Short works on the topic of loyalty and treason. Essay on the topic "Loyalty and treason

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born on January 5, 1920 in Moscow, but he lived all his life in Leningrad, in Tsarskoe Selo. Here, not far from his house, there were many old forest parks, where the future writer discovered a whole world unusually rich in the secrets of nature. For days he disappeared in the most remote places of the surrounding parks, where he peered and listened to the life of the forest. Wandering among old trees, from childhood he was imbued with the wisdom of nature, learned to recognize by the voices of various birds.

The boy really wanted to know what the forest was talking to him about, he really wanted to comprehend its secrets. Kolya enthusiastically read a variety of books about nature, and wrote down his own observations in his diary, in the "Notebook of Observations", which he began to keep in the second grade. Gradually, stories from the life of forest dwellers began to supplement the place of short entries in the diary. By that time, the forest had long become real for him. good friend.

In the books of the remarkable Leningrad writer, you will always find unusually interesting and informative cases from the life of wildlife, animals and birds. There is so much in these wonderful publications, what secrets are not revealed on the pages ... Here are mushrooms bitten by someone, and here are cones bitten by someone, and here are chopped nuts. Be sure to find out - what, how, why is happening in the forest - this is a real challenge for a true lover of nature! And everywhere there are traces - large and small, scratches from claws. The steps of a passing, running forest animal are straight and winding. Mysterious traces of the hidden inhabitants of the forest ...

Nature has a place for everyone: for people, and for animals, and for birds. But in order to become a real good friend to the whole living world, you need to learn a lot about forests and fields, rivers and lakes, mountains and tundra, taiga and deserts, and a lot more. This is what Nikolai Sladkov's books are about, imbued with an endless love of nature. Nikolai Ivanovich's books are a constant search for answers to a variety of questions, these are Nature and Man, which are closely looking at each other. For a reader who is sincerely in love with Nikolai Sladkov's books, the greatest joy is to feel respect for the world around him, to realize his feelings.

And whose books about nature made the greatest impression on Nikolai Ivanovich himself? The feeling of the mysteries of nature, its mysterious life, hidden from the eyes of a common man in the street, came largely from the books of Vitaly Bianchi. Later, a correspondence began between Sladkov and Bianchi, dedicated to solving the secrets of literary creativity, writing inspiration. While still a schoolboy, the future naturalist writer came to the youth circle created at the Leningrad Zoological Institute. "The Columbus Club" was the name given by Vitaly Bianchi to the young naturalists studying in the circle, and in the summer in the summer he invited them to his place in the Novgorod region, so that the children themselves could learn and comprehend the great Book of the Forest. It was Vitaly Valentinovich Bianchi, who later became a real friend for him, that Nikolai Sladkov considered his teacher.

When the Great began Patriotic War, Nikolai Ivanovich volunteered for the front, becoming a military topographer. And when the war ended, he continued to work in the specialty of topogaph already in Peaceful time.

The first stories were written by him in 1952, and in 1953 the first book of Nikolai Sladkov, "The Silver Tail", was published. "In nature, the same harmony as in music, throw out the note and the melody will be broken ..." Nikolai Sladkov's books - stories and stories about nature - are unusually harmonious, they very fully and accurately reflect the secrets of nature. In order to find yourself in a wild forest, it is not at all necessary to take a train ticket every time and go to distant lands - you can simply reach out to the bookshelf and take your favorite book by Nikolai Sladkov, settle comfortably in your favorite corner and be transported into the wonderful world of nature .. In the forest you can see a lot of interesting things. You will learn, for example, how bears wake up in the spring because the melted snow “wet their pants”. And here's a test for your taste: what do you think tastes better - willow buds or birch buds? You will learn that there are birds that fly for the winter not in warmer climes, but on the contrary - they fly to us, to our forests.

Together with Vitaly Bianchi, his friend and like-minded person, Nikolai Sladkov had been preparing the "News from the Forest" radio programs for many years and responding to numerous letters from his listeners. In total, during his life full of adventures, Nikolai Ivanovich wrote more than 60 books. Among the most famous are such publications as "Out of the Corner of an Eye", "Behind a Blue Bird's Feather", "Invisible Aspen", "Underwater Newspaper", "Land Above the Clouds", "Whistle of Wild Wings" and many other wonderful books .. For the book "Underwater Newspaper" Nikolai Ivanovich was awarded the State Prize named after NK Krupskaya.

Such a gift - to tell about forest dwellers with sincere love and a warm smile, as well as with the meticulousness of a professional zoologist - is given to very few. And very few of them can become real writers - such as Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov, unusually organically combining in their work the talent of an excellent storyteller and the truly boundless erudition of a scientist, having managed to discover something of their own in nature, unknown to others, and tell about this to their grateful readers ...

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Nikolay Sladkov
Forest Tales

How the bear was turned over

Birds and animals have suffered from the dashing winter. Every day - a blizzard, every night - frost. There is no end in sight to winter. The Bear slept in his den. I probably forgot that it's time for him to roll over on the other side.

