“Meimei” in the Dog Barrel

This is a work about childhood. In the book， the older and younger children reminisce about their childhood， bringing the true beauty of childhood to life despite the changes of generations and the passing of time.

Mao Lulu

Originally known as Mao Fangmei， she is a member of China Writers Association， deputy director of the Children’s Literature Committee of the Zhejiang Writers Association， and vice president of the Zhejiang Youth Writers Association. To date， she has published 87 books， and her main works include the novel Little Flag of Reed Blossom， proses including Dear Little Red Date， The Girl of Point Street， children’s stories including Little Rice Grain， Eat the Spring， and reportage Unforgettable Walk with You.

Childhood in Changshan

Mao Lulu

Hope Publishing House

May 2022

28.00 (CNY)

Despite growing up in the countryside， my mother Ren Wenying rarely did any farming work during her teenage years， except for picking pigweed. That was because she became her grandfather’s young apprentice not long after she graduated from elementary school. She followed him around every village in Xikou Township， Changshan County， and also went to help her great-uncle’s family in Jiaowu， her footsteps covering almost every farming household in Xinchang Township. It was not until she married my father that my mother returned from Changshan County to the village of Wushidu in Quxian County. After getting married， just four months after I was born， she was already back at her “job” with me in tow.

In the spring of 1970， my mother followed her grandfather around the village almost every day to work as a tailor， and I was always taken care of by my great-grandmother.

My great-grandma’s name was Xu Lianying， and she was a super clean old lady. She didn’t have much time to hold me， so she found a standing bucket -- known as a “dog barrel” in my hometown -- and put me in it， leaving me alone to play while she took a rag to wipe and wash everywhere around the house， leaving it spotless. Nevertheless， she would look up and smile at me now and then as she worked and called my nickname Meimei.

It had a magical effect whenever she called me “Meimei，” as I wonld stop crying immediately if I heard her say “Meimei.” Sometimes I wobbled and couldn’t stand still in the “dog barrel，” but as soon as she called “Meimei，” l would automatically straighten up. Other times I drifted off to sleep but would instinctively open my eyes and smile dreamily at her as soon as she called out “Meimei，” all because my great grandma’s voice was so gentle and loving， and her call was laced with sugar， wind， sunshine， and music.

At four or five months old， although I could already feel the love and affection of my great grandma， I couldn’t stand on my own. Thankfully the “dog barrel” did the trick for me.

The so-called “dog barrel” was a round wooden barrel almost a meter high， wide at the bottom and narrow at the top， in the shape of a pagoda， and just the right size to fit a child in a thick winter coat. Two horizontal braces shouldered a round plate in the middle of the barrel about half a meter from its top. This round plate was made of a dozen pieces of wooden strips more than an inch wide nailed together， allowing summer ventilation and heating in winter for the child by putting a coal burner in the bottom of the barrel. Thus， the child in the barrel would be standing on the round plate. Some sloppy parents would even let their children wee on the round plate since it would run down its gaps anyway.

In our Quxian hometown， folks called this wooden barrel “dog barrel，” pretty much the same as the common custom of giving a child a lowly or humble name in the hope that a child standing in the barrel could thrive healthy and strong like a puppy.

I had become inseparable from the “dog barrel” from the first time I went to Changshan. As a baby who could not stand properly， I was perpetually held， aided， and supported by a “dog barrel” and stood for a long time， which， according to my father， was probably the reason why I did not grow as tall as my sister. But I think my ability to endure hardships when I grew up had a lot to do with my “dog barrel” years at the early stage of my life. As I was blessed by the “dog barrel” at such a young age， I learned from its humble and resilient attitude， which made me fearless of suffering and hardship and become a “l(fā)ittle model of hard work” in my day-to-day life. After all， I was “Meimei” raised by the “dog barrel!”

Since I came to Shuinan Village， my dear great-grandma’s vital task was to carry me to find my mother for milk three times a day: once at noon for a “feast，” and once in the morning and afternoon respectively for a “snack.”

Great-grandma had endured foot binding when she was little， and her feet were bound so successfully that they became tiny “l(fā)otus feet.”

She wobbled a little even when she walked empty-handed， not to mention when she had to hold me， especially with me being so thickly dressed. That spring， the scene of the old lady wobbling across the village with me in her arms had become a daily highlight of Shuinan village.

Usually， a chubby little boy would also appear in the scene and help great-grandma， serving as her “crutch.”

That boy was the second son of my youngest uncle， Liu Tiancai， my grandmother’s brother. The boy was six years old， and I called him “flower-head little uncle.”

“Flower-head，” what a strange name for my little uncle. His proper name is Liu Jinhua， but his mother gave him the nickname “flower head” because he had a large head， a high hairline， and a double swirl at the top of his head. He didn’t have much hair， which made his whole head look blotchy， like a flower. “Flower-head，” so his mother always called him， and everyone else followed suit. Soon， “flower-head” practically became his real name.

My flower-head little uncle had always been a very handsome little boy. He had porcelain skin， plump cheeks， and bright eyes. Everyone called him “l(fā)ittle longevity monk” because of his good looks.

“Little longevity monk” was not only handsome， but he also had a super kind heart. Despite his young age， he often came to help his grandmother， that is， my great-grandma， with her chores: when there was a drought， he took a small wooden spoon to help her water the veggie garden; at sunset， he helped her herd the ducks and geese home from the pond with a small bamboo whip; when it rained， he would go into his grandmother’s old house in a tiny straw raincoat like a grown-up to check for leaks. He was the favorite grandson of my great-grandma.

Great-grandma wasn’t only good at cleaning but also a superb cook. The salted duck eggs she pickled were by far the best in Shuinan. The egg whites were tender and firm， while the golden yolks were so plump that they leaked delicious oil. In those days， the rural areas were deprived of supplies， and all that available was corn， soybeans， and other local produce. Nevertheless， the old lady’s skillful hands brought out the extraordinary aroma of the most common soybean and corn when she pan-fried them. Whenever flower-head little uncle came to help great-grandma out， she would always give him a handful of pan-fried soybeans， pan-fried corn， and occasionally even a salted duck egg. It was always such a happy moment for my flower-head little uncle that his smile blossomed like the Maitreya Buddha!

Since I came to great-grandma’s house， flower-head little uncle had been visiting even more often. Every time he arrived， he would bring a handful of azalea flowers， a shuttlecock or a handful of pebbles from the roadside. He would “offer me flowers” and ask me to watch him play" with the shuttlecock and catch the peddles.

“Meimei， Meimei， this uncle of yours is more like a big brother to you!” Great-grandma often said.

That’s right， flower-head uncle was really like a big brother to me!