According to the report, this garden belonged to some parents of Chinese students in Yale. This particular old couple came to Yale to take care of their children and grandchildren, but it meant that they had to leave their hometown, relatives and friends. And they couldn't speak English so that it's impossible for them to integrate into the local community. They also missed the Chinese food, which had enriched them for decades. Therefore, they planted some vegetables in this small garden provided by Yale.
Although it was my first time to visit their garden, I felt very familiar with it. Curiosity drove me to approach the fence. Leaning on the rough posts, I peaked my head over to observe this garden. There were various kinds of vegetables in this small garden. Many of them were carried from China when they were still seeds. And obviously, they grew pretty well in these strange fields. The jade green leaves of kidney beans enjoyed the mild sunlight, laying on the bamboo shelves leisurely. The yellow flower buds of luffah gave out a light fragrance, decorating this green world. The vines of watermelon twined together, showing me how intimate they were. In fact, I almost smelled the special scent of the Chinese countryside spreading in the air. These surprising plants built a world for themselves on another continent.
Absorbed in the flourish of vegetables, I suddenly caught the sight of an old man. He was bending down to pick beans, covered by the lush leaves. The beans were moving in rhythm, which made it outstanding in this quiet garden. At this moment he turned around and saw me. His wrinkled face wore a smile immediately. He stopped his work and came towards me. Amazingly, a young man and an old man from the same country met in this foreign land. Soon the silence was broken and we began to talk like old friends.
I knew a lot about him quickly. To live with his son who worked in Yale, he came here at the age of 80, with his wife. But English became the natural barrier of their blending into this country. They could only care for grandchild and chat with their neighbors, who were also old couples from China. Thanks to Yale, they could plant vegetables on the campus and it was what old farmers need to do. He looked healthy but lonely. His right hand never stopped touching the rough fence as if he was touching his favorite grandson. His thin white hair moved slightly when gentle breeze blew. When talking about the China, his eyes glinted at once and I could almost see a colorful world through them. I believed he was lost in his memories about the motherland then. His homesickness accounted for a large part of his mind. However he couldn't give up his family so he had to live in this foreign land. It was his choice, although he was full of regret.
After he returned to work, I still stood there, thinking about his story. He lived in the country that thousands of people dreamed of, but his soul was hovering in the air all the time. His soul had been rooted in the fields of his hometown since he was born. Chinese people would always choose their hometown as the last stop of life even though it might be unlikely for them to achieve it. There was no doubt this old man felt regretful about it. But life always forces people to make choices.
I have no rights to comment on other people's choices because it's really tough to make a balance. Many people might admire this old man's life but few could understand his dilemma. In the afterglow of sunset, his figure seemed to be integrating into the garden gradually, which was like the fields in his hometown. I know I have seen similar scenes in China before.
Absorbed in the flourish of vegetables, I suddenly caught the sight of an old man. He was bending down to pick beans, covered by the lush leaves. The beans were moving in rhythm, which made it outstanding in this quiet garden. At this moment he turned around and saw me. His wrinkled face wore a smile immediately. He stopped his work and came towards me. Amazingly, a young man and an old man from the same country met in this foreign land. Soon the silence was broken and we began to talk like old friends.
I knew a lot about him quickly. To live with his son who worked in Yale, he came here at the age of 80, with his wife. But English became the natural barrier of their blending into this country. They could only care for grandchild and chat with their neighbors, who were also old couples from China. Thanks to Yale, they could plant vegetables on the campus and it was what old farmers need to do. He looked healthy but lonely. His right hand never stopped touching the rough fence as if he was touching his favorite grandson. His thin white hair moved slightly when gentle breeze blew. When talking about the China, his eyes glinted at once and I could almost see a colorful world through them. I believed he was lost in his memories about the motherland then. His homesickness accounted for a large part of his mind. However he couldn't give up his family so he had to live in this foreign land. It was his choice, although he was full of regret.
After he returned to work, I still stood there, thinking about his story. He lived in the country that thousands of people dreamed of, but his soul was hovering in the air all the time. His soul had been rooted in the fields of his hometown since he was born. Chinese people would always choose their hometown as the last stop of life even though it might be unlikely for them to achieve it. There was no doubt this old man felt regretful about it. But life always forces people to make choices.
I have no rights to comment on other people's choices because it's really tough to make a balance. Many people might admire this old man's life but few could understand his dilemma. In the afterglow of sunset, his figure seemed to be integrating into the garden gradually, which was like the fields in his hometown. I know I have seen similar scenes in China before.