There is a forest sign: as the Bear turns over on its other side, so the sun will turn for the summer.

The patience of birds and animals burst. Send the Bear to wake up:

- Hey, Bear, it's time! Everyone is tired of winter! We missed the sun. Roll over, roll over, bedsores really?

The bear responds not to a gugu: it won't budge, it won't turn over. Know snores.

- Eh, to beat him in the back of the head! - exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I suppose I would have moved right away!

- No-no, - Moose murmured, - with him it is necessary respectfully, respectfully. Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg: turn you, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not sweet. We, moose, stand in an aspen forest, like cows in a stall: we can't take a step to the side. Snow in the forest up to its ears! The trouble is, if the wolves find out about us.

The bear moved his ear, grumbling through his teeth:

- And I care about you moose! The deep snow is good for me: it is warm and I sleep well.

Then the White Partridge lamented:

- And you're not ashamed, Bear? Snow covered all the berries, all the bushes with buds - what can you order us to peck? Well, what should you turn over on the other side, hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!

And the Bear is his:

- Even funny! You are tired of winter, and I turn over from side to side! Well, what do I care about buds and berries? I have a supply of lard under my skin.

The squirrel endured - endured - could not bear it:

- Oh, you shaggy mattress, turn over to him, you see, laziness! But you would have jumped on the branches with ice cream, you would have skinned your paws until they bleed, like I did!

- Four five six! - Bear taunts. - That's scared! Come on - Shoot otsedova! You are interfering with sleep.

The animals set their tails between their legs, the birds hung their noses - they began to disperse. And then, out of the snow, the Mouse suddenly leaned out and squeaked:

- So big, but scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, bobtail? Neither in a good way nor in a bad way, he does not understand. With him it is necessary in our way, in a mouse way. You ask me - I'll turn it over in an instant!

- You are the Bear ?! - the animals gasped.

- One left foot! - the Mouse boasts.

The Mouse darted into the den - let's tickle the Bear.

Runs on it, scratches with claws, bites with teeth. The Bear twitched, screeched like a piglet, kicked his legs.

- Oh, I can't! - howls. - Oh, turn over, just don't tickle! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!

And the steam from the den is like smoke from a chimney.

The mouse leaned out and squeaks:

- Rolled over as cute! They would have told me long ago.

Well, as the Bear turned over on the other side, the sun immediately turned for summer. Every day - the sun is higher, every day - spring is closer. Every day - brighter, more fun in the forest!

Forest rustles

Perch and Burbot

Wodes under the ice! All fish are sleepy - you alone, Burbot, cheerful and playful. What's the matter with you, huh?

- And the fact that for all fish in winter - winter, and for me, Burbot, in winter - summer! You, perch, doze, and we, burbots, play weddings, caviar with a sword, rejoice, have fun!

- Ayda, brothers-perch, to Burbot for the wedding! Let's disperse our sleep, have fun, eat some burbot caviar ...

Otter and Raven

- Tell me, Raven, wise bird, why do people burn a fire in the forest?

- I did not expect such a question, Otter, from you. They got wet in the stream, froze, so they kindled a fire. They warm themselves by the fire.

- It's strange ... And I always warm myself in the water in winter. There is never frost in the water!

Hare and Vole

- Frost and blizzard, snow and cold. If you want to smell green grass, to gnaw juicy leaves - endure until spring. And where else is that spring - beyond the mountains and beyond the seas ...

- Not overseas, Hare, spring is not far off, but under your feet! Dig the snow to the ground - there is a green lingonberry, a cuff, a strawberry, and a dandelion. And sniff and eat.

Badger and Bear

- What, Bear, are you still sleeping?

- I am sleeping, Badger, I am sleeping. So, brother, I accelerated - the fifth month without waking up. All sides lay down!

- Maybe, Bear, it's time for us to get up?

- It's not time. Sleep some more.

- And we will not sleep with you in the spring with acceleration?

- Do not be afraid! She, brother, will wake you up.

- And what - will she knock on us, sing a song or, maybe, tickle our heels? I, Misha, fear is hard to climb!

- Wow! You’ll probably jump up! She, Borya, will give you a bucket of water under your sides - I suppose you will not lie down! Sleep while dry.

Magpie and Deer

- Oh-oh-oh, Olyapka, have you decided to swim in the hole in any way ?!

- And swim and dive!

- Will you freeze?

- My feather is warm!

- Will you get wet?

- I have a water-repellent feather!

- Will you drown?

- I can swim!

- A … a … will you get hungry after swimming?

- Aya is why I dive to eat a water bug!

Winter debts

Sparrow chirped on a dung heap - and jumps up! And the Crow will croak in his disgusting voice:

- Why, Sparrow, rejoiced, why was he chirping?

- The wings itch, Crow, the nose itches, - Sparrow answers. - Passion to fight hunting! Don't croak here, don't spoil me spring mood!

- But I'll ruin it! - Raven does not lag behind. - How do I ask a question!

- In scared!

- And I’ll scare you. Did you peck crumbs in the trash heap in winter?

