The Peacock River

"Daddy, there is not much traffic this morning." Harry, my five-year-old son, made this observation on his way to the kindergarten.  "Because everyone has gone back to their hometown," I explained to him. "When the Spring Festival comes, many people who work in Beijing have to visit their parents who live in other parts of China." 

“No wonder my buddy Miduo is back in Shanghai with his mom." Harry, who is quite good at citing examples to make his point, trotted a few steps to catch up with me. "I'm from Xinjiang. So I am supposed to go back to Xinjiang, right?", he asked, barely suppressing his excitement at the prospect of leaving this smog-plagued metropolis. His question caught me off guard. Born and raised in Beijing, he only has a vague idea of where I grew up. "No, you don't have to travel that far. Mom and Dad will stay here with you and we will enjoy our long break without the hassles of making a trip." I assured him, tightening my grip of his hand. 

Taklimakan Desert

After saying goodbye to him and seeing him walk into the kindergarten, I kept thinking about his question, which reminded me of the place where I grew up -- Kurla, a remote town situated at the edge of China's largest desert Taklimakan Desert but blessed with a beautiful river named the Peacock River. 

Six years ago when I went back to Kurla in the depth of winter, I found the Peacock River graced by a flock of white swans squawking and floating along the riverbank. Back in the 1980's, the most common wild life that I could see in Kurla was lizard slithering on the Gobi desert. Although born and raised along the Peacock River, I didn't see a live peacock with my own eyes until many years later. If I travel back to Kurla with Harry in the future, I will take him to the Beijing Zoo to check out a peacock before the trip and tell him that I'm going to take him for a walk along the Peacock River. He might enjoy the walk even without finding any peacock in the vicinity or detecting any resemblance between the bird and the river. But I do expect him to have an inkling of idea on how far I have gone from that small town to where I am thanks to his granddad, who would have loved to cuddle his grandson if he had not passed away a few years before Harry was born.  

Wild swans on the Peacock River

It may be difficult for Harry to realize how his granddad started from scratch in Kurla back in the 1960's and raised my brother and me without the luxury of modern life. Sandwiched between two extremes of barren desert and towering Tianshan mountain, Kurla used to be frequented by huge sandstorms, making me more in awe of the formidable power of nature than the wonders of modern technology. I believe Harry can easily be impressed by how vast Xinjiang is, but the story of how his granddad left his native town in Hebei and ended up as a middle school teacher in Kurla may be too complicated for him to comprehend. Eventually, Harry will come to appreciate the unpredictable twists and turns of life once he grows up. But during his formative years, I will make a point of showering him with as much attention and patience as his granddad did with me. In fact, his grandparents had striven to do more by keeping chickens and planting vegetables, grapes and even a "fragrant pear" tree to make up for the scarcity of everyday meals. Harry, who always enjoys a bite of fragrant pear, will sooner or later come to associate this fruit with his hometown where his grandparents eked out a living with strength and stamina typical of people on the frontier.

Sandstorm out of the blue

After departing Kurla over two decades ago for a college life that exposed me to more possibilities than my mind could imagine, I really look forward to taking a walk with Harry along the bank of the Peacock River. I will show him where I almost got drowned after diving into rapids of the river with my classmates who were more accomplished swimmers. I will recount the harsh rebuke that I received from his granddad, who had been horrified by my recklessness in following suit with my peers. I will tell him that I used to spend more than 80 grueling hours on the train travelling from my college to Kurla. But more importantly, I'd like to help him put life into perspective and learn the meaning of "count your blessings".