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K. Ushinsky Stories about animals (read online, download). Activity K

K. Ushinsky Stories about animals (read online, download). Activity K

04.03.2019

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Municipal budgetary preschool educational institution

Kindergarten No. 160 combined type

Pedagogical project

Topic: “Introduction to the work of K.D. Ushinsky

Completed:

teacher Tretyakova N.A.

Nizhny Tagil 2014

Introduction

The formation of coherent speech is one of the most difficult tasks facing teachers and their pupils at senior preschool age. native nature is a powerful source from which children draw knowledge and impressions. Interest in the surrounding objects of inanimate and animate nature manifests itself very early. Children notice everything: a fast bird, an industrious ant, a tiny spider, a bright butterfly on flower petals. Maintaining the interest of the child in the world around me, I rely on works of art Konstantin Dmitrievich Ushinsky. A wonderful teacher and writer, he lived almost a hundred years ago, his stories are surprisingly vivid and close to children, they reveal small and big secrets. vast world which they are just beginning to understand. The works of the writer are interesting to retell and dramatize, they became the basis for the realization of the goal and objectives of the project.

Objective of the project: To form coherent speech and improve the lexical and grammatical structure of children's speech, arouse interest in the world around them, form realistic ideas about nature, a cognitive attitude towards it through acquaintance with the works of Ushinsky.

Project objectives:

To acquaint children with the work of K.D. Ushinsky;

To form a coherent speech of children, to promote the development of creative abilities, to develop fine motor skills;

Cultivate a humane attitude towards nature.

Project participants: children 5-7 years old, educators, leader visual activity, parents.

Project duration: 1 month.

The main forms of project implementation:

Reading fiction;

Retelling of the work;

Finger games;

Outdoor games;

productive activity.

Project implementation principles:

Taking into account the age characteristics of pupils of the preschool educational institution;

Integration;

Coordination of pupils' activities;

Continuity of interaction between the preschool educational institution and the family.

Expected result:

Improving the coherent speech of children, developing creative abilities, developing fine motor skills;

Raise pedagogical culture parents;

Repetition in game situations knowledge gained during the project implementation

Formation of realistic ideas about nature, education of a humane attitude towards it.

Project activity product:

Exhibition of works of children's creativity based on the stories of K. D. Ushinsky;

Card file of mobile, didactic, finger games;

Illustrations for the stories of the writer;

Consultation for parents "Book and child".

Photo report of the project.

Stages of work on the project:

1. Goal setting.

2. Formulation of the problem, explanation of the relevance of the project topic.

3. Project development:

Bringing to the attention of the project participants the importance of this problem;

Drafting perspective plan events;

Material and technical equipment of the project;

Organization of work to create conditions for the implementation of the project;

Organization of methodical work;

4. Implementation of the project.

Work aimed at solving problems that contribute to the implementation of the project goal.

5. Presentation of the project (photo report).

Acquaintance with the work of K.D. Ushinsky

creativity Ushinsky fairy tale story

There is no person in our country who would not know fairy tales about the chicken ryaba, about the bun, about brother Ivanushka and sister Alyonushka, would not read the story "Four Wishes", would not repeat the sly joke about the lazy Tit: "Tit, go thresh." - "The belly hurts." - "Tit, go eat jelly." - "Where's my big spoon?"

All these and many other fairy tales, stories and jokes, just as well known to everyone, were composed by Konstantin Dmitrievich Ushinsky, others were retold.

Konstantin Dmitrievich Ushinsky was born more than one hundred and fifty years ago, in 1824.

He spent his childhood in Ukraine, in small town Novgorod-Seversk and studied at the local gymnasium.

The gymnasium, Ushinsky recalled, was housed in an old, dilapidated building that looked more like a barn than a school: “The windows in the old frames trembled, rotten floors, filled with ink and trampled with heel nails, creaked and jumped; split doors pretended to be bad, long old benches , which have completely lost their original coloring, have been cut and written over by many generations of high school students. There was nothing but something on these benches! And boxes of the most intricate work, and intricate, polysyllabic channels for ink ejection, and angular human figures - soldiers, generals on horseback , portraits of teachers; and countless sayings, countless fragments of lessons written down by a student who did not rely on his memory, cells for the game of skubki, which consists in the fact that the schoolboy, who managed to put three crosses in a row, mercilessly tore his partner by the forelock ... In it was so stuffy in the lower classes that some new teacher, not yet accustomed to our gymnasium atmosphere, frowned for a long time and spat before starting his lesson."

But the director of the gymnasium I.F. Timkovsky is a writer and historian, kind and educated person, managed to instill in high school students respect for knowledge, for science, and those high school students who studied well enjoyed great respect among their comrades.

After high school, Ushinsky studied at Moscow University. After graduating from university, he became a teacher himself.

At first he worked in Yaroslavl, then he was appointed to teach Russian literature - as the lessons of the Russian language and literature were then called in schools - at the Gatchina Orphan's Institute, where orphans lived and studied.

When Ushinsky began teaching at the Gatchina Institute, he found that his students and students knew very little about all subjects.

He saw the same thing at the Smolny Institute for Noble Maidens, where he was later transferred and where the daughters of the nobles were brought up. The girls were sure that buns grow on trees, and when one day they were asked to write an essay "Sunrise", they could not even explain why the sun rises and sets.

But the worst thing was that they considered learning a martyr's torment and punishment.

And so it is in all schools.

Ushinsky loved children very much and sympathized with them very much: it was really difficult for them to study. The textbooks they studied from were boring and incomprehensible, and the guys had to memorize them in order not to get a bad mark.

And so Konstantin Dmitrievich Ushinsky decided to write such a textbook, according to which it would be easy and interesting for children to study. And when learning is not torment, then the student both studies and learns more successfully.

And Ushinsky compiled two such textbooks for elementary school. They were called " native word" and " Child's world".

"Native Word" and "Children's World" were not at all like the old boring textbooks. They were clear and very interesting. You’ll start reading them and you won’t tear yourself away: you want to know more about what is written on the next page.

Ushinsky placed fairy tales in his books - he heard some of them in childhood and now retold them, and some he invented himself.

He composed stories about what is close to children, what surrounds them in Everyday life: about animals and birds, about natural phenomena, about the children themselves - about their activities and games.

He told the children that the bread they eat, the clothes they wear, the house they live in, are all the work of people, and therefore the most necessary, most respected person in society is a worker: a peasant, an artisan, a worker. .

Together with his friend, a young teacher Modzalevsky, Konstantin Dmitrievich composed poems and songs that were so easy to remember. They are also included in his books.

Among those songs was this one:

Kids, get ready for school!

The rooster has crowed for a long time!

Get dressed up!

The sun looks out the window.

Ushinsky's books revealed to children big and small secrets of the vast world in which they were just beginning to live and in which there was so much unfamiliar, incomprehensible and mysterious.

And most importantly, they opened the most big secret: what is the joy and happiness of a person. From the stories and fairy tales of Ushinsky, it was clear to everyone that only a kind, honest and hardworking person can be happy.