- Pecked.

- Did you pick up the grain from the barnyard?

- Picked up.

- Did you have lunch in the poultry canteen near the school?

- Thank you guys, they fed me.

- That's it! - the Crow struggles. - And what do you think to pay for all this? With your chikchirkaniya?

- Did I use it alone? - Sparrow was confused. - And the Tit was there, and the Woodpecker, and the Magpie, and the Jackdaw. And you, Crow, were ...

- Don't confuse others! - Raven wheezes. - You answer for yourself. Borrowed - give it back! As all decent birds do.

- Decent, maybe they do, - Sparrow got angry. - But are you doing, Crow?

- I'll pay before everyone else! Do you hear that a tractor is plowing in the field? And I follow him from the furrow of any root-eaters and root-rodents. And Magpie and Jackdaw help me. And looking at us, other birds are trying.

- You, too, do not vouch for others! - Sparrow rests. - Others, perhaps, forgot to think.

But the Crow does not appease:

- And you fly and check!

Sparrow flew to check. I flew into the garden - there the Tit lives in a new nest box.

- Congratulations on your new home! - Sparrow says. - To celebrate, I suppose I forgot about the debts!

- I have not forgotten, Sparrow, that you are! - Tit answers. - In winter, the guys treated me to delicious lard, and I will treat them to sweet apples in the fall. I guard the garden from moths and leaf gnaws.

- For what need, Sparrow, flew to my forest?

- Yes, that's the calculation they demand from me, - chirps Sparrow. - And you, Woodpecker, how are you paying? A?

“I’m trying so hard,” the Woodpecker replies. - I protect the forest from woodworms and bark beetles. I fight them without sparing my stomach! I even got fat ...

- Look you, - the Sparrow thought. - I thought ...

Sparrow returned to the dung heap and said to Crow:

- Yours, hag, really! Everyone is working off their winter debts. Am I worse than others? How will I begin to feed my chicks with mosquitoes, horseflies and flies! So that these guys do not bite the bloodsuckers! I will return the debts in an instant!

He said so and let's jump up and chirp on the dung heap again. While there is free time. Until the sparrows hatched in the nest.

Polite jackdaw

I have many friends among the wild birds. I know one sparrow. He is all white - albino. You can immediately distinguish him in a flock of sparrows: all are gray, and he is white.

I know forty. I distinguish this one by impudence. In winter, people used to hang food outside the window, so she would fly in right now and ruffle everything.

But one daw I noticed for her politeness.

There was a blizzard.

In early spring there are special snowstorms - sunny. Snow whirlwinds swirl in the air, everything sparkles and rushes! Stone houses are like rocks. Above there is a blizzard, from the rooftops, like from the mountains, snow falls. Icicles from the wind grow in different sides like the shaggy beard of Santa Claus.

And above the cornice, under the roof, there is a secluded spot. There, two bricks fell out of the wall. In this recess my jackdaw settled down. All black, only a gray collar on the neck. Jackdaw basked in the sun and even pecked some tidbit. Cubby!

If this jackdaw were me, I would not concede such a place to anyone!

And suddenly I see: another, smaller and dimmer in color, flies up to my big jackdaw. Jump-jump along the cornice. Twist and twirl your tail! She sat down opposite my jackdaw and looked. The wind flutters her - so it breaks feathers, so it whips with white grain!

My jackdaw grabbed a piece of its own in its beak - and go from the recess to the cornice! A warm place was lost to a stranger!

And someone else's jackdaw grab a piece from my beak - and on its warm place. She pressed someone else's piece with her paw - it bites. Here is shameless!

My jackdaw on the ledge - in the snow, in the wind, no food. The snow cuts it, the wind breaks its feathers. And she, a fool, suffers! Doesn't kick out the little one.

“Probably,” I think, “someone else’s jackdaw is very old, so they give way to her place. Or maybe it's a well-known and respected jackdaw? Or, maybe she is small, but she is remote - a brawler. " I didn’t understand anything then ...

And recently I see: both jackdaws - mine and someone else's - are sitting side by side on an old chimney and both have twigs in their beaks.

Hey, they are building a nest together! Here everyone will understand.

And the little jackdaw is not at all old and not a brawler. And she is not a stranger now.

And my friend a big jackdaw is not a jackdaw at all, but a gal!

But still my friend gal is very polite. This is the first time I've seen such a person.

Grouse notes

They still do not sing in the woods of the black grouse. They just write notes. They write notes like this. One flies from a birch to a white meadow, inflates his neck like a rooster. And minces with its legs in the snow, minces. He drags half-bent wings, snow furrows his wings - he draws musical lines.

The second black grouse will fly off and after the first one in the snow as it runs! So dots with his feet on the musical lines and will place: "Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si!"

The first one immediately into a fight: do not interfere, they say, compose! Chuphyrknet on the second and on his lines behind him: "Si-la-sol-fa-mi-re-do!"

Chase away, raise his head up, think. Mumbles, mumbles, turns back and forth and writes down its mumbling with its paws on its lines. For memory.

