I grew up on Chinese soil, in a quiet village in southwestern Shandong. From childhood, I lived with my grandparents and felt a deep affection for the land beneath my feet. As sociologist Fei Xiaotong wrote in From the Soil: The Foundations of Chinese Society, our love of the earth flows in our blood – a shared memory, the spiritual root of countless Chinese. This bond is not just my story, but a collective poem in which each of us has our own verse.
For me, the land is the deepest poem of my childhood. In the dawn light, my grandparents stooped to the soil like poets writing on beloved parchment. Among neighbors, we found common ground — literally the earth beneath our feet and figuratively the trust between us. We sowed seeds and later celebrated a bountiful harvest. Not a misplaced sapling or crooked furrow passed unnoticed; each mattered. To us, the land was not just dirt – it was the root of our existence.
My own courtyard was my childhood kingdom. A broad old tree sheltered chickens and turned the yard into a playground. I would knead damp clay with my hands, shaping it with the raw creativity of nature. With red bricks I built a tiny stove; an old iron pot, dried corn husks, and a split gourd shell served as utensils for my imaginary feast. As water began to simmer and white steam curled skyward, I dropped in the clay “dishes” I had made. In that moment, I felt as if the whole world had joined my banquet. Though alone, I never felt lonely. I sculpted shapes from the earth and unwittingly molded my soul, learning to read the veins of a leaf, the voice of the wind, and the busy ant’s journey. It was the first lesson of life.
I love that land as deeply as I love my simple, splendid home. Every ridge, every wisp of kitchen smoke, every weathered face carved by time is a source of pride and warmth. Yet at seven I left too soon, shouldering my schoolbag and venturing into the towering city beyond. China is vast, with both the bustling progress of its cities and the quiet soul of its countryside.
I took with me all that the village had given: reverence for nature, respect for honest labor, and trust in the simple bonds between people. Though the city hums at a breathtaking pace, its soul still echoes the ancient song of the fields. No matter how far I roam, I remain forever that child of the yellow earth, carrying its song in my heart and ever rooted in its fertile soil.（崔静）
