Description: War Thunder is a next generation military MMO game dedicated to...
Now, when the trees are bare, you will see things on them that you cannot see in the summer. There are birch trees in the distance, and as if they are all in rook nests. And if you come closer, these are not nests at all, but some kind of black clods of thin twigs growing in different sides, witch's brooms. Remember any fairy tale about Baba Yaga or a witch. Baba Yaga flies through the air in a mortar, and sweeps the trail with her broomstick. The witch flies out of the chimney on a broomstick. Neither the yaga nor the witch can do without a broom. So they put such a disease on the trees that ugly clods of branches like brooms grow on their branches. So say the merry storytellers.
Well, what about science?
These "clods" of branches are formed on the branches due to disease, and the disease is due to special mites or fungi. The hazel tick is so small and light that the wind carries it freely through the forest. A tick gets on some branch, climbs into a kidney and settles down to live in it. Growth bud ready-made shoot, stalk with leaf rudiments. The tick does not touch them, it feeds only on the juice of the kidney. But from tick bites, the kidney gets sick. The young shoot begins to grow six times faster. The diseased bud develops into a short shoot, which immediately gives lateral branches. The children of the tick move on them and settle in young kidneys. And so the branching goes on and on. And in place of the kidney, a shaggy, ugly witch's broom grows.
The same thing happens when spores of the fungus enter the kidney.
Witch brooms are found on birch, alder, beech, hornbeam, maple, pine, spruce, fir and other trees and shrubs.
N. Sladkov
Hare makes a riddle
In winter, every hare writes a diary. He writes with his paws in the snow: where he was, what he did, where he went. All the snow in hare lines - read and translate. Translating from hare to human is interesting and easy. Here it is written by the road: "I was sitting on the side of the road and listened: is anyone coming?" At the fallen aspen it is written: "Bitter twigs gnawed in winter and glad of that!" In the lowland it is written: "He circled in small things confused his trail before lying down." Both deeds and words are familiar and familiar.
But here is a record that is also easy to translate, but difficult to understand. "I dug a hole in the snow to the very ground." That's right: snow, a hole in the snow to the ground. And not small - deeper than a meter. At the bottom, frozen moss is torn, the "bump" of cattail is disheveled. Maybe the hare yearned for greenery? No, it doesn't look like: neither the moss nor the pine cone has been touched, only disheveled and thrown. Why then did the hare dig a hole? The hare does not lie down to sleep in a hole and does not hide in holes from the wind. Yes, and in the footsteps you can see: he dug a hole, disheveled the "bump" of the cattail, and hobbled on.
Here's a riddle for you: why do hares dig a hole in winter? And here is the second: how does the hare know that under the thickness of the snow there lies a "bump" of cattail? And here is the third: why does a hare need moss and cattail if he does not eat either one or the other? And so it is always in the forest: one riddle pulls the second, the second the third - without end!
N. Sladkov
Consider. Find out. Write.
What do you think is depicted in our mysterious picture? it confectionery Or living things? As a hint, let's say that the image is greatly enlarged. If you guessed it
Nikolai Sladkov's stories about the life of animals in the forest. Stories about a she-bear with cubs, about a fox, about a hare. Informative stories for reading in elementary school
Nikolay Sladkov. Bear Hill
To see the beast unafraid, doing his household chores, is a rare success.
I had to.
I was looking for mountain turkeys in the mountains - snowcocks. Until noon crawled in vain. Snowcocks are the most sensitive birds of the mountains. And you have to climb after them along the steep slopes near the glaciers.
Tired. Sat down to rest.
The silence is ringing in my ears. Flies are buzzing in the heat. Around mountains, mountains and mountains. Their peaks, like islands, rose from the sea of clouds.
In some places, the cloudy veil moved away from the slopes, and into the gap - Sunshine; underwater shadows and glare swayed through the cloudy forests. A bird will fall into the sunbeam - it will sparkle like a goldfish.
I got pissed off. And fell asleep. Slept for a long time. I woke up - the sun was already evening, with a golden rim. Narrow black shadows stretched down from the rocks.
It became even quieter in the mountains.
Suddenly I hear: nearby, behind the hillock, like a bull in an undertone: “Moo! Moooo!" And claws on the stones - shark, shark! That's the bull! With claws...
I look out carefully: on the ledge of the slope there is a bear and two bear cubs.
The bear just woke up. She threw her head up, yawns. He yawns and scratches his belly with his paw. And the belly is thick, furry.
The cubs are also awake. Funny, big-mouthed, big-headed. Sleepy eyes loop - loop, shifting from paw to paw, shaking their plush heads. They blinked their eyes, shook their heads, and started to fight. Lazily waking up they fight. Reluctantly. Then they got angry and grappled seriously.
They grunt. Resist. Grumble.
And the she-bear with all five of her fingers is on the belly, then on the sides: fleas bite! ..
I licked my finger, raised it - the wind pulls on me. He intercepted the gun more polovchee. Look.
From the ledge, on which the bears were, to another ledge, lower, there was still dense, unmelted snow.
The bear cubs pushed to the edge - and suddenly they rolled down through the snow to the lower ledge.
The bear stopped scratching her belly, leaned over the edge, looks.
Then she called quietly: “rrrmuuu!”
The cubs climbed up. Yes, on half a hill they could not resist and grabbed to fight again. Grabbed - and again rolled down.
They liked it. One will get out, lie down on the belly, pull himself up to the edge - once! - and below. Behind him is the second. On the side, on the back, over the head.
They squeal: both sweet and scary.
I forgot about the gun. Who would even think of shooting at these non-rumors that they wipe their pants on a hill!
The bear cubs got the hang of it: they grab and roll down together. And the bear was napping again.
