Liushigang's Emerald Search: Meeting the Earth's Poetry in the Terraced Fields of Beijing's Suburbs

Liushigang's Emerald Search: Meeting the Earth's Poetry in the Terraced Fields of Beijing's Suburbs The gentle wheels roll through the morning light of Liucun. Before the navigation even announces "Liushigang," the car windows are splashed with green—not the ink wash paintings of Jiangnan, but the emerald poems of the Taihang Mountains unfolding in Beijing's suburbs. When the first corner of the wooden boardwalk comes into view, when the aroma of wheat mixed with morning dew fills the car, you suddenly understand: the earth's poetry doesn't need to be sought far away. Hidden in the folds of the mountains, just an hour's drive away, are the unread rhymes and rhythms. 1. Departure: When the Morning Light of the City Spreads into the Folds of the Terraced Fields As we drove out of the Sixth Ring Road, the car radio was broadcasting the morning rush hour traffic, but our steering wheel had already turned northwest—where 500 acres of terraced fields stretch out in the mountain breeze, and newly built wooden boardwalks await being stepped on in the morning light. When the navigation pointer for "Liushigang Village Committee" stuck into the map, the old locust tree at the entrance of the village was shaking off fine spots of light, illuminating the parent-child cars parked in the parking lot—the trunk revealed a folding stroller and children's sun hats, and the rear window was adorned with a playful car sticker that read, "Going to read the prose poem of the earth." Stepping onto the first step of the west line boardwalk, the fragrance of pine wood mixed with the scent of earth rushed to greet us. The new paint on the boardwalk handrails still had a warm touch, and before our eyes were layers upon layers of terraced fields—the wheat seedlings in April were sprouting new green shoots, like emerald colors smeared on the hillside by a craftsman with an even brush. Dandelions by the edge of the fields held up white fluff balls, and when the wind passed, several petals rode the mountain air over the boardwalk, landing in the hair of a little girl wearing a floral dress. We thought "easy hiking" was just an ordinary trail, but we encountered a surprise at the second turn: the entire terraced field suddenly became three-dimensional as the perspective changed. The contours of the distant mountains overlapped with the curves of the field ridges, resembling a musical staff unfolded by the earth in the morning light. 2. Trekking: Deciphering the Rhythm of Nature on the Boardwalk The gentleness of the central route boardwalk is especially friendly to the elderly. A mother pushing a stroller was pointing to the distant beacon tower and telling her child stories of the past. The stone ruins were faintly visible behind the wheat waves. Suddenly, we realized that this terraced field was originally a shadow of time—the farmland of the Ming Dynasty soldiers guarding the border, now being washed into the most vivid painting by the morning dew. Arriving at the rest pavilion, the mountain breeze suddenly brought a moist coolness. The corner of the east line boardwalk held a surprise: the 1.5 km winding path had slight undulations, but a viewing platform was set up every ten steps, allowing people to catch their breath and enjoy the folds of the Taihang Mountains—the deep green pines and cypresses and the light green wheat seedlings wove a chessboard on the hillside. Occasionally, farmers wearing straw hats walked through the field ridges, becoming the most vivid annotation in the painting. At noon, when the sun was at its strongest, the new wood of the boardwalk emitted a faint pine resin fragrance under the scorching heat, but it also gave the "no shade" reminder a real weight. A father wearing a wide-brimmed hat was reapplying sunscreen to his daughter, but around the corner, the viewing platform at the end of the east line was covered with ivy, forming a natural sunshade—the spots of light leaking through the vines danced on the wooden table like piano keys. Half a piece of mung bean cake, left on the table by someone, attracted several bold mountain birds to peck at it, giving the slightly tiring trek a healing annotation. Only then did we understand that the so-called "charm of hiking" lies in the alternation of sweat and surprises, giving every inch of scenery the weight of arrival. 3. Immersion: When the Sound of the Shutter Awakens the Whisper of the Terraced Fields The viewing platform at the highest point of the east line is a blank space of the earth. Leaning on the wooden railing painted in red lacquer, the 500 acres of terraced fields spread out under our feet like an emerald puzzle—the wheat seedlings in April were in the wonderful age of "between green and yellow," the tender green of the new leaves and the dark green of the old leaves surging in the wind, like a painter overturning a palette, giving each color block a breathing rhythm. A girl wearing a bright-colored sunscreen shirt turned around at the corner of the boardwalk, and the terraced fields behind her just passed over her shoulders, forming the most harmonious composition between man and nature; a photography enthusiast set up a tripod, waiting for the moment when the cloud shadow passed over the field ridges, allowing the light and shadow to write flowing poems on the wheat leaves. In the afternoon, the west line boardwalk was plated with gold by the slanting sunlight. An elderly man who looked like a retired teacher was sitting on a rest chair sketching. When the brush wandered on the drawing paper, he also integrated his figure into the folds of the terraced fields. He said that he had taught in the depths of the Taihang Mountains when he was young, but now he met the terraced fields in his memory in the suburbs of Beijing—"Look at the arc of the field ridges, it's exactly the same as when I helped the villagers transplant rice seedlings thirty years ago." Before he finished speaking, the laughter of children came from the foot of the mountain. It turned out that the children of Liushigang Village were chasing dandelions. When the white fluff balls flew over the boardwalk, they gave the solidified scenery a jumping rhythm. 4. Return Journey: Brewing the Mountain Scenery into Candied Memories As dusk spread over the boardwalk, the wooden railings on the east line had been dyed amber by the sunset. In the parking lot, families wearing parent-child outfits were sharing their own sandwiches. Bread crumbs attracted several fearless sparrows, jumping on the gravel ground into notes on a musical staff. On the way back, we made a special detour to the old locust tree at the entrance of the village to see how the twilight draped a blue veil over the terraced fields. The distant beacon tower had become a black silhouette, but several early stars were twinkling at the end of the boardwalk, like unextinguished lamps, waiting to light the way for tomorrow's travelers. Driving to Liucun Township, the car radio was discussing "urban people's pastoral complex," and the warmth of touching the new wooden boardwalk still remained in the palm of our hands. Suddenly, we understood that this "emerald terraced field," only an hour's drive from the city, was originally a gentle metaphor from the earth to urban people—it allowed us to understand the rhythm of nature in the ups and downs of the wooden boardwalk; to see the flow of time in the alternation of green and yellow wheat seedlings. When we overlook the earth from the viewing platform, we are actually overlooking our own souls compressed by the city, how they re-stretch into poems in the folds of the terraced fields. [Interaction Time] What kind of mood would you bring to read the poems of this terraced field? Is it to chase the ever-changing moments of cloud shadows on the east line boardwalk, or to collect the white letters of dandelions on the west line trail? Share your "Liushigang First Encounter" in the comments section, and maybe next weekend, we will be in the central rest pavilion, sharing a cup of jasmine tea brewed with mountain spring water, watching the wheat waves write new chapters in the wind. Remember to bring a sun hat and sketchbook, because here, every wheat leaf is waiting to be written into a moving poem.