Fun! They walk, run - tracing the snow with their wings on the musical lines. They mutter, chufykat - compose. They compose their spring songs and write them down with their feet and wings in the snow.

But soon the grouse will finish composing songs - they will begin to learn. Then they will fly up to high birches - you can clearly see the notes from above! - and they will sing. All will sing the same way, the notes are the same for all: grooves and crosses, crosses and grooves.

They learn and learn everything until the snow melts. And it will do - it doesn't matter: they sing from memory. They sing during the day, sing in the evening, but especially in the morning.

They sing great, like clockwork!

Whose thaw?

Soroka saw the first thaw - a dark speck on the white snow.

- My! - shouted. - My thaw, since I first saw it!

There are seeds on the thawed patches, spider beetles are swarming, the lemongrass butterfly lies on its side - it warms up. Magpie's eyes ran up, and her beak was wide open, but out of nowhere - Rook.

- Hello, I've already arrived! In winter she walked through the crow dumps, and now on my thawed patch! Ugly!

- Why is she yours? - Magpie chirped. - I was the first to see!

- You saw, - Rook barked, - and I dreamed about her all winter. For a thousand miles I was in a hurry to see her! For her sake, he left warm countries. Without her, I wouldn't be here either. Where there are thawed patches, there we are, rooks. My thaw!

- What is he croaking here! - Magpie rattled. - All winter in the south he warmed himself, basked, ate and drank what he wanted, and returned - give him a thawed patch without a queue! And I was freezing all winter, rushed from the garbage dump to the dump, swallowed snow instead of water, and now, a little alive, weak, I finally looked out for a thawed patch, and that one is taken away. You, Rook, are only seemingly dark, but on your own mind. Shoot from the thawed patches until you peck at the crown!

The Lark flew in to the noise, looked around, listened and chirped:

- Spring, sun, the sky is clear, and you are quarreling. And where - on my thawed patch! Do not overshadow my joy of meeting her. I'm hungry for songs!

Magpie and Rook only flapped their wings.

- Why is she yours? This is our thaw, we found it. The magpie was waiting for her all winter, she looked through all her eyes.

And I, perhaps, was in such a hurry from the south to her that I almost dislocated my wings on the way.

- And I was born on it! Squeaked the Lark. - If you look, you can also find the eggshells from the egg from which I hatched! I remember, it happened, in the winter in a foreign land, a native nest - and I do not want to sing. And now the song is torn from its beak - even the tongue trembles.

The Lark jumped on a hummock, screwed up his eyes, his neck trembled - and the song flowed like a spring trickle: it rang, gurgled, began to purr. Magpie and Rook opened their beaks - they were heard. They will never sing like that, their throats are not right, they can only chirp and croak.

For a long time, probably, they would have listened, crumbled in the spring sun, but the earth suddenly trembled underfoot, swelled up with a hillock and crumbled.

And the Mole looked out - sniffed.

- Did you get straight into the thawed patches? So it is: the ground is soft, warm, there is no snow. And it smells ... Phew! Does the spring smell like cha? Spring, or what, is it upstairs?

- Spring, spring, earthmoving! Soroka shouted grumpily.

- Knew where to please! - Rook muttered suspiciously. - Even though he is blind ...

- Why do you need our thawed patch? Squeaked the Lark.

The Mole sniffed at the Rook, at the Magpie, at the Lark - with his eyes he sees badly! - sneezed and says:

“I don’t need anything from you. And I don't need your thaw. I’ll push the earth out of the hole and back. Because I feel: you are rotten. Fight, almost fight. Yes, and light, dry, fresh air. Not like in my dungeon: dark, damp, musty. Grace! You also have some kind of spring here ...

- How can you say that? - the Lark was horrified. - Yes, do you know, digger, what spring is!

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know!” Snorted the Mole. - I don't need any spring, I have it underground all year round the same.

“Thawed patches appear in the spring,” said Magpie, Lark and Rook dreamily.

“And scandals begin on thawed patches,” Mole snorted again. - And for what? Thaw like thaw.

- Don't tell me! - Magpie jumped up. - And the seeds? And the beetles? Are the sprouts green? All winter without vitamins.

- Sit, walk, warm up! - Rook barked. - Dig your nose in the warm earth!

- And it's good to sing like over thawed patches! - the Lark soared. - How many thawed patches in the field - so many larks. And everyone is singing! There is nothing better in spring than a thawed patch.

- Why argue then? - the Mole did not understand. - The lark wants to sing - let him sing. Rook wants to march - let him march.

- Right! - said the Magpie. - In the meantime, I'll take care of seeds and beetles ...

Here shouts and bickering began again.

And while they were shouting and quarreling, new thawed patches appeared in the field. Birds scattered over them to meet the spring. Singing songs, digging in the warm earth, starving the worm.

- It's time for me too! - The mole said. And he fell where there is no spring, no thawed patches, no sun and no moon, no wind and no rain. And where even there is no one to argue with. Where it is always dark and quiet.

