There Is Always Spring in the Passing Years
Spanning thirty years from 1988 to 2018, this novel presents a sweeping portrait of a family of seven in the Northwest, depicting their struggles and triumphs as they strive to realize their individua
“Carrots, standing straight,
Green chives, plump with water,
A family eating together, smiles all around...
Seven li, eight li, fifteen li,
The barrel-mender rides his black donkey,
Arrives at Zhang Jia Zhuang’s freshly tilled fields,
Who knows if he's eating now, or just standing there?
Name yourself, I am the barrel-mender, my mother bore three brothers—
The eldest is a furrier, the second learned copper-smithing,
And only I, the youngest, was born eccentric—
Fond of mending broken jars and cracked pots.
Today the weather is bright and warm,
I gather my little tools, my hammer, four tiles, diamond bit, boxes and bags,
Off I go to mend a jar!”
(In the old days, a barrel-mender was an artisan who repaired bowls and jars; “freshly tilled fields” refers to soil loosened after deep plowing; a furrier works with skins, a copper-smith crafts precious metals, “eccentric” here means absurdly humorous.)
On the day of the beginning of autumn in 1988, as the sun rose early over Yangcao Village’s commune stage, the long-missed Northwest folk melodies rang out.
Zhang Yongtai, wearing a felt hat and whitening his nose bridge, sang the song “Mending the Jar.”
“Old Third Zhang, you shameless old scoundrel, your son’s nearly old enough to marry and you’re still singing this ‘Mending the Jar’—such sour little ditties?”
“That’s right, ‘Mending the Jar’ is one of the Four Olds from feudal times. If it were back in the day, Old Third Zhang would’ve been hauled off for struggle sessions!”
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