I looked at the bear game for a long time. Then he climbed out from behind the stone.
The bear cubs saw me - they quieted down, staring with all their eyes.
And then the bear noticed me. She jumped up, snorted, reared up.
I'm for the gun. We look eye to eye.
Her lip drooped, and two fangs stick out. Fangs are wet and green from the grass.
I threw the gun to my shoulder.
The she-bear grabbed her head with both paws, barked - yes down the hill, yes over her head!
Bear cubs behind her - a whirlwind of snow! I wave my gun after, I shout:
“Ah, you old bungler, you will sleep!”
The she-bear jumps along the slope so that her hind legs are behind her ears. The cubs are running behind, shaking their fat tails, looking around. And the withers are humpbacked - like those of mischievous boys, whom their mothers wrap in scarves in winter: the ends under the armpits, and a humpbacked knot on the back.
The bears ran away.
"Oh, - I think - was not!"
I sat down on the snow and - time! - down the rolled bear hill. I looked around - did anyone see it? - and the cheerful one went to the tent.
Nikolay Sladkov. invited guest
I saw the Magpie Hare - gasped:
- Didn't you visit the Fox in the teeth, oblique? Wet, tattered, intimidated!
- If only Lisa had! the Hare whimpered. - And then he was a guest, but he was not an ordinary guest, but an invited one ...
Magpie went like this:
- Tell me quickly, my dear! I love the fear of squabbles! They invited you to visit, but they themselves ...
“They invited me to a birthday party,” said the Hare. - Now in the forest, you yourself know that every day is a birthday. I am a quiet man, everyone invites me. Just the other day, the neighbor Zaichikha called. I jumped up to her. I didn’t eat on purpose, I hoped for a treat.
And instead of treats, she puts her under her nose under my nose: she boasts.
Eka unseen - hares! But I’m a meek man, I say politely: “Look what big-eared koloboks!” What started here! “Are you,” he screams, “stupid? Do you call my slender and graceful bunnies koloboks? So invite such churoans to visit - you won’t hear a clever word!”
As soon as I got away from the Hare, the Badger is calling. I come running - everyone is lying at the hole with their stomachs up, warming themselves. What are your pigs: mattresses mattresses! The badger asks: “Well, how are my kids, do they like it?” I opened my mouth to tell the truth, but I remembered the Hare and muttered. "Slender, - I say, - how graceful they are with you!" - “What, what? Badger bristled. “You yourself, Koschey, are slender and graceful!” And your father and mother are slender, and your grandmother and grandfather are graceful! Your whole filthy hare race is bony! He is invited to visit, and he scoffs! Yes, for this I will not treat you, I will eat you yourself! Don't listen to him, my pretty boys, my blind-sighted mattresses..."
Barely took his legs away from the Badger. I hear - Squirrel from the Christmas tree shouts: “Have you seen my beloved darlings?”
“Then somehow! - I answer. “I, Belka, already see something double in my eyes ...”
And Squirrel does not lag behind: “Maybe you, Hare, don’t want to look at them? So say it!”
“What are you,” I reassure, “Squirrel! And I would be glad, but from below I can’t see them in the nest-gain! And you can’t climb on the tree to them. ”
“So what are you, unfaithful Thomas, do not believe my word? Squirrel fluffed out her tail. “Well, tell me, what are my squirrels?”
“All sorts,” I answer, “such and such!”
The squirrel is more angry than ever:
“You oblique, not Julia! You tell everything in truth, otherwise I’ll start tearing my ears!”
“Smart they are with you and reasonable!”
"I know".
“The most beautiful in the forest, beautiful!”
"Everyone knows".
"Obediant-disobedient!"
"Oh well?!" - Belka does not let up.
"The most-any, such-and-such..."
“So-so-so-so? .. Well, hold on, oblique!”
Yes, how it will rush! Get wet here. Spirit, Magpie, I still can't translate. A little alive from hunger. And offended and beaten.
- Poor, poor you, Hare! Soroka regretted. - What freaks did you have to look at: hares, badgers, squirrels - pah! You should come to visit me right away - if only you could admire my shirts-darlings! Maybe turn around on the way? It's very close here.
The Hare shuddered from words such as the strekacha will give!
Later, moose, roe deer, otters, foxes called him to visit, but the Hare didn’t go to them!
Nikolay Sladkov. Why does the fox have a long tail
Out of curiosity! Not from the same, in fact, that she seems to cover her tracks with her tail. The long fox tail becomes out of curiosity.
It all starts from the moment when they cut through
fox eyes. Their tails are still quite small and short at this time. But then the eyes erupted - and the tails immediately begin to stretch! Getting longer and longer. And how can they not grow longer if the cubs are reaching out with all their might to a bright spot - to the exit from the hole. Still: something unseen is moving there, something unheard of is making noise and it smells of the unknown!
It's just scary. It's scary to suddenly break away from the inhabited hole. And therefore, the cubs protrude from it only to the length of their short tail. As if they stick with the tip of the tail to the birth threshold. A little bit - chur-chura - I'm at home!
And the white light beckons. The flowers nod: smell us! The stones are shining: touch us! Beetles creak: catch us!
Nikolay Sladkov. Topic and Katya
The wild shirt was named Katya, and the domestic rabbit was named Topik. Planted home Topeka and wild Katya together.
Katya immediately pecked Topeka in the eye, and he hit her with his paw. But soon they became friends and lived soul to soul: the soul of a bird and the soul of an animal. Two orphans began to learn from each other.
The topic cuts the blades of grass, and Katya, looking at him, begins to pluck the blades of grass. He rests with his legs, shakes his head - pulls with all his chick strength. The topic is digging a hole - Katya is spinning nearby, poking her nose into the ground, helping to dig.