For the first time, Ushinsky's books "Native Word" and "Children's World" were published more than a hundred years ago. Many generations learned from them: not only our grandparents, great-grandparents, but also great-great-grandmothers and great-great-grandfathers.

And today's schoolchildren read and love the stories and fairy tales of Konstantin Dmitrievich Ushinsky.

And we can say with confidence that these stories and fairy tales will be read and loved by many, many more new generations, because people will always respect work, knowledge, honesty and kindness.

Tales and storiesK.D. Ushinsky

Bees and flies. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Bear and log. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Bees on exploration. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Forest and stream. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

In the forest in summer. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Eagle and cat. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Cheerful cow. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Woodpecker. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Raven and magpie. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Goose and crane. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Two goats. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Goat. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Vaska. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Cockerel with family. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Horse. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Bishka. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Ducks. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Not well tailored, but tightly sewn (Hare and hedgehog). Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Bunny complaint. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Blind horse. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich

Two plows. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Parable

Wind and sun. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Parable

Children in the grove. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Alien egg. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Four wishes. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Morning rays. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

The leprosy of the old woman-winter. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

The story of an apple tree. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Viper. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

How the shirt grew in the field. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich. Story

Long-term plan for the implementation of the pedagogical project



1. Reading the story of K. D. Ushinsky "Four Wishes". 2. Work on the content of the story and illustration. 3. Etude improvisation. 4. Retelling the text by children. 5. Didactic game"Choose a sign." 6. Didactic game "Make a proposal." 7. Physical education "Russian song". 8. Re-reading the story with a mindset for retelling. 9. Retelling the story by children. 10. Productive activity: drawing "Seasons". 11. Search work(together with parents) - find proverbs and sayings about the seasons.	1. Reading the story of K.D. Ushinsky "Know how to wait." 2. Work on the content of the story. 3. Fizkultminutka "The chicken went out for a walk." 4. Didactic game "What, what, what?". 5. Etude "Cockerel and Hen". 6. finger game"Birds". 7. Working with illustration. 8. Exercise "We remake the fairy tale." 9. Conversation on Russian folk tales "Cat, Cockerel and Fox", "Zaikin's Hut", "Ryaba Hen". 8. Productive activity: tear-off application "Birds".

1. Reading the story “Animal dispute K.D. Ushinsky. 2. Work on the content of the story. 3. Working with illustration. 4. Didactic game "Whose, whose, whose?". 5. Etude - improvisation. 7. Re-reading the story. 8. Building a graphic plan for the story. 9. Retelling the text by children according to the graphic plan. 10. Watching pets. 11. Productive activity: children draw their favorite pet.	1. Reading the fairy tale by K.D. Ushinsky "As it comes around, it will respond." 2.Explanation of unfamiliar words to children. 3. Work on the content of the fairy tale. 4. Etude "The Fox and the Crane". 5. Re-reading the story with the prompts of the children. 6. Retelling the text based on diagrams. 7. Work with proverbs and sayings. 8. Exercise "We are storytellers." 9. Finger gymnastics"Beasts". 10. Productive activity: modeling dishes for a crane and a fox.

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Viper

Around our farm, along the ravines and wet places, there were a lot of snakes.

I'm not talking about snakes: we are so used to a harmless snake that they don't even call him a snake. He has small sharp teeth in his mouth, he catches mice and even birds, and, perhaps, can bite through the skin; but there is no poison in these teeth, and the bite of the snake is completely harmless.

We had a lot of snakes; especially in heaps of straw that lay near the threshing floor: as soon as the sun warms, so they will crawl out of there; they hiss when you approach, they show their tongue or sting, but snakes do not bite with a sting. Even in the kitchen under the floor there were snakes, and as children used to sit on the floor and sip milk, they crawl out and pull their heads to the cup, and the children with a spoon on his forehead.

But we also had more than one snake: there was also a poisonous snake, black, large, without those yellow stripes that are visible near the snake's head. We call such a snake a viper. The viper often bit the cattle, and if they did not have time to call the old grandfather Ohrim from the village, who knew some kind of medicine against the bite of poisonous snakes, then the cattle would certainly fall - they would blow it up, poor, like a mountain.

One of our boys died of a viper. She bit him near the very shoulder, and before Ohrim came, the tumor passed from the arm to the neck and chest: the child began to rave, thrash about, and died two days later. As a child, I heard a lot about vipers and was terribly afraid of them, as if I felt that I would have to meet a dangerous reptile.

We mowed behind our garden, in a dry beam, where a stream runs every year in spring, and in summer it is only damp and tall dense grass grows. Any mowing was a holiday for me, especially when they rake the hay into piles. Here, it used to be, and you will begin to run around the hayfield and throw yourself at the shocks with all your might and wallow in the fragrant hay until the women drive away so as not to break the shocks.

That's how this time I ran and tumbled: there were no women, the mowers went far, and only our black big dog Brovko lay on a shock and gnawed at a bone.

I tumbled into one mop, turned around in it a couple of times, and suddenly jumped up in horror. Something cold and slippery swept my arm. The thought of a viper flashed through my mind - and what? A huge viper, which I disturbed, crawled out of the hay and, rising on its tail, was ready to rush at me.

Instead of running, I stand as if petrified, as if the reptile has mesmerized me with its ageless, unblinking eyes. Another minute - and I was dead; but Brovko, like an arrow, flew off the shock, rushed at the snake, and a mortal struggle ensued between them.

The dog tore the snake with its teeth, trampled it with its paws; the snake bit the dog in the muzzle, and in the chest, and in the stomach. But a minute later only shreds of the viper lay on the ground, and Brovko rushed to run and disappeared.

But the strangest thing of all is that from that day on Brovko disappeared and wandered no one knows where.

Only two weeks later he returned home: thin, skinny, but healthy. My father told me that dogs know the herb they use to treat viper bites.

Children in the grove

Two children, brother and sister, went to school. They must have been passing by a beautiful shady grove. It was hot and dusty on the road, but cool and cheerful in the grove.

Do you know what? brother said to sister. - We still have time to go to school. The school is stuffy and boring now, but it must be a lot of fun in the grove. Listen to the birds chirping there! And the squirrel, how many squirrels jump on the branches! Shall we go there, sister?

The sister liked the brother's proposal. The children threw the alphabets into the grass, joined hands and hid among the green bushes, under the curly birch trees. In the grove, for sure, it was fun and noisy. The birds fluttered incessantly, singing and shouting; squirrels jumped on the branches; insects scurried about in the grass.

First of all, the children saw the golden bug.

Play with us, the children said to the beetle.

I would love to, - answered the beetle, - but I don’t have time: I have to get myself dinner.

Play with us, - the children said to the yellow furry bee.

I have no time to play with you, - answered the bee, - I need to collect honey.

Will you play with us? the children asked the ant.

But the ant had no time to listen to them: he dragged a straw three times his size and hurried to build his cunning dwelling.