Hare dance

Frost is still in the yard. But a special frost, spring. An ear that is in the shade freezes, and that in the sun burns. Drops from green aspens, but the droplets do not reach the ground, freeze on the fly into the ice. On the sunny side of the trees, the water glistens, and the shadowy side is covered with a matte shell of ice.

Willow trees have turned pink, alder thickets have been watered. Snow melts and burns during the day, frost clicks at night. It's time for bunny songs. It's time for the night hare round dances.

You can hear the singing of the hares at night. And how they lead a round dance, you can't see it in the dark.

But you can understand everything in the footsteps: there was a straight hare path - from hemp to hemp, through hummocks, through deadwood, under white snow collars - and suddenly it swirled around with unthinkable loops! Eights among the birches, circles-round dances around the trees, a merry-go-round between the bushes.

As if the heads of hares were spinning, and they went to dodge and be confused.

They sing and dance: “Gu-gu-gu-gu-oo! Gu-gu-gu-gu-oo! "

As if blowing birch bark pipes. Even the split lips are shaking!

They don't care about foxes and eagle owls now. All winter they lived in fear, all winter they hid and were silent. Enough!

March outside. The sun overcomes the frost.

It's time for bunny songs.

The time of the bunny round dances.

Inhuman steps

Early spring, evening, deep forest swamp. In a light damp pine forest, snow is still here and there, but in a warm spruce forest on a hillock it is already dry. I enter a dense spruce forest, like a dark barn. I stand, I am silent, I listen.

Around the black trunks of fir trees, behind them a cold yellow sunset. And an amazing silence when you hear your heartbeats and your own breathing. A blackbird on a spruce head whistles lazily and loudly in the silence. He whistles, listens, and in response to him - silence ...

And suddenly, in this transparent and breathless silence - heavy, heavy, inhuman steps! Splashes of water and tinkling of ice. To-py, to-py, to-py! It’s like a heavily laden horse pulling a cart through a swamp with difficulty. And immediately, like a blow, a stunning rumbling roar! The forest shook, the earth shook.

Heavy footsteps died down: light, hectic, hurried ones were heard.

Light steps caught up with heavy ones. Top-top-slap - and stop, top-top-slap - and silence. It was not easy for the hasty steps to catch up with the slow and heavy ones.

I leaned back against the trunk.

It became completely dark under the trees, and only the swamp was dimly white between the black trunks.

The beast roared again - as it crashed out of a cannon. And again the forest gasped and the earth swayed.

I'm not making this up: the forest really shook, the earth really shook! A fierce roar - like a hammer blow, like a thunderclap, like an explosion! But he did not generate fear, but respect for his unbridled strength, for this cast-iron throat, erupting like a volcano.

Light steps were in a hurry, in a hurry: moss smacked, ice crunched, water splashed.

I have long understood that these are bears: a child and a mother.

The child does not keep up, lags behind, and my mother senses me, gets angry and worried.

Mom warns that the bear is not alone, that she is close, that it is better not to touch him.

I understood her well: she warns convincingly.

Heavy steps are inaudible: the bear is waiting. And the light ones are in a hurry, in a hurry. Here is a quiet squeal: the bear has been slapped - do not lag behind! Here are the steps, heavy and light, walked alongside: then-py, then-py! Slap-slap-slap! Farther and quieter. And they fell silent.

And again silence.

The blackbird finished whistling. Moon spots fell on the trunks.

Stars flashed in black puddles.

Each puddle is like a window open into the night sky.

It's scary to walk through these windows right up to the stars.

I wander slowly to my fire. The heart contracts sweetly.

And the mighty call of the forest is buzzing and buzzing in your ears.

Thrush and Owl

Listen, explain to me: how to distinguish an owl from an owl?

- It depends on which owl ...

- What an owl ... Ordinary!

- Such an owl does not exist. There is a barn owl, a gray owl, a hawk owl, a marsh owl, a polar owl, an eared owl ...

- Well, what kind of an owl are you?

- Me? I am a long-tailed owl.

- Well, here's how to distinguish you from an owl?

- It depends on which owl ... There is a dark owl - forest, there is a light owl - desert, and there is also a fish owl ...

- Ugh, you night scum! Everything is so confused that you yourself, go, do not figure out who you have who!

- Ho-ho-ho-ho! Boo!

Five black grouse

A hazel grouse flew to the side of a black grouse current and started its own song: "Five, five, five, five black grouses!" I counted: six braids on the current! Five to the side in the snow, and the sixth is sitting next to a hut, on a gray bump.

And the hazel grouse is his: "Five-yat, five-yat, five black grouses!"

- Six! I say.

"Five, five, five, five black grouses!"

The next one - the sixth - heard, got scared and flew away.

"Five, five, five, five black grouses!" - the hazel grouse whistles.

I am silent. I myself see that it is five. The sixth flew away.

And the hazel grouse does not calm down: "Five, five, five, five black grouses!"

- I don’t argue! I say. - Five so five!

"Five, five, five, five black grouses!" - the hazel grouse whistles.