But when Katya climbs onto the bed with a thick wet lettuce and starts swimming, fluttering and jumping in it, Topik hobbles to her for training. But he is a lazy student: he does not like dampness, he does not like to swim, and therefore he simply begins to nibble on the salad.
Katya taught Topeka to steal strawberries from the beds. Looking at her, he began to eat ripe berries. But then we took a broom and drove them both away.
Katya and Topik were very fond of playing catch-up. To begin with, Katya climbed onto Topeka's back and began to peck at the top of her head and pinch her ears. When Topeka's patience failed, he jumped up and tried to get away. With all her two legs, with a desperate cry, helping with her short wings, Katya set off in pursuit.
The running and the fuss began.
Once, chasing Topik, Katya suddenly took off. So Topik taught Katya to fly. And then he himself learned from her such jumps that no dogs became afraid of him.
This is how Katya and Top lived. They played during the day and slept in the garden at night. The topic is in dill, and Katya is in the garden with onions. And they smelled so much of dill and onions that even the dogs, looking at them, sneezed.
Nikolay Sladkov. naughty kids
The Bear sat in the clearing, crumbling the stump. The Hare jumped up and said:
— Riots, Bear, in the forest. The little ones don't listen to the old. Completely off the paws!
— How so? the Bear barked.
— Yes indeed! - Replies the Hare. - They rebel, they snarl. Everything is in their own way. They scatter in all directions.
"Maybe they've grown up?"
- Where there: bare-bellied, short-tailed, yellow-mouthed!
Maybe let them run?
- Forest mothers are offended. Zaichikha had seven - not a single one was left. He shouts: “Where are you, lop-eared, stomped - now the Fox will hear you!” And they answered: “And we ourselves have ears!”
"Y-yes," Bear muttered. - Well, Hare, let's go and see what's what.
The Bear and the Hare went through the forests, fields and swamps. Just entered the dense forest - they hear:
- I left my grandmother, I left my grandfather ...
- What kind of bun showed up? the Bear barked.
- And I'm not a bun at all! I am a solid, adult Squirrel.
“Then why do you have a curly tail?” Tell me, how old are you?
- Don't be angry, Uncle Bear. I don't have one more year. And with six months it will not be typed. Yes, only you, bears, live for sixty years, and we, squirrels, at most ten. And it turns out that I, half a year old, at your bearish expense - exactly three years! Remember, Bear, yourself at three years old. Probably, too, from the Bear, the strekacha asked?
- What's true is true! grumbled the Bear. - Another year, I remember, I went to nurses-nannies, and then ran away-a-al. Yes, to celebrate, I remember, the hive turned. Oh, and the bees rode on me then - now my sides itch!
- Of course, I'm smarter than everyone. I dig a house between the roots!
What is that piggy in the forest? roared the Bear. - Give me this movie hero!
- I, dear Bear, am not a piglet, I am almost an adult, independent Chipmunk. Don't be rude - I can bite!
- Answer, Chipmunk, why did you run away from your mother?
“That’s why I ran away, because it’s time!” Autumn is on the nose, it's time to think about the hole, about stocks for the winter. Here, you and the Hare dig a hole for me, fill the pantry with nuts, then my mother and I are ready to sit in an embrace until the very snow. You, Bear, have no worries in winter: you sleep and suck your paw!
“Even though I don’t suck my paw, it’s true!” I have few worries in winter, - muttered the Bear. - Let's go, Hare, further.
The Bear and the Hare came to the swamp, they hear:
- Though small, but daring, he swam across the channel. Settled with an aunt in a swamp.
Do you hear how he boasts? whispered the Hare. - He ran away from home and even sings songs!
The Bear growled:
- Why did you run away from home, why don't you live with your mother?
- Do not growl, Bear, first find out what's what! I am my mother's first-born: I cannot live with her.
- How is it impossible? - Bear does not let up. - First-born mothers are always the first favorites, they are the most shaking over them!
- Shake, but not all! - answers the Rat. - My mother, the old Water Rat, brought rats three times during the summer. There are two dozen of us already. If everyone lives together, then there will not be enough space or food. Like it or not, settle down. That's it, Bear!
The Bear scratched his cheek, looked at the Hare angrily:
- You tore me, Hare, from a serious matter! Aroused in an empty way. Everything in the forest goes on as it should: the old grow old, the young grow. Autumn, slanting, not far off, it's time for maturation and resettlement. And therefore be!
How the bear was turned over
Birds and animals have suffered from the hard winter. Whatever the day - a blizzard, whatever the night - frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in the den. I forgot, probably, that it's time for him to roll over to the other side.
There is forest omen: as the Bear rolls over to the other side, so the sun will turn to the summer.
The patience of birds and animals has burst. Send the Bear to wake up:
- Hey, Bear, it's time! Winter is over for everyone! We missed the sun. Roll over, roll over, bed sores, I suppose?
The bear does not hum in response: it doesn’t move, it doesn’t stir. Know snoring.
- Oh, to beat him in the back of the head! exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I suppose it would immediately move!
“No, no,” moaned the Elk, “you have to be respectful, respectful with him. Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg: roll over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not nice. We, moose, are standing in an aspen forest, like cows in a stall: you can’t take a step to the side. The snow is deep in the forest! Trouble if the wolves sniff out about us.
The bear moved his ear, grumbles through his teeth:
- And what do I care about you, moose! The deep snow is good for me: it’s warm and I sleep peacefully.
Here the White Partridge wailed:
- Aren't you ashamed, Bear? All the berries, all the bushes with buds were covered with snow - what do you order us to peck? Well, why should you roll 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 the kidneys and berries? I have a supply of fat under the skin.