The children turned to the squirrel, suggesting that she also play with them; but the squirrel waved its bushy tail and replied that it must stock up on nuts for the winter.

Dove said:

Building a nest for my little ones.

A gray bunny ran to the stream to wash its muzzle. white flower strawberries also had no time to deal with children. He took advantage of the fine weather and hurried to prepare his juicy, tasty berry by the deadline.

The children got bored that everyone was busy with their own business and no one wanted to play with them. They ran to the stream. Murmuring on the stones, the stream ran through the grove.

You really don't have anything to do? the children told him. - Come play with us!

How! I have nothing to do? the stream murmured angrily. - Oh, you lazy kids! Look at me: I work day and night and do not know a moment of peace. Am I not singing people and animals? Who, besides me, washes linen, turns mill wheels, carries boats and puts out fires? Oh, I have so much work to do head goes around! - added the stream and began to murmur over the stones.

The children became even more bored, and they thought that it would be better for them to go to school first, and then, on their way from school, go into the grove. But at that very moment the boy noticed a tiny beautiful robin on a green branch. She seemed to be sitting very calmly, whistling a merry song out of nothing to do.

Hey you, cheerful sang! the boy shouted to the robin. “You seem to have absolutely nothing to do; play with us.

How, - the offended robin whistled, - I have nothing to do? Haven't I been catching midges all day to feed my little ones? I'm so tired I can't lift my wings; and now I lull my dear children with a song. What did you do today, little sloths? They didn’t go to school, they didn’t learn anything, they run around the grove, and even prevent others from doing their job. Better go where you were sent, and remember that it is only pleasant for him to rest and play, who has worked and done everything that he had to do.

The children felt ashamed: they went to school and although they came late, they studied diligently.

Bunny Complaints

The little gray bunny burst into tears, sitting under a bush; crying, saying:

“There is no worse share in the world than mine, a gray bunny! And who just doesn’t sharpen their teeth at me? Hunters, dogs, a wolf, a fox and a bird of prey; a crooked hawk, a bug-eyed owl; even a stupid crow drags my dear children with its crooked paws - I have nothing to defend myself with: I can’t climb a tree like a squirrel, I can’t dig holes like a rabbit. I'm a master at running, and I jump pretty well, but it's good if you have to run across a flat field or uphill, but if you have to run downhill, you will go somersault over your head: your front legs are not mature enough.

It would still be possible to live in the world, if it were not for worthless cowardice. If you hear a rustle, your ears will rise, your heart will beat, you will not see the light, you will pierce out of the bush, and you will fall right into the net or under the hunter's feet.

Oh, it's bad for me, gray bunny! You are cunning, you hide in the bushes, you wander around in the bushes, you confuse your tracks; and sooner or later the trouble will not be avoided: and the cook will drag me to the kitchen by the long ears.

The only consolation I have is that the tail is short: there is nothing for the dog to grab. If I had a tail like a fox, where would I go with it? Then, it seems, he would have gone and drowned himself.

The story of an apple tree

A wild apple tree grew in the forest; in autumn a sour apple fell from it. The birds pecked at the apple and pecked at the seeds.

Only one seed hid in the ground and remained.

In the winter, a grain lay under the snow, and in the spring, when the sun warmed the wet earth, the grain began to germinate: it let the root down, and drove the first two leaves up. A stalk with a bud ran out from between the leaves, and green leaves came out of the bud, at the top. Bud after bud, leaf after leaf, twig after twig - and five years later a pretty apple tree stood in the place where the seed fell.

A gardener came into the forest with a spade, saw an apple tree and said: "Here is a good tree, it will come in handy for me."

The apple tree trembled when the gardener began to dig it up, and he thinks: "I have completely disappeared!" But the gardener carefully dug up the apple tree, did not damage the roots, transferred it to the garden and planted it in good soil.

The apple tree in the garden became proud: “I must be a rare tree,” she thinks, “when they transferred me from the forest to the garden,” and looks down at the ugly stumps tied with rags; She didn't know she was in school.

The next year, a gardener came with a crooked knife and began to cut the apple tree.

The apple tree trembled and thought: "Well, now I'm completely gone."

The gardener cut off the entire green top of the tree, leaving one stump, and he even split it from above; the gardener stuck a young shoot from a good apple tree into the crack; closed the wound with putty, tied it with a cloth, furnished a new clothespin with pegs and left.

The apple tree got sick; but she was young and strong, soon recovered and grew together with someone else's twig.

The twig drinks the juice of a strong apple tree and grows quickly: it throws out bud after bud, leaf after leaf, shoots out shoot after shoot, twig after twig, and three years later the tree blossomed with white-pink fragrant flowers.

White-pink petals fell off, and a green ovary appeared in their place, and by autumn apples became from the ovary; Yes, not wild sour, but large, ruddy, sweet, crumbly!

And such a pretty apple tree succeeded that people from other gardens came to take shoots from it for clothespins.

cow

An ugly cow, but gives milk. Her forehead is wide, her ears to the side; there is a lack of teeth in the mouth, but the mugs are large; the spine is a point, the tail is a broomstick, the sides protrude, the hooves are double. She tears grass, chews chewing gum, drinks swill, mooing and roaring, calling the hostess: "Come out, hostess; take out a sump, a clean wiper! I brought milk to the children, thick cream."

Lisa Patrikeevna

The gossip-fox has sharp teeth, a thin stigma, ears on the top of the head, a tail at the fly away, and a warm fur coat.

Kuma is well dressed up: wool is fluffy, golden; waistcoat on the chest, and a white tie around the neck.

The fox walks quietly, bends down to the ground, as if bowing; he wears his fluffy tail carefully, looks affectionately, smiles, shows white teeth.

Digs holes, clever, deep; there are many passages in them and exits, there are pantries, there are bedrooms, the floors are lined with soft grass. The fox would be a good hostess to everyone, but the robber fox is cunning: she loves chickens, loves ducks, will twist the neck of a fat goose, will not have mercy on a rabbit.

Fox and goat

The fox ran, gaped at the crows, and fell into the well. There was not much water in the well: you can’t drown, and you can’t jump out either. The fox is sitting, grieving. The goat is coming clever mind; walks, shakes his beards, shakes his mugs; looked, having nothing to do, into the well, saw a fox there and asked:

What are you doing there, fox?

I'm resting, my dear, - the fox answers. - It's hot up there, so I climbed up here. How cool is it here! Cold water - as much as you want.

And the goat wants to drink for a long time.

Is the water good? - asks the goat.

Excellent! - answers the fox. - Clean, cold! Jump here if you like; there will be a place for both of us.

The goat jumped foolishly, almost crushed the fox, and she told him:

Ah, the bearded fool! And he didn’t know how to jump - he splashed everything. "

The fox jumped on the back of the goat, from the back onto the horns, and out of the well.

The goat almost disappeared from hunger in the well; they found him by force and dragged him out by the horns.

