As a child born in the wake of China’s famine years, I grew up in the shadow of hunger and hardship. Yet, amidst these challenging times, there was a beacon of hope and love in my life – my grandmother. Her story, interwoven with the fabric of our family’s history, is a testament to resilience, sacrifice, and the enduring strength of a woman’s love.
A Childhood Marked by Scarcity
I was born in 1962, just after the ‘three years of great natural disaster’ had ravaged China. Hunger was a constant companion in those early years, and my grandmother was often the person I turned to for comfort.
The memory of her hanging basket, a simple storage method for food, remains etched in my mind as a symbol of those times.
The Hanging Basket of Hope
“Grandma, let me see the basket!” I would plead, a young child’s curiosity and hunger driving me. But often, her response was a gentle, “Nothing in the basket, little grandson.”
I was the youngest of her three grandsons, known affectionately as Lao San, with my elder brothers being Lao Er and Lao Da.
“Lao Er” literally means “old number two” which refers to my elder brother and “Lao San”, literally “old number three”, and it’s me. And “Lao Da” means “old big”, referring to my eldest brother.
The Journey to Lao Jia
Laojia in Chinese literally means “old home”, here in particular the countryside village where my father was born, and our ancestors had settled.
My parents couldn’t afford to feed their three children during these difficult years, all of us the boys resembling three tigers with our stomachs like bottomless pits, always wiping out their monthly food ration coupons well in advance. My parents often had to ask for or borrowed various monthly coupons from friends, relatives or colleagues.
As my parents struggled to feed us in the city, my grandmother devised a plan. She decided to take my brother and me to our ancestral village, our Lao Jia in Zhou Village, Shuyang in Jiangsu Province. The village is located in Subei area north of Yangtze River. Historically the Subei Area (namely the area north of Yangtze River in Jiangsu Province) is regarded as poor and backward.
Life in Zhou Village
The living conditions in Zhou Village were harsher than in Jiaxing City in Zhejiang Province, our urban home. Yet, in this rustic setting, we found sustenance. Sweet potatoes, in all their versatility, became our mainstay. My favorite was the dried potato slices, a simple yet comforting treat.
Feng Gan: The Art of Drying Potatoes
In Zhou Village, the traditional way of drying potatoes – Feng Gan – was a skill passed down through generations. Sliced potatoes were placed in baskets and hung up to dry in the natural wind. This method, my grandmother explained, made the potatoes sweeter and more flavorful.
The Reality of Hardship
But these were not times of abundance. The baskets hanging high in our Lao Jia often contained little. My grandmother, ever the optimist, would tell me, “Wait until tomorrow.” It was a promise of hope, a way of making the present bearable by looking forward to a better future.
The Wisdom of My Grandmother
As I grew older, I came to understand the depth of my grandmother’s wisdom. Her ‘white lies’ about the hanging baskets were her way of managing our meager food supply, ensuring we had enough to survive. It was a balancing act of love and practicality.
A Life of Sacrifice
My grandmother’s life was a narrative of selfless sacrifice. She had endured her own hardships, even consuming a type of dirt known as the Goddess mud during her childhood to stave off hunger. This act of desperation, a bid for survival, eventually took a toll on her health.
The Legacy of Stomach Cancer
Tragically, my grandmother passed away at the age of 76 from stomach cancer. Her doctor attributed her condition to the Goddess mud she had consumed in her youth. It was a stark reminder of the lengths to which she had gone to survive, and the lasting impacts of those choices.
Remembering Her Love and Strength
As I reflect on my grandmother’s life, I am filled with a profound sense of gratitude and admiration. She was a woman of incredible strength, facing the adversities of her time with grace and fortitude. Her love for her family was her guiding light, leading her to make unimaginable sacrifices.
The Hanging Basket: A Symbol of Endurance
Today, the image of the hanging basket is more than a memory of hunger and scarcity; it is a symbol of my grandmother’s enduring spirit. It represents her ability to create hope in the bleakest of times, to provide not just food, but also comfort and security.
A Tribute to Her Legacy
In writing this memoir, I honor the legacy of my grandmother, a woman whose life was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Her story, set against the backdrop of a changing China, is a narrative of survival, love, and the unbreakable bond between a grandmother and her grandson.
Carrying Her Lessons Forward
As I navigate my own life, I carry with me the lessons learned from my grandmother. Her resourcefulness, optimism, and unwavering love continue to inspire me. She taught me the value of hope, the importance of perseverance, and the power of familial bonds.
As I close this chapter of my family’s history, I am reminded of the indomitable spirit of my grandmother. Her life, marked by both hardship and immense love, continues to resonate within me. In her memory, I find the courage to face my own challenges, guided by her enduring legacy of resilience, sacrifice, and unconditional love.