The squirrel endured, endured - could not endure:
- Oh, you shaggy mattress, it's too lazy to roll over, you see! And you would have jumped on the branches with ice cream, you would have skinned your paws to the blood, like me! .. Roll over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!
- Four five six! Bear laughs. - That scared me! And well - shoo otsedova! You interfere with sleep.
The animals tucked their tails in, the birds hung their noses - they began to disperse. And then out of the snow the Mouse suddenly leaned out and how it squeaked:
- So big, but scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, short-haired, like that? He doesn't understand well or badly. It is necessary with him in our way, in a mouse way. You ask me - I will turn it over in an instant!
Are you a bear? the animals gasped.
- With one left paw! 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, squealed like a piglet, kicked his legs.
- Oh, I can't! - howls. - Oh, I'll roll over, just don't tickle! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!
And the steam from the lair is like smoke from a chimney.
The mouse leaned out and squeaked:
- Turned over like a little one! I would have been told a long time ago.
Well, as the Bear turned over on the other side, the sun immediately turned to the 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
H odes under the ice! All fish are sleepy - you alone, Burbot, cheerful and playful. What's wrong with you, huh?- And the fact that for all fish in winter - winter, but for me, Burbot, in winter - summer! You, perches, doze, and we, burbots, play weddings, caviar with a sword, rejoice, have fun!
- Come on, perch brothers, to Burbot for the wedding! We will disperse our sleep, have fun, have a bite of burbot caviar ...
Otter and Raven
- Tell me, Raven, wise bird, why do people burn a fire in the forest?- I did not expect, Otter, from you such a question. They got wet in the stream, froze, so they kindled a fire. They warm up by the fire.
- Strange ... But in winter I always bask in the water. There is never frost in the water!
Hare and Vole
- Frost and blizzard, snow and cold. If you want to smell the green grass, nibble on the juicy leaves, endure until spring. And where else is that spring - beyond the mountains and beyond the seas ...- Not beyond the seas, Hare, spring, not far off, but under your feet! Dig the snow to the ground - there is a green lingonberry, and a cuff, and a strawberry, and a dandelion. And sniff and eat.
Badger and Bear
- What, Bear, are you still sleeping?- I'm sleeping, Badger, I'm sleeping. So, brother, I accelerated - the fifth month without waking up. All sides lay down!
- Or maybe, Bear, it's time for us to get up?
- It's not time. Sleep some more.
- And we will not oversleep spring with you from acceleration?
- Don't be afraid! She, brother, will wake you up.
- And what is she - will she knock on us, sing a song, or maybe tickle our heels? I, Misha, fear is heavy on the rise!
- Whoa! You'll jump up! She, Borya, will give you a bucket of water under the sides - I suppose you won’t lie down! Sleep while dry.
Magpie and Dipper
- Oh-oh-oh, Olyapka, did you think of swimming in the wormwood?!And swim and dive!
- Will you freeze?
- My pen is warm!
- Will you get wet?
- I have a water-repellent feather!
- Will you drown?
- I can swim!
- BUT …
a …
Are you hungry after swimming?
- Aya, for this I dive, to have a bite with a water bug!
winter debts
Sparrow chirped on a dunghill - and jumps! And the Crow croaks with its nasty voice:
- What, Sparrow, rejoiced at, why chirped?
“The wings itch, Crow, the nose itches,” Sparrow replies. - Passion to fight hunting! And don't croak here, don't spoil my spring mood!
- I'll ruin it! - Crow does not lag behind. How can I ask a question!
- In scared!
- And I'll scare you. Did you peck crumbs in the garbage in the winter?
- Pecked.
- Did you pick up grain at the barnyard?
- Picked.
- Did you have lunch in the bird cafeteria near the school?
Thanks guys for feeding me.
- That's it! - Crow yells. “What are you thinking of paying for all this?” With your chirping?
- Am I the only one who used it? Sparrow was confused. - And the Tit was there, and the Woodpecker, and the Magpie, and the Jackdaw. And you, Crow, were...
- Do not confuse others! - Crow wheezes. - You answer for yourself. Borrowed - give back! Like all decent birds do.
- Decent, maybe they do, - Sparrow got angry. “But are you doing it, Crow?”
- I'll cry first! Do you hear the tractor plowing in the field? And after him, I choose all kinds of root beetles and root rodents from the furrow. And Magpie and Jackdaw help me. And looking at us, other birds are trying.
“You don’t vouch for others either!” - Sparrow rests. - Others may have forgotten to think.
But the Crow does not let up:
- And you fly and check!
Sparrow flew to check. He flew into the garden - there the Tit lives in a new nest box.
- Congratulations on your new home! Sparrow says. - For joy, I suppose I forgot about the debts!
- Do not forget, Sparrow, that you are! - Replies Sinica. - The guys treated me with delicious lard in the winter, and I will treat them with sweet apples in the fall. I guard the garden from codling moths and leafworms.
There is nothing to do, Sparrow flew on. He flew into the forest - there the Woodpecker knocks. I saw Sparrow - I was surprised:
- For what need, Sparrow, did you fly into the forest to me?
“Yes, they demand payment from me,” Sparrow chirps. - And you, Woodpecker, how do you pay? BUT?
“I’m trying so hard,” Woodpecker answers. - I protect the forest from woodworms and bark beetles. I fight them without sparing my stomach! Even got fat...
“Look at you,” Sparrow thought. - I thought...
Sparrow returned to the dunghill and said to the Crow:
- Yours, hag, the truth! All for winter debts work out. Am I worse than others? How can I start feeding my chicks with mosquitoes, horseflies and flies! So that the bloodsuckers do not bite these guys! I'll pay back my debts!
He said so and let's jump up and chirp again on the dunghill. Bye free time there is. Until the sparrows hatch in the nest.