Bear and log

A bear walks through the forest and sniffs: is it possible to profit from something edible? Chuet - honey! Mishka raised his muzzle up and sees a beehive on a pine tree, under the hive a smooth log hangs on a rope, but Misha does not care about the log. The bear climbed a pine tree, climbed to the log, you can’t climb higher - the log interferes. Misha pushed the log away with his paw; the log gently rocked back - and the bear knocked on the head. Misha pushed the log stronger - the log hit Misha harder. Misha got angry and grabbed the log with all his strength; the log was pumped back about two fathoms - and Misha was so enough that he almost fell out of the tree. The bear got furious, he forgot about the honey, he wants to finish the log: well, he can play it with all his strength, and he has never been left without surrender. Misha fought with a log until the whole beaten one fell off the tree; there were pegs stuck under the tree - and the bear paid for his insane anger with his warm skin.

Mice

Mice gathered at their mink, old and small. Their eyes are black, their paws are small, their teeth are sharp, their fur coats are grey, their ears stick up, their tails drag along the ground. Mice gathered, underground thieves, they think a thought, they hold advice: "How can we, mice, smuggle a cracker into a mink?" Oh, beware of the mouse! Your friend, Vasya, is not far away. He loves you very much, he will kiss you with his paw; the tail will remember you, your fur coats will tear.

Rooster and dog

An old man lived with an old woman, and they lived in great poverty. All they had was a rooster and a dog, and they didn’t feed them well. So the dog says to the rooster:

Come on, brother Petka, let's go to the forest: life here is bad for us.

Let's go, - says the rooster, - it won't be worse.

So they went where their eyes look. Wandered all day; it began to get dark - it's time for the night to pester. They went off the road into the forest and chose a large hollow tree. The rooster flew up on the bough, the dog climbed into the hollow and fell asleep.

In the morning, just as the dawn began to break, the rooster crowed: "Ku-ku-re-ku!" The fox heard the rooster; she wanted to eat rooster meat. So she went up to the tree and began to praise the rooster:

Here is a cock so a cock! I have never seen such a bird: and what beautiful feathers, and what a red crest, and what a sonorous voice! Fly to me, handsome.

And for what business? - asks the rooster.

Let's go to visit me: today I have a housewarming party, and a lot of peas are in store for you.

Well, - says the rooster, - but I can’t go alone: a comrade is with me.

"What happiness has come!" thought the fox. "There will be two roosters instead of one."

Where is your friend? she asks. - I'll invite him over.

There, in a hollow, he spends the night, - the rooster answers.

The fox rushed into the hollow, and her dog by the muzzle - tsap! .. Caught and tore the fox.

Cockerel with family

A cockerel walks around the yard: a red comb on its head, a red beard under its nose. Petya's nose is a chisel, Petya's tail is a wheel, there are patterns on the tail, spurs on the legs. With his paws, Petya rakes a bunch, convenes hens with chickens:

Crested hens! Busy hostesses! Motley-ruffled, black-white! Get together with the chickens, with the little guys: I have a grain in store for you!

Hens with chickens gathered, clucked; they didn’t share a grain, they fought.

Petya the cockerel does not like riots - now he has reconciled his family: that one for a crest, that one for a tuft, he ate a grain himself, flew up on the wattle fence, waved his wings, yelled at the top of his voice: "Ku-ka-re-ku!"

rogue cat

Once upon a time there lived a cat, a goat and a ram in the same yard. They lived together: a bunch of hay and that in half; and if the pitchfork is in the side, then one cat Vaska. He is such a thief and a robber: where something lies badly, he looks there. Here comes a cat-purr, a gray forehead; goes so pitifully crying. They ask a cat a goat and a ram:

Cat-cat, gray pubis! What are you crying about, jumping on three legs?

Vasya answers them:

How can I not cry! A woman beat me, beat me; she tore out her ears, broke her legs, and even laid a noose on me.

And why did such trouble come to you? - ask the goat and the ram.

Eh-eh! For accidentally licking sour cream.

Serve the thief and flour, - says the goat, - do not steal sour cream!

The cat is crying again

A woman beat me, beat me; beat - she said: my son-in-law will come to me, where will I get sour cream? Involuntarily, a goat and a ram will have to be slaughtered.

A goat and a ram roared here:

Oh, you gray cat, your stupid forehead! Why did you ruin us?

They began to judge and decide how they could get rid of the great misfortune (avoid. Ed.), - and they decided right there: all three of them should run away. They lay in wait, as the hostess did not close the gate, and left.

A cat, a goat and a ram ran for a long time through the dales, over the mountains, over loose sands; landed and decided to spend the night on a mowed meadow; and on that meadow there are haystacks that are cities.

The night was dark, cold: where to get fire? And the purring cat already took out the birch bark, wrapped the horns around the goat and ordered him to bang his foreheads with the ram. A goat and a ram collided, sparks fell from their eyes: the birch bark blazed.

Okay, - said the gray cat, - now let's get warm! - Yes, without thinking twice, he lit a whole stack of hay.

Before they had time to warm up properly, an uninvited guest, a gray-haired peasant, Mikhailo Potapych Toptygin, complained to them.

Let me go, - he says, - brothers, warm up and rest; something doesn't work for me.

Welcome, gray man! - says the cat. - Where are you going from?

I went to the bee-keeper, - says the bear, - to visit the bees, but I got into a fight with the peasants, that's why I pretended to be sick.

So they all began to while away the night together: a goat and a ram by the fire, a purr climbed onto the haystack, and the bear huddled under the haystack.

The bear fell asleep; the goat and the ram doze; one purr does not sleep and sees everything. And he sees: there are seven gray wolves, one white - and straight to the fire.

Fufu! What a people! - says the white wolf to the goat and the ram. Let's try strength.

A goat and a ram bleated here with fear; and the cat, a gray forehead, led the following speech:

Oh, white wolf, prince above the wolves! Do not anger our elder: he, God have mercy, is angry! How it diverges - no one will do well. Al you do not see his beard: in it is all the strength; he beats all the animals with a beard, only removes the skin with his horns. It’s better to come up and ask with honor: we want to play with your little brother, who sleeps under a haystack.

The wolves on that goat bowed; surrounded Misha and, well, to flirt. Here Misha fastened, fastened, and how enough for each paw for a wolf, so they sang Lazarus (complained about fate. - Ed.). The wolves got out from under the haystack barely alive and, with their tails between their legs, - God bless!

The goat and the ram, while the bear dealt with the wolves, picked up the purr on his back and hurry home: "Enough, they say, without a way to drag, we will not make such a misfortune yet."

The old man and the old woman were glad, gladly, that the goat and the ram had returned home; and the purring cat was also torn out for trickery.

The pranks of the old woman of winter

The old woman winter got angry: she planned to kill every breath from the world. First of all, she began to get to the birds: they bothered her with their cry and squeak.

Winter blew cold, tore the leaves from the forests and oaks and scattered them along the roads. There is nowhere for the birds to go; they began to gather in flocks, to think a thought. Gathered, shouted and flew for high mountains, beyond the blue seas, to warm countries. There was a sparrow, and he huddled under the eaves.

