  The old man narrated with an echoing voice, while reciting the poem he wrote for his granddaughter in a low voice, and tremblingly singing the unforgettable Russian ditty.

  He said that the friend who sang with him is now a famous Russian meritorious singer, and he is just the builder of this country house... His

  voice is full of happy resentment. The cloudy yellow eyes stretched out into the distance through the dense jungle, and the sound like a bell echoed. It doesn't take long to look from a distance, but it makes people feel that this short moment is like spanning a long century. After a long time, he went on to say: "I spent a very happy time in my life during the construction of this villa. When I had a granddaughter and continued the construction of the villa for my granddaughter, I once sighed: After the completion of the construction, I I'm going to die!"

  When the old man said the word "death", it was like a sound of heaven, the voice was like a loud bell, gentle and vivid, vast and deep. It makes me feel that it is an echo from the sky and from the jungle. My eyes were a little wet, I don't know if it was rain or tears...

  Grandpa's great-grandson Alyosa came running like an angel and interrupted the old man's memories. Small, unsteady steps, a small voice that only he could understand, flickered among the flowers. The cunning old cat avoided it reluctantly, as if it understood: only this little Alyoza he dare not mess with, he is an angel, an inviolable little emperor.

  This poetic villa was built in the jungle near Sergey Basa, a classical town on the outskirts of Moscow. This country full of jungles hides wooden houses, which are the best residences for poetic people to enjoy family relationships. The two-acre villa garden is planted with tulips, carnations, apple trees, cherry bushes, strawberries, potatoes and onions...

  The old man's blue-veined hands are telling the history of the construction of this pastoral. There is a comfortable wooden house, but I don't want to go in. The whole day, my body and mind are bathed in the humidity of the jungle. Let the breath of green grass, young leaves, and stamens permeate my body and mind. Let Grandpa Kajia’s sparse and messy white beard float in my eyes like clouds



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