Polite Jackdaw
I have many acquaintances among wild birds. I know one sparrow. He is all white - an albino. You can immediately distinguish him in a flock of sparrows: everyone is gray, but he is white.
I know forty. I distinguish this one by impudence. In winter, it used to be that people hung food out the window, so she would immediately fly in and ruffle everything.
But I noticed one jackdaw for her politeness.
There was a blizzard.
In early spring there are special blizzards - solar. Snow whirlwinds curl in the air, everything sparkles and rushes! Stone houses look like rocks. There is a snowstorm at the top, from the roofs, as from mountains, snowy waterfalls flow. Icicles from the wind grow in different directions, like a shaggy beard of Santa Claus.
And above the eaves, under the roof, there is a secluded place. There, two bricks fell out of the wall. In this recess, my jackdaw settled down. All black, only on the neck is a gray collar. The jackdaw basked in the sun and even pecked at some tidbit. Cubby!
If I were that jackdaw, I wouldn't give up this place to anyone!
And suddenly I see: another one flies up to my big jackdaw, smaller and dimmer in color. Jump-jump on the ledge. Wag your tail! She sat opposite my jackdaw and looked. The wind flutters it - so it wrings its feathers, so it whips with white grits!
My jackdaw grabbed a piece of her beak - and walked out of the recess onto the ledge! I gave way to a stranger's warm place!
And someone else's jackdaw grabs a piece from my beak - and on her warm place. She pressed someone else's piece with her paw - she pecks. Here is shameless!
My jackdaw on the eaves - under the snow, in the wind, without food. The snow cuts her, the wind wrings her feathers. And she, fool, suffers! Does not kick out the little one.
“Probably,” I think, “someone else’s jackdaw is very old, so they give way to her place. Or maybe this is a well-known and respected jackdaw? Or maybe she is small, but remote - a fighter. 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, let's build a nest together! Here everyone will understand.
And the little jackdaw is not at all old and not a fighter. Yes, and she is not a stranger now.
And my friend big jackdaw is not a jackdaw at all, but a gal!
But still my friend gal is very polite. I see this for the first time.
Black grouse notes
Black grouse do not sing in the forests yet. Still only writing notes. This is how they write music. One flies from a birch to a white meadow, puffs out his neck like a rooster. And mince legs in the snow, mince. He drags his half-bent wings, the snow furrows his wings - he draws musical lines.
The second black grouse will fly off and follow the first one through the snow as soon as it starts! So the points with your feet on the musical lines and arrange: “Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si!”
The first one immediately into the fray: do not interfere, they say, to compose! Chufyrknet on the second yes on his lines behind him: “Si-la-sol-fa-mi-re-do!”
He will drive away, raise his head up, think. He mutters, mutters, turns back and forth and writes down his mumbling on his lines with his paws. For memory.
Fun! They walk, run - line the snow with wings on musical lines. They mumble, they chime, they compose. They compose their spring songs and write them down in the snow with their legs and wings.
But soon the grouse will finish composing songs - they will begin to learn. Then they will fly up to high birch trees - from above, you can clearly see the notes! - and they will sing. Everyone will sing the same way, everyone has the same notes: grooves and crosses, crosses and grooves.
They learn everything and learn it until the snow melts. And it will come down - it does not matter: they sing from memory. During the day they sing, in the evening they sing, but especially in the morning.
They sing well, like the notes!
Whose thaw?
I saw Forty-first thawed patch - a dark speck on white snow.
- My! – shouted. - My thaw, since I saw it first!
There are seeds on the thawed patch, spider bugs swarm, the lemongrass butterfly lies on its side - it warms up. Magpie's eyes fled, and her beak was already open, but out of nowhere - Rook.
“Hey, grow up, I’ve already arrived!” In winter, she roamed through the crow's garbage dumps, and now on my thawed patch! Ugly!
- Why is she yours? - Magpie chirped. - I saw it first!
“You saw it,” Rook barked, “and I dreamed about her all winter.” For a thousand miles to her in a hurry! For her sake warm countries left. Without her, I wouldn't be here. Where there are thawed patches, there we are, rooks. My thaw!
- What is he croaking here! - Magpie rumbled. - 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 froze all winter, rushed from the garbage heap to the landfill, 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 dark in appearance, but you are on your own mind. Shoo from the thawed patch until it pecked at the crown of the head!
Lark flew up to the noise, looked around, listened and chirped:
- Spring, the sun, the sky is clear, and you quarrel. And where - on my thaw! Do not overshadow the joy of meeting her. I want songs!
Magpie and Rook only fluttered their wings.
Why is she yours? This is our thaw, we found it. Magpie waited for her all winter, looked through all her eyes.
And maybe I 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 shells from the egg from which I hatched! I remember, it used to be, in winter in a foreign land, a native nest - and reluctance to sing. And now the song is torn from the beak - even the tongue is trembling.
Skylark jumped up onto a bump, screwed up his eyes, his neck trembled - and the song flowed like a spring stream: it rang, gurgled, murmured. Magpie and Rook gaped their beaks - they listened. They will never sing like that, their throat is not right, they can only chirp and croak.
They would probably have listened for a long time, languishing in the spring sun, but suddenly the earth trembled under their feet, swelled up like a tubercle and crumbled.
And the Mole looked out - sniffed.
- Did you hit the thaw hole right away? So it is: the earth is soft, warm, there is no snow. And it smells... Phew! Does it smell like spring? Spring, is it cha, are you upstairs?
- Spring, spring, digger! - Magpie shouted peevishly.
- Knew where to please! Grach growled suspiciously. Even if you're blind...
- Why do you need our thawed patch? screeched Skylark.