The winter sees that it cannot catch up with the birds; pounced on the animals. She covered the fields with snow, covered the forests with snowdrifts, dressed the trees with ice crust and sends frost after frost. The frosts are getting worse one another, they jump from tree to tree, crackle and click, scare the animals. The animals were not afraid; some have warm coats, others deep burrows hid; a squirrel in a hollow gnaws nuts; a bear in a den sucks its paw; hare, jumping, warming up; and horses, cows, lambs have long been chewing ready-made hay in warm barns, drinking warm swill.

Winter is more angry - she gets to the fish; sends frost after frost, one more fierce than the other. Frosts run briskly, they tap loudly with hammers: without wedges, without shackles along the lakes, bridges are built along the rivers. Rivers and lakes froze, but only from above; and the fish all went deeper: under the ice roof it is even warmer.

"Well, wait, - thinks winter, - I'll catch people," - and frost after frost sends, one more angrier than the other. The frosts have clouded the patterns of the windows in the windows; they knock on the walls and on the doors, so that the logs burst. And people flooded the stoves, baked hot pancakes for themselves, and laughed at the winter. It happens that someone goes to the forest for firewood - he will put on a sheepskin coat, felt boots, warm mittens, and how he starts waving an ax, even sweat will break through. Along the roads, as if laughing at winter, carts stretched; steam pours from the horses, cab drivers stamp their feet, pat their mittens, twitch their shoulders, praise the frost.

It seemed most offensive to winter that even small children - and they are not afraid of it! They go skating and sledding, play snowballs, make women, build mountains, pour water on them, and even frost, they call: “Come help!” Winter will pinch with the anger of one boy by the ear, another by the nose, - it will even turn white; and the boy will grab the snow, let's rub it - and his face will flare up like fire.

Winter sees that she can’t take anything, - she cried with anger. From the eaves, winter tears dripped ... it can be seen that spring is not far away!

bees and flies

Late autumn turned out to be a glorious day, which is rare in spring: the leaden clouds dissipated, the wind subsided, the sun came out and looked so kindly, as if saying goodbye to faded plants. The hairy bees, called from the hives by light and warmth, humming merrily, flew from grass to grass, not for honey (there was no place to get it), but so-so, to have fun and spread their wings.

How stupid you are with your fun! - said the fly, which immediately sat on the grass, puffed up and lowered its nose. - Don't you know that the sun is only for a minute and that, probably, today the wind, rain, cold will begin and we will all have to disappear.

Zoom zoom zoom! Why disappear? - the cheerful bees answered the fly. - We will have fun while the sun is shining, and when bad weather comes, we will hide in our warm hive, where we have a lot of honey stored up over the summer.

blind horse

A long, long time ago, when not only us, but also our grandfathers and great-grandfathers were not yet in the world, the rich and commercial Slavic city of Vineta stood on the seashore; and in this city lived the rich merchant Usedom, whose ships, loaded with expensive goods, sailed on distant seas.

Usedom was very rich and lived luxuriously: perhaps the very nickname of Usedom, or Vsedom, he received from the fact that in his house there was absolutely everything that could be found good and expensive at that time; and the owner himself, his mistress and children ate only on gold and silver, walked only in sables and brocade.

There were many excellent horses in Usedom's stable; but neither in Usedom's stable, nor in all of Vineta was there a horse faster and more beautiful than Catch-Wind - that's how Usedom called his favorite riding horse for the speed of her legs. No one dared to ride Catch the Wind, except the owner himself, and the owner never rode any other horse.

It happened to a merchant on one of his trips to commercial affairs, returning to Vineta, to ride on his favorite horse through a large and dark forest. It was towards evening, the forest was terribly dark and dense, the wind shook the tops of the gloomy pines; the merchant rode alone and at a pace, saving his beloved horse, which was tired from a long journey.

Suddenly, from behind the bushes, as if from under the ground, jumped out six broad-shouldered fellows with bestial faces, in furry hats, with horns, axes and knives in their hands; three were on horseback, three on foot, and two robbers had already seized the merchant's horse by the bridle.

It would not be possible for the rich Sedentary to see his dear Vineta if under him there was some other horse, and not Catch the Wind. Sensing someone else's hand on the bridle, the horse rushed forward, with its broad, strong chest knocked over two impudent villains holding him by the bridle to the ground, crushed a third one under his feet, who, waving a horn, ran ahead and wanted to block his path, and rushed off like a whirlwind . Mounted robbers set off in pursuit; their horses were also good, but how could they catch up with Usedom's horse?

Catch-Wind, despite his fatigue, sensing the chase, rushed like an arrow shot from a tightly stretched bow, and left the furious villains far behind him.

Half an hour later, Usedom was already riding into his dear Vineta on his good horse, from which the foam fell to the ground in shreds.

Dismounting from the horse, whose flanks were rising high from fatigue, the merchant immediately, rattling the Catch-Wind on his lathered neck, solemnly promised: no matter what happened to him, he would never sell or give his faithful horse as a gift to anyone, not drive him away, no matter how he did not grow old, and every day, until his death, let the horse go three measures of the best oats.

But, hurrying to his wife and children, Usedom did not look after the horse himself, and the lazy worker did not lead the exhausted horse properly, did not let him cool down completely and gave him water ahead of time.

Since then, Catch-the-Wind began to fall ill, to frail, weakened on his feet and, finally, went blind. The merchant was very sad and for half a year faithfully kept his promise: the blind horse was still standing in the stable, and he was given three measures of oats every day.

Sedentary then bought himself another riding horse, and six months later it seemed to him too imprudent to give a blind, worthless horse three measures of oats, and he ordered to release two. Another six months passed; the blind horse was still young, he had to be fed for a long time, and they began to let him go one measure at a time.

Finally, and this seemed to the merchant hard, he ordered that the bridle be removed from Catch-Wind and driven out of the gate, so that he would not take up space in the stable in vain. The workers escorted the blind horse out of the yard with a stick, as it resisted and did not go.

Poor blind Catch-Wind, not understanding what was being done to him, not knowing and not seeing where to go, remained standing outside the gate, head down and mournfully moving his ears. Night fell, it began to snow, and sleeping on the rocks was hard and cold for the poor blind horse. She stood in one place for several hours, but at last hunger forced her to look for food. Raising her head, sniffing in the air to see if there might be even a tuft of straw from the old, haggard roof, the blind horse wandered at random and constantly bumped into the corner of the house, then the fence.

You need to know that in Vineta, as in all ancient Slavic cities, there was no prince, and the inhabitants of the city ruled by themselves, gathering on the square when it was necessary to solve some important business. Such a meeting of the people to decide their own affairs, for trial and reprisal, was called a veche. In the middle of Vineta, on the square where the veche met, a large veche bell hung on four pillars, by the ringing of which the people gathered and which anyone who considered himself offended and demanded court and protection from the people could call. No one, of course, dared to ring the veche bell for nothing, knowing that for this the people would get a lot.

