How do you make a miniature bonsai? When you miss home, make one you like

Every holiday seems to be a day for going home. Like this May Day holiday, it is actually only one day more than an ordinary weekend, yet it is a short break that many people working away from home long for. Not to mention the highways are congested that day, a quick search online shows high-speed rail tickets sold out two weeks ago. If you do not like the crowds, you can also choose to travel off-peak; of course, there is another option: stay at home and use your fond memories of your hometown's mountains and rivers to make a few exquisite miniature bonsai.

Back in those years, there were no computers, no mobile phones. As children we loved hiking and playing hide-and-seek. In the limited memories of childhood, making a miniature bonsai is like the hill behind the old home, neither tall nor short, covered in lush green trees. I loved climbing up it, then standing at the top and shouting to listen to the echoes coming from the mountains opposite.

Back in those years, without amusements, we loved searching everywhere for interesting things, climbing trees on the mountain, picking fruit, or catching cicadas. I miss that tree in my hometown, and that bold, danger-unaware childhood of sitting in the tree eating and playing, carefree.

When I grew up, I left my hometown. At the road junction stood an elm tree, its lush green leaves blocking the clouds in the sky, letting speckled patches of light fall through. When I was studying, I went back almost once a year; after I started working, it became even longer. My mother always liked to sit under the tree in the shade, then wait for me to come back. Sometimes the posture of the tree was like a mother waiting and longing for her child to return.

The easy-to-grow fleeceflower root (He Shou Wu, Fallopia multiflora) grew in abundance on the mountain behind the old house. As a child I heard my parents say that eating fleeceflower root could make your hair black and shiny, so I always went up the mountain with my friends while our parents were away, wanting to gather some to trade for a little money. Although we never succeeded, it left beautiful memories. Now, making a small fleeceflower bonsai and watching it grow lushly always reminds me of my carefree childhood.

The farther you are from home, the more you miss it. Every blade of grass and every tree, every mountain and every river is a beautiful memory. Every pot and every scene is a tribute to your hometown.

If your hometown is too far away, if you did not catch the last bus home, then avoid the crowds, quietly think of home, and make a miniature bonsai. Turn the mountains and rivers of your hometown in memory, the scenes we loved most in childhood, into a landscape that can grow, a landscape you can imagine. This landscape will always accompany you, always warming you with the familiar feeling of home.