The mole sniffed at the Rook, at the Magpie, at the Lark - with his eyes he sees badly! sneezed and said:
“I don't need anything from you. And I don't need your thaw. Here I will push the earth out of the hole and back. Because I feel: it's bad for you. Quarrel, almost fight. Moreover, it is light, dry, and the air is fresh. Not like in my dungeon: dark, damp, musty. Grace! You still have some kind of spring here ...
- How can you say that? Skylark was horrified. “Do you know, excavator, what spring is!”
I don't know and I don't want to know! Mole snorted. - I don’t need any spring, I have the same underground all year round.
- In the spring, thawed patches appear, - Magpie, Lark and Rook said dreamily.
“And scandals begin on thawed patches,” the 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, stretch! Grach growled. - nose in warm earth rummage!
- And it’s good to sing over thawed patches! Skylark yelled. - How many thawed patches in the field - so many larks. And everyone sings! There is nothing better than a thaw in spring.
- Why are you arguing then? Mole didn't understand. - The lark wants to sing - let him sing. Rook wants to march - let him march.
- Correctly! Soroka said. - And while I'm busy with seeds and beetles ...
Here the shouting and squabbling began again.
And while they were shouting and quarreling, new thawed patches appeared in the field. Birds scattered over them to meet spring. Sing songs, dig in the warm earth, kill the worm.
- It's time for me too! The mole said. And he fell into a place where there is no spring, no thawed patches, no sun and no moon, no wind and no rain. And where even to argue with no one. Where it's always dark and quiet.
Hare round dance
Frost is still outside. But a special frost, spring. The 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, they freeze on the fly into ice. On the sunny side of the trees, the water glistens, and the shady side is covered with a frosted shell of ice.
Willows turned red, alder thickets turned red. Snow melts and burns during the day, frost snaps at night. It's time for rabbit songs. It's time for the night hare round dances.
How hares sing, you can hear at night. And how they lead a round dance, you can’t see it in the dark.
But you can understand everything from the footprints: there was a straight hare path - from stump to stump, through bumps, through fallen trees, under white snow gates - and suddenly spun in unimaginable loops! Eights among the birches, round dance circles around the Christmas trees, a carousel between the bushes.
It was as if the heads of the hares were spinning, and they went to wind and confuse.
They sing and dance: “Gu-gu-gu-gu-u! Goo-goo-goo!"
How they blow into birch pipes. Even the split lips are shaking!
They don't care about foxes and owls now. All winter they lived in fear, all winter they hid and were silent. Enough!
March in the yard. The sun overcomes the frost.
It's time for rabbit songs.
Time for hare dances.
Inhuman steps
Early spring, evening, deep forest swamp. In the light, damp pine forest, there is still snow here and there, and in the warm spruce forest on the hillock it is already dry. I enter a dense spruce forest, as if I were entering a dark barn. I stand, I am silent, I listen.
Around the black trunks of firs, behind them a cold yellow sunset. And an amazing silence when you hear the beats of the heart and your own breathing. A thrush on a spruce crown whistles lazily and loudly in 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, then-py, then-py! It is as if a heavily laden horse is pulling a cart through the swamp with difficulty. And immediately, like a blow, a stunning rumbling roar! The forest trembled, the earth shook.
The heavy footsteps died away: light, hectic, hasty steps were heard.
Light steps overtook heavy ones. Top-top-slap - and stop, top-top-slap - and silence. It was not easy for hurried steps to catch up with slow and heavy ones.
I leaned back against the trunk.
It became completely dark under the fir trees, and only the swamp between the black trunks was dully white.
The beast roared again - as if it had slammed from a cannon. And again the forest gasped and the earth swayed.
I'm not making this up: the forest really trembled, the earth really shook! A fierce roar - like a hammer blow, like a roll of thunder, 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 hurried, hurried: 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 smells me, gets angry and worried.
Mom warns that the teddy bear is not alone here, 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 hurry, hurry. Here is a quiet squeal: the bear cub has been spanked - keep up! Here are heavy and light steps walking side by side: to-py, to-py! Slap-slap-slap! More and more, quieter. And they fell silent.
And again silence.
Drozd stopped whistling. Lunar spots lay on the trunks.
Stars flared in black puddles.
Each puddle is like a window open to the night sky.
It's creepy to step through those windows right into the stars.
Slowly I wander to my fire. Sweet heart squeezes.
And in my ears the mighty call of the forest is buzzing and buzzing.
Thrush and Owl
Listen, explain to me: how to distinguish an owl from an owl?
- It depends on what kind of owl ...
- What an owl ... Ordinary!
- There is no such owl. There is a barn owl, a gray owl, a hawk owl, a marsh owl, a polar owl, a long-eared owl ...
- Well, what kind of owl are you?
- I something? I am a long-tailed owl.
- Well, 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 evil spirits of the night! Everything was so confused that you yourself, go, don’t figure out who is who!
– Ho-ho-ho-ho! Boo!
Five black grouse
A hazel grouse flew to the side of the grouse current and started his song: “Five-yat, five-yat, five black grouse!” I counted: six braids on the current! Five aside in the snow, and the sixth sits next to the hut, on a gray hummock.
And the hazel grouse: “Five-yat, five-yat, five black grouse!”
- Six! I say.
“Five, five, five black grouse!”
- Six! I tapped my knee. - You can't count!
Nearest - the sixth - heard, got scared and flew away.
“Five, five, five black grouse!” - the hazel grouse whistles.
I am silent. I see five. The sixth one left.
And the hazel grouse does not let up: “Five-yat, five-yat, five black grouse!”
- I'm not arguing! I say. - Five is five!
“Five, five, five black grouse!” - the hazel grouse whistles.
I can see without you! I barked. - Don't be blind!
How they chirp, how the white wings flutter—and not a single black grouse is left!