- I see without you! I snapped. - Probably not blind!

How the white wings flutter, how the white wings flutter - and not a single black grouse is left!

And the hazel grouse flew away with them.

Forgot your notebook

I walk through the forest and get upset: I forgot my notebook! And in the forest today, as if on purpose, there are so many different events! Spring lingered, lingered, and that's how it burst. It was finally a warm and wet day, and winter collapsed at once. The roads are limp, the snow is embankment, the bare alders are covered with raindrops, the warm steam is stirring over the thawed patches. The birds seemed to burst out of their cages: hubbub, chirping and whistling. In the swamp, cranes blow their trumpets, lapwings squeal over puddles, curlews whistle on thawed hummocks. Lonely, in groups, in flocks, blackbirds, finches, briskets, greenfinches fly over the forest. News from all sides - just have time to turn your head!

The first white-browed thrush sang, the first blackbird screamed, the first snipe - a forest lamb - bleated. What to do with this flood of spring news?

As it was convenient: I saw and recorded, heard and recorded. You walk through the woods and put the news in your notebook like mushrooms in a basket. One - and in a notebook, two - and in a notebook. A full notepad of news, even a pocket pulls away ...

And now? Peer, listen attentively and remember everything. Be afraid to miss a little, be afraid to forget, mix up, make mistakes. Do not put the news in a notebook, but in yourself. What are you - a backpack or a basket?

With a notepad it is convenient and simple: "I blew the first snipe." Or: "Zaryanka sang on the tree." And that's all. How did you seal it. Notice for memory, message note.

And now, if you please, this very robin, which suddenly took it into its head to sing, and together with a huge Christmas tree, in whose paws, as if in wide palms, the fragments of its glass song roll, ringing, to manage to put on the shelf of your memory and save it.

There are also cranes and lapwings together with their meadow and hummocks, finches and jerks with all this volgly spring day - all into oneself, into oneself and into oneself! And now hurry up not to write down, but to watch and listen.

That's a hassle.

Maybe let it be? Maybe this is better? All the news is not in my notebook or in my pocket, but right in me. And not some boring set of events - who, what, where, when? - and all spring. Entirely! Day after day: with the sun, the wind, the shine of the snow, the murmur of the water.

And now you are already soaked in spring - what's wrong with that? What could be better if spring is inside, and birds are pouring in the soul! It couldn't be better!

It's good that I forgot my notebook. Would be worn with him now, as with a written sack. I will purposely forget him another time. And I'll throw away the pencil.

I will walk, soak myself in spring and bird songs. On top of your head!

Attention! This is an introductory excerpt from the book.

If you like the beginning of the book, then full version can be purchased from our partner - distributor of legal content LLC "Liters".

N.I. Sladkov (1920 - 1996) was not a writer by profession. He was engaged in topography, that is, he created maps and plans of various areas. And if so, then I spent a lot of time in nature. Knowing how to observe, N. Sladkov comes to the conclusion that everything interesting should be written down. This is how a writer appeared who created stories and fairy tales that would be interesting for both children and adults.

The life of a traveler and writer

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born in the capital, and lived in Leningrad all his life. He became interested in the life of nature early on. V primary school already kept a diary. The boy wrote down the most interesting observations in it. He became a junior. V.V. Bianchi, a wonderful naturalist, became his teacher and then his friend. When N. Sladkov became older, he became interested in hunting. But he quickly realized that he could not kill animals and birds. Then he took a camera in his hands and wandered through the fields and forests, looking for interesting shots. The profession contributed to the fact that Nikolai Ivanovich saw our immense world. When he discovered the Caucasus and the Tien Shan, he fell in love with them forever. The mountains attracted him, despite the dangers that awaited him. In the Caucasus, he was looking for a snow leopard.

This rare animal lives in hard-to-reach places... N. Sladkov climbed a small flat area of the mountain and accidentally brought down a stone block on it. He found himself in a tiny closed area, where there was only a nest of golden eagles. For more than a week he lived there, thinking how to get out of there, and eating the food that adult birds brought to their chicks. Then from the branches of the nest, he weaved something like a rope and went downstairs. Nikolai Ivanovich visited both the cold White Sea and ancient India, and in hot Africa, was engaged in, as they say now, diving, admiring underwater world... He brought notebooks and photographs from everywhere. They meant a lot to him. Rereading them, he again plunged into the world of wandering, when his age no longer allowed him to go far. "The Silver Tail" was the title of the first book composed of Sladkov's stories. It came out in 1953. After that, there will be many more books, which will be described below.

The story of the fox with the silver tail

Suddenly winter came to the mountains at night. She descended from the peaks, and the heart of the hunter and naturalist trembled. He did not sit at home and hit the road. All the paths were covered with snow so that you could not recognize familiar places. And suddenly - a miracle: a white butterfly flutters over the snow. I noticed an attentive look and light traces of caress. She, falling through, walked under the snow, occasionally sticking out chocolate nose... Made a great move. And here is the frog, brown but alive, sitting in the snow, basking in the sun. And suddenly, in the sun through the snow, where it is impossible to look from the bright light, someone is running. The hunter looked closely, but it's a mountain fox.

