在我十二三岁，父亲被关进牛棚2的日子里，伯父启功不但收留3了我，而且耳提面命4地教我唐诗。意想不到的是，他对我的“快乐教学法”，竟影响5了我偏爱生态文学批评理论的趣味。

Uncle Qi Gong gave me a home during the “Cultural Revolution”， when I was twelve or thirteen years old， my father being locked up. He took it upon himself to teach me Tang poetry， too. Little did I know that my interest in ecocriticism was taking shape with his “merry teaching” in those days.

我还能清楚记忆的有两件事6。第一是有一天我在荣宝斋看到了一位王姓画家画的梅花，回家描述一番后，他说：“这画儿不太对。”这使我不解：画有好与不好之分，从何谈起“对”或“不对”呢7？他的解释是，梅花儿生在雨水多的南方，花心儿朝下，像伞一样，俗称“罩水梅”。王先生把梅花儿画得朝上，成向日葵了，雨水进入8花心儿，很快就烂了。梅花儿没有那么傻。艺术不能出大格儿。9儿时的我，喜欢模仿他诙谐的话语风格，于是我马上说：“好，那我就把‘草木有本心10，不求美人折’改成‘梅花有本心，不肯朝天开’得了。”

Two such teaching moments are still as fresh as yesterday. The first was about a painting of Chinese plum blossoms that I saw at Rongbaozhai， by a painter Mr. Wang. As I told Uncle Qi Gong about it， he said， “Something is wrong with it.” That’s puzzling—Paintings could be good or bad. But a right or wrong painting？ What’s he talking about？ He went on to explain that Chinese plum grows in the rainy south. Their flower blossoms face downward like an umbrella， popularly known as “water-shielding plum blossoms”. Mr. Wang painted the blossoms head-up like sunflowers. Rainwater could be trapped in the flowers and rotten them in no time. Plum blossoms are not that foolish. Art shouldn’t stray from reality. The teenager me liked mimicking his witty speech， so I blurted out， “Okay then， I’ll change ‘Grass and trees have their own mind， never seeking to be picked by a beauty’ to ‘Plum blossoms have their own mind， never blooming towards the sky.’”

另一件是我背诵完初唐王绩的诗《食后》，他问我：“楚豆11是什么？”我说：“就是湖北一带的豆子呗。”他用手指点着我的额头说：“编12！就知道你会编。”然后仔仔细细地对我讲：“那其实是牡荆的果实，可入药。不仅湖北，咱北京也有，叫荆条，叶子一对儿一对儿的。