And the hazel grouse flew away with them.
Notepad forgot
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 finally turned out to be a warm and wet day, and the winter collapsed at once. The roads are muddy, the snow is swollen, the bare alders are covered in raindrops, warm steam is stirring over the thawed patches. The birds seemed to have escaped from their cages: hubbub, chirping and whistling. In the swamp, cranes trumpet, lapwings squeal over puddles, curlews whistle on melted hummocks. Thrushes, finches, bramblings, greenfinches fly over the forest alone, in groups, in flocks. News from all sides - just have time to turn your head!
The first white-browed thrush sang, the first black-eyed oystercatcher yelled, the first snipe, the wood lamb, bleated. What to do with such a flood of spring news?
How convenient it was: I saw and wrote down, heard and wrote down. You walk through the woods and put the news in your notebook, like mushrooms in a basket. Once - and in a notebook, two - and in a notebook. A full notebook of news, even a pocket pulls ...
And now? Look, listen and remember everything. Be afraid to miss the smallest thing, be afraid to forget, confuse, make a mistake. Put the news not in a notebook, but in yourself. What are you - a backpack or a basket?
With a notepad, it’s convenient and simple: “The first snipe bleated.” Or: "The robin sang on the Christmas tree." And that's it. How printed. Notch for memory, message note.
And now if you please, this very robin, who suddenly decided to sing, and together with a huge Christmas tree, in whose paws, as in wide palms, the fragments of her glass song roll, ringing, manage to put on the shelf of your memory and save.
End of Free Trial
] Collection. For middle age. Drawings by T. Kapustina. Photographs of the author.
(Leningrad: Children's Literature Publishing House, 1970)
Scan, OCR, processing, Djv format: PAV, 2017
- TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Yellow Ocean (6).
Desert Voice (6).
“The dog barks at the cowardly” (7).
Let's go to the dune (8).
SPRING
Day by day (10).
"Long Ear" Snow is melting. Spring in the sand Fog. Takyrs came to life. Events at the old cemetery. Turtle. Chernotelka. Polite blacklings. Jerboas. Mysterious bird. Events in the well. Saxaul wood. Ground squirrel. Upupik. Stone sparrow. Turtle. Burrow dust (11).
On the yellow trail Traces of rare animals. Traces of gazelles and antelopes (22).
Day after day (23).
"Long Ear" That and not that. Cheeky residents. Dawn. Black butterfly. Hares gardeners. Homeless little owl. On the spark. On a bow to the efe. Mysterious bumps. Striped. Desert at night. In the village of gerbils. Night voices. Roasted anger. A breath of fog. The gecko is building a bathhouse. Yashurkin's nose. Ferocious scarit. The snake that stands. Strange forest. Events in the saxaul. Sand acacia. Haymaking. Raven umbrella. And he doesn't care. Behind an eagle. At the burrow. The wasp feeds the monitor lizard. Bulak. Scavengers. Fluffy house. Living fountain. Housewarming. Lucky stick. Mouth with ears. Sivoraksha. Bright Shout (24).
On the yellow trail At the crime scene. Lizard tracks. Recordings of a sandy round head. The shortest track (44).
Happy birthday! (47).
Day after day (48).
"Long Ear" Red gave. To the steppe for ... mushrooms! Lizard city. Turtle feast. Cuckoo on the sand. Tenement tree. Snakes on the rails (lineman's story). House under the rails. Duck in the oven. Ground owl. In the fox hole. Don't come! The forest is pink-silver. Events in the Tugai. Flooding in the Tugai. Fox concert. Bunny dream. Dusty bunnies. Predictors. Scary cricket. The hamster works with his head. Jeyranchik. Rogue lair. Gorge of stone goats. Events in the gorge of stone goats. They knew! Live hurricane. Gecko with a whistle. Rooftop events. Takyr. Events on the takyr (49).
On the yellow trail Frightened beetle. The scarab rolls the ball. The tracks are different. Beetle tracks. Silhouettes on wires (71).
Happy birthday! (74).
Invisible Sands (75).
Who can do what? (76).
By the night fire. Thief. Serpent's Cunning (77).
Live chains. Bonfire. Road (78).
Hunting. Hunting for snakes. Life threatening. Snake and scorpion. Traces of snake teeth. Serpent weapon. Terrible incidents on snake hunting (stories of snake catchers). About turtles (79).
Golden words (88).
SUMMER
Day after day (90).
"Long Ear" Varan collects tribute. Plain of cicadas. Noise in the hole. Larks steppe. Colored spot. Delicious web. Sly hoopoe. Runner. Avdotka. Bird market. Butterflies underground. Singing dune. Events on the singing dune. Incubator. Green umbrellas. The baby mole rat drinks tulips. Who sleeps - he drinks. Bee chops. Turtles are flying. Underground meadow. Turtle rock. Events in an abandoned cemetery. Events in the gorge of stone goats. Guard bells. Tail up. Everyone a little bit. Gossips. Nest. Voices of snakes (story of a snake). Red Canyon. Events in the red canyon (91).
On the yellow trail Floating in the sand Reticulated foot-and-mouth disease on the hunt. Hedgehog and turtle. Caterpillar and cockroach (110).
Happy birthday! (112).
Day after day (113).
"Long Ear" Salty frost. Events at the well. Heat. Hot dances. Charred tails. Salty road. Keep your feet in... the cold! Falcon in ambush. White handkerchiefs. Jay in a padded jacket. 45 degrees in the shade. Fried locust. Wolf well. The animal runs after the catchers. Where is the shadow? Screaming tail. And at least he would! Events on the takyr. Blue Beard. Race. events in the gardens. Jeyran bowls. Magic mirror. Taran-thulium sowing. "Cursing the Sun" Pink plain. Sign. Redwings (113).
