Stockaded Village of Ethnic Dong in Hunan

Cyan lights slowly pervades the stockaded village in the early morning, meanwhile wisps of smoke rises continuously from the village chimneys.


Misty rain have suffused all around. Grass flourishes and hills in distant are emerald.


An old lady walks on a winding path, near which is a large green field of rice.


Drizzles slip down the overhanging eaves of Lusheng buildings.


There’s an odour I’m familiar with in rainy countryside of southern China, which hides in emerald hills and bamboos, wooden loft, overhanging eaves and humid air.


The odour, sweet and sour like green plum, is filled with vernal vitality.


The stockaded village is bustling with excitement now, young men and women enjoy singing at the end of a stream.


It seems all the Dong people are good at singing and dancing. They arrange singing at the drum tower from time to time. Melodious sound of singing echos around valleys once Dongpipa(an kind of musical instruments) is played.


In dance of ethnic Dong, there’s no highly difficult physical gestures, but a kind of gentle express to daily work and divine nature.


People start playing lusheng (a kind of musical instrument), and set the table for drinking.


Fragrant oil tea is a must for ethnic Dong to show their hospitality to guests. Cool steamed stinky rice in the sun, then fry them in oil to make rice flower for oil tea. As for water for the tea is made from that stir tea with oil, then add water to boil the fried tea.


Wine is also necessary for ethnic Dong to show welcome to their guests. Like a song sang: come, come, there’s still three glasses of wine after this one. Dong people really like toast their guests. So you’d better prepare for that once visiting there.


When running into making ciba(a sort of glutinous rice cake), I seems return back like a kid again waiting for the special scrumptious food.


The aged are talking and laughing, enjoying their leisure retirement lives.


Sky is bright again, outline of hills before my eye is clearer, I see all the green, dated wooden lofts and clouds floating casually over ridges.


The stockaded village seems restore back to be quiet again. In stone steps which are filled with mosses, an old woodman is coming home carrying firewoods.


In the sunset, clouds are floating over ridges.



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