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Target:
- Introduce children to the story of the writer M. M. Prishvin
- Develop fluent, expressive reading, observation, research, continue to work on coherent speech.
- Foster interest and love for nature.
Equipment:
- Portrait of a writer, crossword about mushrooms, set of postcards.
- Mushrooms, a proverb about mushrooms “When they look for mushrooms, they scour the forest”
- TCO “Bird Voices”
Lesson progress
I Organizational moment
Warm up. Let books come into homes as friends
Read all your life - gain wisdom.
II Working with a crossword puzzle.
A man walked into a pine forest,
Found a slug
It's a pity to quit
Eat raw. (milk)
He was hidden deep
One, two, three and out,
And he stands in plain sight
White, I will find you! (Borovik)
Golden –
Very friendly sisters.
They wear red berets,
Autumn is brought to the forest in the summer. (Chanterelles)
In the grove near the birch tree
Namesakes met. (Boletus mushrooms)
Along the forest paths
Lots of white legs
In multi-colored hats,
From a distance noticeable
Pack, don't hesitate... (Russula)
What word did you read? (mushrooms)
Which writer wrote about mushrooms and in which story? (Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin in the story “ old mushroom”)
III. Reading part I of the story
- Which person's life is the writer's story about?
- Where and who did his friend work?
- Find a portrait of this man?
- Why did the boy call him an old mushroom?
- Where do mushrooms grow?
Work in the centers
It is known that the main collection of mushrooms is the forest. The Karaganda region is the largest in area in Kazakhstan, but there are not much more than 100 thousand hectares of forests here.
A good harvest of edible mushrooms occurs in the Karkaraly forests and tracts. Here you can find mushrooms: milk mushrooms, saffron milk caps, capillaries and russula, as well as tubular ones - boletus, boletus.
There are a lot of steppe mushrooms in the region - white steppe and champignons.
Champignons also grow in our area, there are especially many of them near cattle depots and in wintering areas for livestock.
There are almost 100 thousand species of mushrooms in the world. About 300 species of edible mushrooms grow in Russia. It is very important to learn to distinguish edible mushrooms from inedible ones.
How do mushrooms grow?
Mushrooms are not plants. They belong to a separate kingdom, the same as the kingdoms of animals and plants.
The mushroom itself looks like a cobweb, the mycelium - mycelium - is hidden deep underground.
If you carefully unscrew the familiar mushroom from the ground, you will notice very thin whitish threads (hyphae) at the base of its stem. This is part of the mycelium. And what we collect in the forest is not the mushrooms themselves, but their fruiting bodies, with the help of which these masters of camouflage spread their “seeds” - spores. Fungal spores are very small. They can only be seen under a microscope.
1. Why did M. M. Prishvin call the story “The Old Mushroom”? (He compared the life and deeds of his friend, who gave his knowledge and work to the younger generation, and the old mushroom, like a plant, continues the reproduction of young mushrooms).
IV Reading Part II
2. Find a description of russula.
3. What other mushrooms did the mushroom picker collect?
Each mushroom has its own place in the forest. Boletus and boletus love to grow near “their” trees - birches and aspens. Boletus prefer short grass at the edge of the forest. And russula, which under no circumstances should be eaten raw, is easily noticeable by its bright caps. The fastest way to collect honey mushrooms is that they are always visible - on stumps and near the roots of trees.
But the main thing that every mushroom picker should remember is to collect only those mushrooms that are well known to him.
Champignon– edible. It is often confused with the toadstool. But the toadstool has white plates under its cap, while the champignon has pink or black plates. Champignons are very nutritious.
Green russula looks a little like the most dangerous mushroom - toadstool. The venom of the toadstool is similar to that of a snake. It is preserved even after prolonged cooking. Even worms do not eat these mushrooms. But few people know that toadstool roses were used in the old days to fight a terrible disease - cholera.
The bright color of the fly agaric warns that it is poisonous. The poison of the fly agaric causes suffocation and fainting. It is used as a fly killer. It is used to treat sick moose.
Line contains a toxin - pyromitrine, which causes severe stomach pain.
The most valuable - white– there are dangerous twins. If you break the cap of a porcini mushroom, it will not change its color, but the cap of the werewolf gall and satanic mushrooms will first turn red and then turn black.
Conclusion:
1) What types of mushrooms are there? (edible and inedible)
2) What benefits do mushrooms bring? (There is no need to destroy poisonous mushrooms; their mycelium entwines the roots of trees and supplies them with moisture.)