On the yellow trail On the trail of a boa constrictor. Unexpected traces (129).
Happy birthday! (130).
Day after day (131).
"Long Ear" Tear drinkers. Cunning. The hedgehog runs at night. Colored slopes. The cobra is swimming. Snake with glasses. cobra and ladybugs. How much land? Who's hotter? How many locusts? An animal that no one knew. Hand animal. Sele-vinia on the hunt. Chim-chim and beep-beep. Breakfast in bed. Sand blanket. Rooftop events. Saiga rains. Mouse melons. Dangerous dinner. Non-drinkers. Delicious pole. Rusty nose. Lost collars. Slut. A hoarder (a zoologist's story). Events on melon (132).
On the yellow trail Bird tracks. Animal tracks. Silhouettes on wires. Silhouettes on the dunes. Silhouettes in the sky (145).
Happy birthday! (147).
Invisible sands (147).
Who knows what? (148).
By the night fire. Defender. Doyar (149).
Live chains. Water with legs. Who drinks the air Caravan route (150).
Hunting. At night for snakes. Terrible incidents on snake hunting (stories of snake catchers). Adventures on the monitor lizard hunt (stories of monitor lizard hunters) (152).
Golden words (156).
AUTUMN
Day by day (158).
"Long Ear" Mouth full of worries. Tail behind the head. Ate the shirt. Roundhead faints. Delicious pebbles. Rainbow mood. Shadows of the night sky. In karez. Alarm drums. Desert tan. Bloodsuckers. Eyes in the sand (158).
On the yellow trail Legless footprints. In the footsteps of the saxaul jay. Beetle tracks. Silhouettes on clouds (165).
Day by day (167).
"Long Ear" On a narrow path. Lizard and roundhead. Lunar stream. Powdered partridge. White death. And the beetle is meat! Tumbleweed bushes are running. In the salt shaker. On someone else's wings. Through the ground Wormwood goes to bed. Warm up in the hole. Desert ship. Grass island. Warming up the abdomen. Beauty and beauty (168).
On the yellow trail Jerboa tracks. Gopher tracks. Sand tracks. Cats - mice. What a turtle (176).
Day after day (178).
"Long Ear" The wind sweeps the dunes. Tail net. In the sun Robinson mouse. Great sowing. Varan is gaining weight. The bug went to the sands ... The hunting house. Earth rat. Guests from the taiga. Guest path. A feast for the whole world. The carousel itself. The dandies. Dream. Telegraph forest. Camel comb (178).
On the yellow trail Traces of very rare animals. Silhouettes on wires (186).
Invisible sands (188).
Who can do what? (189).
By the night fire. Cunning. Faithful watchmen. Cockerel (190).
Live chains. Work is in full swing. A thief stole from a thief (192).
Hunting. Terrible incidents on snake hunting (stories of snake catchers) (193).
Golden words (196).
WINTER
Day by day (198).
"Long Ear" Running from the cold. Camel stock. Sleepy dinners. Hostel underground. The Rooks Have Arrived. The gerbils flooded the stoves. White blackling. Gek cavalry. Buried alive. Walking on the salt marsh. Through the clay desert. By dunes. Maine on the stove (198).
On the yellow trail Jerboa tracks. Traces of rare animals (204).
Day by day (205).
"Long Ear" They knew. Cold. Guests from the mountains Guests from the tundra. Tamarisk gerbil. Deep snow. On the shore. Old and young. Night thief. Nose with eyes. Bunny nose warmers. Winter snake. Winter mushroom. As in spring (206).
On the yellow trail Bird tracks. These traces lead to housing (211).
Day after day (212).
"Long Ear" In the saxaul. In the village. Trouble. Behind a stone wall. Why does a jerboa need a tail? You can see the jerboa on the tail. Cat and mouse. Big and small. Jeyran mirrors. Larks and sparrows. Hourglass. Not traceless. The snake's lair. Life through a dream. Sad letter. The sun warmed (213).
On the yellow trail Traces of very rare animals. Silhouettes on clouds (220).
Invisible Sands (220).
Who can do what? (222).
By the night fire. Shooter. Dulta. The right remedy. Incubator Man. Suicide (223).
To the stories "At the night fire" (explanations of the zoologist) (226).
Live chains. Heirs. Nest and burrow. Horses and snow (229).
Hunting. Hunting with hunting birds. With a falcon for ducks. With a golden eagle on a wolf (231).
Golden words (233).
This book is about our countrymen. About birds and animals. They live with us on Earth, and you need to know your countrymen. Indeed, in the whole vast cosmic world there are no more such birds, such animals and such plants.
There may be others, but there aren't. That is why, probably, meeting with them always brings joy and new impressions. If you are an artist, you will see new combinations of colors, if you are a musician, you will hear new sounds.Everyone is simply sure that in the desert you will suffocate from the heat and dry up like a mummy from lack of water. But if I suffocated or withered, how would I then write this book?Lovely and touching stories about forest animals with wonderful, colorful illustrations. Together with the heroes of this book, funny and kind little animals, the child will go on a wonderful journey through the magical world of a fairy tale.The books of the famous naturalist writer Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov, a friend and like-minded person of Vitaly Bianchi, are well known to readers. His stories and tales about animals are included in the school curriculum. In them, he writes about how beautiful and unique the life of nature is, about the mysteries that it suggests to people, about the endless diversity of the world around us.
For middle school age.The book "Forest Secrets" by naturalist writer Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov includes best stories from the cycle of the same name, dedicated to native nature. Our book will give children and adults a unique opportunity to read them with biologist's comments, find answers to the most common questions and take a fresh look at the natural world around us!
For elementary school age.