Only her tail is completely unprecedented - silver. Runs far away, and the shot is fired at random. Past! And the fox leaves, only the tail sparkles in the sun. So she went around the bend of the river, while the gun was reloading, and took away her incredible silver tail. These are the stories of Sladkov that began printing. It seems unpretentious, but full of observations of all living things that live in the mountains, forests, fields.

About mushrooms

Anyone who did not grow in mushroom lands does not know mushrooms and can, if he goes into the forest alone, without an experienced person, pick up toadstools instead of good mushrooms. The story for an inexperienced mushroom picker is called "Fedot, but not that one!" It lists all the differences porcini mushroom from bile or And what is the difference between bringing certain death from delicious champignon. Sladkov's stories about mushrooms are both useful and funny. Here is a story about forest strongmen. After the rain, boletus, boletus and flywheel competed. A boletus raised a birch leaf and a snail on a hat. The boletus pulled up and lifted 3 aspen leaves and a frog. And the flywheel crawled out from under the moss and decided to pick up a whole twig. Only he did not succeed. The cap parted in half. And who became the champion? Of course, the boletus - he and the bright cap of the champion!

Who eats what

The forest animal asked the naturalist a riddle. He offered to guess who he is if he tells what he eats. And it turned out that he loves beetles, ants, wasps, bumblebees, mice, lizards, chicks, tree buds, nuts, berries, mushrooms. The naturalist did not guess who was making such cunning riddles to him.

It turned out to be a squirrel. These are the unusual stories of Sladkov the reader unravels with him.

A little about forest life

The forest is beautiful at any time of the year. And in winter, and in spring, and in summer, and in autumn, a quiet and secret life goes on in it. But she is open to an attentive eye. Only not everyone knows how to peer into it. This is what Sladkov teaches. Stories about the life of the forest during each month of the year allow you to find out why, for example, a bear turns over in its den. Every forest animal, every bird knows that if the bear turns on the other side, then winter will turn into summer. Severe frosts will go away, the day will lengthen, and the sun will begin to warm. And the bear is fast asleep. And all the forest animals went to wake the bear, ask him to turn over. Only the bear refuses everyone. He warmed up on his side, he sleeps sweetly, and he is not going to roll over, even though everyone is asking. And what did N. Sladkov spy on? Stories report that a tiny mouse leaned out from under the snow and squeaked, which would quickly turn the lazybones. She ran over his shaggy skin, tickled him, slightly bit him with sharp little teeth. The bear could not stand it and turned over, and behind it the sun turned to warm and summer.

In the summer in the gorge

It's stuffy in the sun and in the shade. Even lizards are looking for a cramped corner to hide from the scorching sun. There is silence. Suddenly, around the bend, Nikolai Sladkov hears a ringing squeak. The stories, if read in broken down, took us back to the mountains. The naturalist defeated the hunter in the man who was eyeing the mountain goat. The goat will wait. And why is the nuthatch bird crying so desperately? It turned out that on a completely sheer rock, where there is nothing to catch on, a thick gyurza crawls towards the nest, into the hand of a man. She rests on the tail, and her head gropes for an invisible ledge, clings to it and, shimmering like mercury, rises higher and higher. In the nest, chicks are alarmed and squeak plaintively.

The snake is about to get to them. She has already raised her head and is aiming. But a brave little nuthatch pecked the villain in the head. He shook her with his paws and hit with the whole body. And the snake could not stay on the rock. A weak blow was enough for her to fall to the bottom of the gorge. And the goat, for which the man was hunting, rode away long ago. But it is not important. The main thing is what the naturalist saw.

In the woods

How much knowledge is needed to understand the behavior of bears! They are possessed by Sladkov. The stories about animals are proof of this. Who would know, bears are very strict about their babies. And the cubs are curious and naughty. While mom is asleep, they will take and wander into the thicket. It's interesting there. The teddy bear already knows that tasty insects are hiding under the stone. Just turn it over. And the teddy bear turned the stone over, and the stone pressed his paw - it hurt, and the insects fled. The bear sees a mushroom and wants to eat it, but by the smell he understands - it is impossible, poisonous. The kid got angry with him and hit him with his paw. The mushroom burst, and yellow dust flew to the bear, the bear sneezed. The rest, looked around and saw a frog. I was delighted: here it is - a delicacy. I caught it and started tossing it up and catching it. Played, and lost.

And here my mother is looking from behind a bush. How nice it is to meet mom! She will fondle him now and catch him a tasty frog. And how mom will give him such a slap that the baby rolled. He got mad at his mother to the point of impossibility and snapped at her menacingly. And again he rolled from the slap in the face. The bear got up and ran through the bushes, and his mother followed him. Only blows were heard. “This is how caution is taught,” thought the naturalist, who was quietly sitting by the stream and watching the relationship in the bear family. Sladkov's stories about nature also teach the reader to take a close look at everything that surrounds him. Do not miss the flight of a bird, or the whirling of a butterfly, or the game of fish in the water.