Wandering around the square, a blind, deaf and hungry horse accidentally came across the poles on which the bell hung, and, thinking, perhaps, to pull a bundle of straw from the eaves, grabbed the rope tied to the tongue of the bell with its teeth and began to pull: the bell rang like this it is strong that the people, despite the fact that it was still early, began to flock to the square in droves, wanting to know who so loudly demands his trial and protection. Everyone in Vineta knew Catch the Wind, knew that he had saved his master's life, knew the master's promise - and were surprised to see a poor horse in the middle of the square - blind, hungry, trembling from the cold, covered with snow.

It was soon explained what was the matter, and when the people found out that the rich Usedom had driven out of the house the blind horse that had saved his life, they unanimously decided that Catch-Wind had full right ring the bell.

They demanded an ungrateful merchant to the square; despite his excuses, they ordered him to keep the horse as before and feed it until its death. A special person was assigned to oversee the execution of the sentence, and the sentence itself was carved on a stone placed in memory of this event in Veche Square...

know how to wait

Once upon a time there lived a brother and a sister, a cockerel and a hen. The cockerel ran into the garden and began to peck at the green currant, and the hen said to him: "Don't eat, Petya! Wait until the currant is ripe." The cockerel did not obey, pecked and pecked, and pecked so that he hardly made his way home. "Oh! - cries the cockerel, - my misfortune! It hurts, sister, it hurts!" The cockerel hen gave mint to drink, applied a mustard plaster - and it passed.

The cockerel recovered and went into the field: he ran, jumped, flared up, sweated and ran to the stream to drink cold water; and the hen cries to him:

Don't drink, Petya, wait until you get cold.

The cockerel did not obey, got drunk cold water- and then a fever began to beat him: the hen brought him by force home. The chicken ran after the doctor, the doctor prescribed Petya a bitter medicine, and the cockerel lay in bed for a long time.

The cockerel has recovered by the winter and sees that the river is covered with ice; the cockerel wanted to go skating; and the hen says to him: "Oh, wait, Petya! Let the river freeze completely; now the ice is still very thin, you will drown." The cockerel of the sister did not obey: it rolled on the ice; the ice broke, and the cockerel - plopped into the water! Only the cockerel was seen.

morning rays

A red sun swam up into the sky and began to send its golden rays everywhere - to wake the earth.

The first beam flew and hit the lark. The lark started, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang his silver song: "Oh, how good it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How free!"

The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get himself juicy grass for breakfast.

The third beam hit the chicken coop. The rooster flapped its wings and sang: "Ku-ka-re-ku!" The chickens flew off our nests, clucked, began to rake up rubbish and look for worms.

The fourth beam hit the hive. A bee crawled out of the wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and "zoom-zoom-zoom!" - flew to collect honey from fragrant flowers.

The fifth ray fell into the nursery on the bed to the little lazy man: it cuts him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.

Four wishes

Mitya rode on a sledge from an icy mountain and skated on a frozen river, ran home ruddy, cheerful and said to his father:

What fun in winter! I wish it were all winter.

Write down your desire in my pocket book, - said the father.

Mitya wrote.

Spring came. Mitya ran plenty of colorful butterflies across the green meadow, picked flowers, ran to his father and said:

What a delight this spring! I wish it were all spring.

Father again took out a book and ordered Mitya to write down his wish.

It's summer. Mitya and his father went to haymaking. The boy had fun all day long: he fished, picked berries, tumbled in fragrant hay, and in the evening he said to his father:

Today, I had a lot of fun! I wish there was no end to summer.

And this desire of Mitya was written down in the same book.

Autumn has come. Fruits were collected in the garden - ruddy apples and yellow pears. Mitya was delighted and said to his father:

Autumn is the best of all seasons!

Then the father took out his notebook and showed the boy that he said the same thing about spring, and about winter, and about summer.

Alien testicle

Old Darya got up early in the morning, chose a dark, secluded place in the chicken coop, put a basket there, where thirteen eggs were laid out on soft hay, and planted a Corydalis on them.

It was getting light a little, and the old woman did not see that the thirteenth testicle was greenish and larger than the others. The hen sits diligently, warms the testicles, runs off to peck the grains, drink some water, and back to the place; even faded, poor thing. And how angry she became, hissing, clucking, she wouldn’t even let a cockerel come up, and he really wanted to look into what was happening there in a dark corner. The chicken sat for about three weeks, and the chickens began to peck out of the testicles, one after the other: they peck the shell with their nose, jump out, shake themselves off and begin to run, rake the dust with their legs, look for worms.

Later than all hatched a chicken from a greenish egg. And how strange he came out: round, fluffy, yellow, with short legs, with a wide nose. “A strange chicken came out of me,” the hen thinks, “it pecks, and it doesn’t walk in our way; its nose is wide, its legs are short, some kind of clubfoot, rolls from foot to foot.” The hen marveled at her chick, but no matter what, but all the son. And the chicken loves and protects him, like the others, and if she sees a hawk, then, fluffing up her feathers and spreading her round wings wide, she hides her chickens under herself, not making out what kind of legs someone has.

The chicken began to teach the children how to dig worms out of the ground, and took the whole family to the shore of the pond: there are more worms and the earth is softer. As soon as the short-legged chick saw the water, he immediately rushed into it. The chicken screams, flaps its wings, rushes to the water; the chickens are also alarmed: they run, fuss, squeak; and one frightened cockerel even jumped up on a pebble, stretched out his neck and for the first time in his life yelled in a hoarse voice: "Ku-ku-re-ku!" Help, please kind people! Brother is drowning! But the brother did not drown, but merrily and lightly, like a piece of cotton paper, floated on the water, raking in the water with his wide, webbed paws. At the cry of a chicken, old Daria ran out of the hut, saw what was happening, and shouted: “Ahti, what a sin! It can be seen that I blindly put a duck egg under the chicken.”

And the chicken was rushing to the pond: they could have been driven away by force, poor thing.

Early summer has the longest days. For twelve hours the sun does not descend from the sky, and evening dawn before it has time to go out in the west, a whitish stripe already appears in the east - a sign of the approaching morning. And the closer to the north, the days in summer are longer and the nights are shorter.

The sun rises high and high in summer, not like in winter; a little higher and it would be right overhead. Its almost sheer rays are very warm, and by noon they even burn mercilessly. Here comes noon; the sun climbed high on the transparent blue vault of the sky. Only in some places, like light silver dashes, cirrus clouds are visible - harbingers of constant good weather, or buckets, as the peasants say. The sun can no longer go higher, and from this point it will begin to descend towards the west. The point from which the sun begins to decline is called noon. Stand facing noon, and the side you are looking at will be south, to the left, where the sun rose from, is east, to the right, where it slopes, is west, and behind you is north, where the sun never shines.