The bug that can sing

Yes, yes, some can sing. Be surprised if you didn't know about it. It is called a rowboat and swims on its stomach, and not like other bugs - on its back. And he can sing even under water! It chirps almost like a grasshopper when it rubs its nose with its paws. So a gentle singing turns out.

Why do we need tails

Not for beauty at all. It can be a rudder for fish, an oar for a crab, for a woodpecker - a support, for a fox - a snag. Why does a newt need a tail? But for everything that has already been said, and in addition, it absorbs air from the water with its tail. Therefore, it can sit under it, without rising to the surface for almost four days. Sladkov Nikolai Ivanovich knows a lot. His stories never cease to amaze him.

Sauna for wild boar

Everyone loves to wash, but the forest pig does it in a special way. He will find a dirty puddle in the summer, in which a thick liquid lies at the bottom, and lie down. And let's roll in it and be smeared with this mud. Until the boar collects all the dirt on itself, it will never come out of the puddle. And he came out, then handsome, handsome - all sticky, black-brown with dirt. She will be covered with a crust in the sun and the breeze on him, and then neither gnats nor horseflies are afraid of him. It is he who is saving himself from them with such an original bathhouse. His wool in summer is sparse, and malevolent bloodsuckers bite through his skin. And no one will bite him through the mud crust.

Why Nikolai Sladkov wrote

Most of all, he wanted to protect her from us, people mindlessly picking flowers that will fade on the way home.

Nettles will grow instead of them. Every frog and butterfly feels pain, and you cannot catch and offend them. All living things, be it a fungus, a flower, a bird, can and should be watched with love. And you should be afraid to spoil something. Destroy an anthill, for example. It is better to take a closer look at his life and see with your own eyes how cunningly it is arranged. Our Earth is very small, and all of it must be protected. And it seems to the writer that the main task of nature is to make our life more interesting and happier.

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BIOGRAPHY of Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov Prepared by the teacher primary grades GBOU Secondary School No. 349 Krasnogvardeisky District of St. Petersburg Pechenkina Tamara Pavlovna

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov 05.01.1920 - 28.06.1996 Soviet writer

During the war, N. Sladkov volunteered for the front, became a military topographer. In peacetime, he retained the same specialty. In his youth, he was fond of hunting, but later gave up this occupation. Instead, he began to engage in photography, put forward an appeal "Do not take a gun into the forest, take a photographic gun into the forest."

The first stories were written by him in 1952, and in 1953 the first book of Nikolai Sladkov, "The Silver Tail", was published. "The same harmony in nature as in music, throw out the note and the melody will be broken ..." Nikolai Sladkov's books - stories and stories about nature - are unusually harmonious, they very fully and accurately reflect the secrets of nature. In order to find yourself in a wild forest, it is not at all necessary to take a train ticket and go to distant lands every time - you can simply reach out to the bookshelf and take your favorite book by Nikolai Sladkov, settle comfortably in your favorite corner and be transported into the wonderful world of nature .. ...

Together with Vitaly Bianchi, his friend and like-minded person, Nikolai Sladkov had been preparing the "News from the Forest" radio programs for many years and responding to numerous letters from his listeners. In total, during his life full of adventures, Nikolai Ivanovich wrote more than 60 books. Among the most famous are such publications as: For the book "Underwater Newspaper" Nikolai Ivanovich was awarded the State Prize named after NK Krupskaya.

In one of his books the writer wrote: “For a long time and intently we have been looking at nature. Isn't it time to look inside yourself? How do the watchful eyes of birds and animals, the eyes of fields and forests see us? Who are we - the rulers of the Earth? What do we want? And what are we doing? " Sladkov's books allow us to look into ourselves. What can we do to make our planet more beautiful, so that animals and plants do not disappear from the face of the Earth, so that you can swim in rivers, so that birds sing in forests and cities, so that our children do not forget what it is pure water and the air filled with the scent of grass and rain? “To protect the earth, nature, you have to love it, to love it, you have to learn. Having learned - it is impossible not to fall in love. " "I write about nature because I love it very much: for its beauty, for its riddles, for its wisdom and diversity." “Nature is a fascinating book. Just start reading it, you won't come off. "

The last years of his life, Sladkov louder and more persistently stops the so-called nature lovers, those who keep birds in captivity, collect bird eggs, and return from the forest with armfuls of lilies of the valley. He condemns a person who considers himself the master of nature, its owner, confident that she exists to serve him. The literary life of Nikolai Sladkov was enviably integral - he defended nature primarily with love. He saved her with her beauty - revealed her innermost perfection to all of us. Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov dreamed of encouraging people to communicate with forests, herbs, rivers, their population, knowing how to do it human soul... He did everything he could for this. Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov died on June 28, 1996.

http://www.playroom.ru http://n-sladkov.ru/ http://www.publiclibrary.ru http://www.etextlib.ru http://www.knigisosklada.ru http: // donkniga.com.ua SOURCES.