At noon, not only is it impossible to look at the sun itself without a strong, burning pain in the eyes, but it is even difficult to look at the brilliant sky and earth, at everything that is illuminated by the sun. And the sky, and the fields, and the air are filled with hot, bright light, and the eye involuntarily seeks greenery and coolness. It's too warm! Over the resting fields (those on which nothing has been sown this year) light steam flows. This is warm air, filled with vapors: flowing like water, it rises from the very heated earth. That is why our clever peasants talk about such fields, that they rest under fallow. The tree does not move, and the leaves, as if tired by the heat, hung. The birds hid in the wilderness; livestock stop grazing and seek coolness; a person, drenched in sweat and feeling very exhausted, leaves work: everything is waiting for the fever to subside. But for bread, for hay, for trees, these heats are necessary.

However, a long drought is harmful to plants that love heat, but also love moisture; It's hard on people too. That's why people rejoice when they run thunderclouds, thunder will strike, lightning will flash, and refreshing rain will water the thirsty earth. If only the rain was not with hail, which sometimes happens in the middle of the hottest summer: hail is destructive for ripening grain and lays another field with gloss. The peasants zealously pray to God that there will be no hail.

Everything that spring started ends summer. The leaves grow to their full size, and, recently still transparent, the grove becomes an impenetrable home for a thousand birds. In flood meadows, dense, tall grass waves like the sea. It stirs and buzzes the whole world insects. The trees in the gardens have blossomed. Bright red cherry and dark crimson plum are already flashing between the greens; apples and pears are still green and lurk among the leaves, but in silence they ripen and fill up. One linden is still in bloom and fragrant. In its dense foliage, between its slightly whitening, but fragrant flowers, a slender, invisible chorus is heard. It works with the songs of thousands of cheerful bees on honey, fragrant linden flowers. Come closer to the singing tree: it even smells like honey!

Early flowers have already faded and are preparing seeds, others are still in full bloom. The rye has risen, spiked and is already beginning to turn yellow, agitated like the sea under the pressure of a light wind. Buckwheat is in bloom, and the fields sown with it seem to be covered with a white veil with a pinkish tinge; from them rushes the same pleasant honey smell with which the flowering linden lures bees.

And how many berries, mushrooms! Like a red coral, juicy strawberries bloom in the grass; transparent currant earrings hung on the bushes ... But is it possible to list everything that appears in the summer? One ripens after another, one catches up with another.

And the bird, and the beast, and the insect in the summer expanse! The young birds are already chirping in their nests. But while their wings are still growing, caring parents scurry in the air with a cheerful cry, looking for food for their chicks. The little ones have long been sticking their thin, still poorly feathered necks out of the nest and, opening their noses, are waiting for handouts. And there is enough food for the birds: one picks up the grain dropped by an ear, the other itself will pat a ripening cannabis branch or plant a juicy cherry; the third is chasing midges, and they are jostling in heaps in the air. A vigilant hawk, spreading its long wings wide, flies high in the air, vigilantly looking out for a chicken or some other young, inexperienced bird that has strayed from its mother - it envies and, like an arrow, it will launch itself at the poor thing: she cannot escape the greedy claws of a predatory, carnivorous bird. Old geese, proudly stretching out their long necks, cackle loudly and lead their little children into the water, fluffy like spring lambs on willows, and yellow as egg yolk.

A furry, multicolored caterpillar worries on its many legs and gnaws on leaves and fruits. There are already a lot of colorful butterflies fluttering. The golden bee works tirelessly on linden, on buckwheat, on fragrant, sweet clover, on a variety of different flowers, getting everywhere what she needs to make her cunning, fragrant combs. The incessant rumble stands in apiaries (bee houses). Soon the bees will become crowded in the hives, and they will begin to swarm: they will be divided into new hardworking kingdoms, of which one will remain at home, and the other will fly off to look for new housing somewhere in a hollow tree. But the beekeeper will intercept the swarm on the road and plant it in a brand new hive prepared for him long ago. Ant has already set up many new underground galleries; the thrifty hostess of the squirrel is already beginning to drag the ripening nuts into her hollow. All freedom, all expanse!

A lot, a lot of work for a peasant in the summer! So he plowed the winter fields [Winter fields are fields sown in autumn; grains hibernate under the snow.] and prepared for the autumn a soft cradle for a grain of bread. Before he had finished plowing, it was already time to mow. Mowers, in white shirts, with shiny and ringing scythes in their hands, go out into the meadows and together mow down the tall, already seeded grass to the roots. Sharp braids glisten in the sun and tinkle under the blows of a sand-filled spatula. Women also work together with a rake and dump the already dried hay into piles. The pleasant ringing of braids and friendly, sonorous songs rush everywhere from the meadows. High round haystacks are already being built. The boys wallow in the hay and, pushing each other, flood ringing laughter; and the shaggy horse, all covered with hay, barely drags a heavy shock on a rope.

No sooner had the hayfield moved away than the harvest began. Rye, the breadwinner of the Russian people, has ripened. The ear, heavy with many grains and yellowed, strongly bent down to the ground; if you still leave it in the field, then the grain will begin to crumble, and God's gift will be lost without use. Throwing scythes, mistaken for sickles. It is fun to watch how, having scattered over the field and bending down to the very ground, the slender rows of reapers are cutting down tall rye at the root, putting it in beautiful, heavy sheaves. Weeks will pass two such jobs, and on the field, where until recently high rye was agitated, cut straw will stick out everywhere. But on a compressed strip, tall, golden heaps of bread will become rows.

No sooner had the rye been harvested than the time had come for golden wheat, barley, and oats; and there, you look, the buckwheat has already turned red and asks for braids. It's time to pull the linen: it just lays down. So the hemp is ready; flocks of sparrows fuss over it, taking out oily grain. It's time to dig and potatoes, and apples have long been falling into the tall grass. Everything sings, everything ripens, everything must be removed in time; even long summer day lacks!

Late in the evening, people return from work. They are tired; but their cheerful, sonorous songs are heard loudly in the evening dawn. In the morning, together with the sun, the peasants will again set to work; and the sun rises much earlier in the summer!

Why is the peasant so cheerful in the summer, when he has so much work to do? And the job is not easy. It takes a great habit to miss the whole day with a heavy scythe, each time cutting off a good armful of grass, and with the habit, a lot of diligence and patience are still needed. It is not easy to reap under the scorching rays of the sun, bending down to the very ground, drenched in sweat, suffocating from heat and fatigue. Look at the poor peasant woman, how she wipes large drops of sweat from her flushed face with her dirty but honest hand. She doesn’t even have time to feed her child, although he is right there on the field floundering in his cradle, hanging on three stakes stuck in the ground. The screamer's little sister is still a child herself and has recently begun to walk, but even that is not without work: in a dirty, torn shirt, she squats by the cradle and tries to rock her divergent little brother.

But why is the peasant cheerful in the summer, when he has so much work to do and his work is so difficult? Oh, there are many reasons for this! First, the peasant is not afraid of work: he grew up in labor. Secondly, he knows that the summer job feeds him. whole year and that one must use the bucket when God gives it; otherwise, you can be left without bread. Thirdly, the peasant feels that not only his family, but the whole world feeds on his labors: I, and you, and all the dressed-up gentlemen, although some of them look at the peasant with contempt. He, digging in the ground, feeds everyone with his quiet, not brilliant work, as the roots of a tree feed the proud peaks, dressed in green leaves.

A lot of diligence and patience is needed for peasant work, but a lot of knowledge and experience are also required. Try to press, and you will see that it takes a lot of skill. If someone without habit takes a scythe, then he will not work much with it. Sweeping a good haystack is no easy task either; one must plow skillfully, and in order to sow well - evenly, not thicker and not less often than it should be - then not even every peasant will undertake this. In addition, you need to know when and what to do, how to handle a plow and a harrow [A plow, a harrow are ancient agricultural tools. A plow is for plowing, a harrow is for breaking up clods after plowing.], how, for example, to make hemp from hemp, thread from hemp, and weave canvas from threads ... Oh, a peasant knows and knows how to do a lot, and he can’t do it at all call him an ignoramus, even though he could not read! Learning to read and learning many sciences is much easier than learning everything that a good and experienced peasant should know.

The peasant falls asleep sweetly after hard work, feeling that he has fulfilled his holy duty. Yes, and it is not difficult for him to die: the cornfield cultivated by him and the field still sown by him remain to his children, whom he watered, fed, taught to work and instead of himself made workers in front of people.

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Early summer has the longest days. For twelve hours the sun does not descend from the sky, and the evening dawn has not yet had time to go out in the west, as a whitish stripe appears in the east - a sign of the approaching morning. And the closer to the north, the days in summer are longer and the nights are shorter.

At noon, not only is it impossible to look at the sun itself without a strong, burning pain in the eyes, but it is even difficult to look at the brilliant sky and earth, at everything that is illuminated by the sun. And the sky, and the fields, and the air are filled with hot, bright light, and the eye involuntarily searches for greenery and coolness. It's too warm! Over the resting fields (those on which nothing has been sown this year) light steam flows. This is warm air, filled with vapors: flowing like water, it rises from the very heated earth. That is why our clever peasants talk about such fields, that they rest under fallow. The tree does not move, and the leaves, as if tired by the heat, hung. The birds hid in the wilderness; livestock stop grazing and seek coolness; a person, drenched in sweat and feeling very exhausted, leaves work: everything is waiting for the fever to subside. But for bread, for hay, for trees, these heats are necessary.

However, a long drought is harmful to plants that love heat, but also love moisture; It's hard on people too. That is why people rejoice when storm clouds roll in, thunder strikes, lightning flashes and refreshing rain waters the thirsty earth. If only the rain was not with hail, which sometimes happens in the middle of the hottest summer: hail is destructive for ripening grain and lays another field with gloss. The peasants zealously pray to God that there will be no hail.
Everything that spring started ends summer. The leaves grow to their full size, and, recently still transparent, the grove becomes an impenetrable home for a thousand birds. In flood meadows, dense, tall grass waves like the sea. It stirs and buzzes the whole world of insects. The trees in the gardens have blossomed. Bright red cherry and dark crimson plum are already flashing between the greens; apples and pears are still green and lurk among the leaves, but in silence they ripen and fill up. One linden is still in bloom and fragrant. In its dense foliage, between its slightly whitening, but fragrant flowers, a slender, invisible chorus is heard. It works with the songs of thousands of cheerful bees on honey, fragrant linden flowers. Come closer to the singing tree: it even smells like honey!

And the bird, and the beast, and the insect in the summer expanse! The young birds are already chirping in their nests. But while their wings are still growing, caring parents scurry in the air with a cheerful cry, looking for food for their chicks. The little ones have long been sticking their thin, still poorly feathered necks out of the nest and, opening their noses, are waiting for handouts. And there is enough food for the birds: one picks up the grain dropped by an ear, the other itself will pat a ripening cannabis branch or plant a juicy cherry; the third is chasing midges, and they are jostling in heaps in the air. A sharp-sighted hawk, spreading its long wings wide, flies high in the air, vigilantly looking out for a chicken or some other young, inexperienced bird that has strayed from its mother - it will envy and, like an arrow, it will launch itself at the poor thing: she cannot escape the greedy claws of a predatory, carnivorous bird. Old geese, proudly stretching out their long necks, cackle loudly and lead their little children into the water, fluffy like spring lambs on willows, and yellow as egg yolk.

A lot, a lot of work for a peasant in the summer! So he plowed the winter fields [Winter fields are fields sown in autumn; grains hibernate under the snow.] and prepared for the autumn a soft cradle for a grain of bread. Before he had finished plowing, it was already time to mow. Mowers, in white shirts, with shiny and ringing scythes in their hands, go out into the meadows and together mow down the tall, already seeded grass to the root. Sharp braids glisten in the sun and tinkle under the blows of a sand-filled spatula. Women also work together with a rake and dump the already dried hay into piles. The pleasant ringing of braids and friendly, sonorous songs rush everywhere from the meadows. High round haystacks are already being built. The boys wallow in the hay and, pushing each other, burst into ringing laughter; and the shaggy horse, all covered with hay, barely drags a heavy shock on a rope.

No sooner had the hayfield moved away than the harvest began. Rye, the breadwinner of the Russian people, has ripened. The ear, heavy with many grains and yellowed, strongly bent down to the ground; if you still leave it in the field, then the grain will begin to crumble, and God's gift will be lost without use. Throwing scythes, mistaken for sickles. It is fun to watch how, having scattered over the field and bending down to the very ground, the slender rows of reapers are cutting down tall rye at the root, putting it in beautiful, heavy sheaves. Two weeks of such work will pass, and on the field, where until recently high rye was agitated, cut straw will stick out everywhere. But on a compressed strip, tall, golden heaps of bread will become rows.

But why is the peasant cheerful in the summer, when he has so much work to do and his work is so difficult? Oh, there are many reasons for this! First, the peasant is not afraid of work: he grew up in labor. Secondly, he knows that summer work feeds him for a whole year and that he must use a bucket when God gives it; otherwise - you can be left without bread. Thirdly, the peasant feels that not only his family, but the whole world feeds on his labors: I, and you, and all the dressed-up gentlemen, although some of them look at the peasant with contempt. He, digging in the ground, feeds everyone with his quiet, not brilliant work, as the roots of a tree feed the proud peaks, dressed in green leaves.

A lot of diligence and patience is needed for peasant work, but a lot of knowledge and experience are also required. Try to press, and you will see that it takes a lot of skill. If someone without habit takes a scythe, then he will not work much with it. Sweeping a good haystack is no easy task either; one must plow skillfully, and in order to sow well - evenly, not thicker and not less often than it should - not even every peasant will undertake this. In addition, you need to know when and what to do, how to handle a plow and a harrow [A plow, a harrow are ancient agricultural tools. A plow is for plowing, a harrow is for breaking up clods after plowing.], how, for example, to make hemp from hemp, thread from hemp, and weave canvas from threads ... Oh, a peasant knows and knows how to do a lot, and he can’t do it at all call him an ignoramus, even though he could not read! Learning to read and learning many sciences is much easier than learning everything that a good and experienced peasant should know.