So we collected edible mushrooms in a basket, and left the inedible ones in the forest for sanitation.
3) What are the benefits of edible mushrooms? (They contain a lot of proteins, fats, useful mineral salts, phosphoric acid, vitamins A 1, B 1, B 2, C, D. Mushrooms are also rich in extractive and aromatic substances, thanks to which mushroom dishes have a good taste. Edible mushrooms dried, pickled, salted, preserved.
Russian Language Center
1. How to understand the meaning of the proverb?
- They are looking for mushrooms - they are scouring the forest.
2. Find out the name of the mushrooms from the description.
The first mushroom is both white and black, the second is red, the third is yellow, and the fourth has a pale brown cap.
(for the second word, select words with the same root, highlight the root)
Raincoat
Having learned that it is a mushroom, many are surprised: what kind of mushroom? The mushroom should have a stem and a cap, but here it’s just a white ball. And yet it is a mushroom. Raincoat. It is called that because it usually appears after...
What can you tell about this mushroom (according to Yu. Dmitriev)
It appears in May after rain. These mushrooms are eaten when very young, and if they outgrow they become poisonous. In Italy, this mushroom is preferred to all other edible mushrooms.
V Selective reading.
1. What time of year does M. M. Prishvin describe in the story?
2. When else can you pick mushrooms? (spring, summer, autumn)
3. How did he collect mushrooms?
Mushroom quiz
- What forest plants can replace meat? (mushrooms; porcini mushrooms and champignons are the most valuable in terms of nutritional value)
- Can a mushroom eat a house? (Maybe it's a house mushroom that destroys the wood)
- What birds eat mushrooms? (grouse)
- This mushroom has many names: grandfather's tobacco, Galkina banya, devil's tobacco. What is the real name of the mushroom? (puffball mushroom)
- Which mushrooms appear first? (morels, lines)
- What are the colorful mushrooms called? (russula)
Science Center
What mushrooms do not grow in soil?
“Kombucha”
The drink of this mushroom is used as a soft drink and as a home remedy for lack of appetite, low acidity, headaches, and stomach diseases. In medicine they note that this infusion or tea kvass inhibits the growth of some bacteria and kills others. Doctors recommend gargling with it when you have a sore throat. This kombucha is known in nature. This is the cohabitation (symbiosis) of three microorganisms: yeast fungus - Torul, acetic acid and gluconic bacterium. The kombucha film is layered as it grows. If desired, these layers are separated, placed in a wide glass jar and filled with sugared tea solution and settled water - (100 grams of sugar per 1 liter of water). This infusion gradually turns into a pleasant drink. The film continues to grow and stay on the surface because carbon dioxide produced by yeast raises it. The infusion should be changed every 5-6 days in winter and 2-3 days in summer. The mushroom must be washed boiled water in winter after 2-3 weeks, and in summer after 1-2 weeks. You can’t drink an infusion that has stood still. Cold and strong light slow down the growth of kombucha.
Mushrooms bring us both benefit and harm. Many cap mushrooms and cultivated molds (in cheese) are edible, but there are also extremely poisonous species. Some fungi, such as Aspergillus, cause diseases in plants and animals, but others produce the antibiotics we need. Yeast is used in baking and brewing.
Fungi live at the expense of other organisms. These mushrooms grow on a tree. They penetrate into it with hundreds of thin filaments of mycelium (they are called hyphae), which digest the tree’s nutrients and absorb them.
Conclusion. What should every person do to be healthy?
Alexander Fleming
This is one of the scientists who brought humanity the most great benefit. He was born in Scotland in 1881 and was professor of medicine at the University of London.
Fleming became famous worldwide for his discovery of penicillin. Quite by accident, he discovered that the mold had destroyed a colony of bacteria - the causative agents of an infectious disease, which he was studying. He decided that since mold was able to destroy bacteria, it could be used to treat diseases caused by these bacteria. The scientist began work and managed to obtain a substance with antibiotic properties from mold; Since this type of mold bore the Latin name Penicillium Notatum, Fleming called the new substance “penicillin.” He received the Nobel Prize in Medicine in 1945 and died in 1995. Humanity is grateful to Alexander Fleming, as his discovery helped save the lives of many people.
Mathematics Center
1) Did you know?
The squirrel stores up to 600 g of dried mushrooms for the winter.
The boletus grows the fastest of all tubular mushrooms - 4-5 cm per day.
Every year, more than two tons of needles, leaves, branches, cones and bark fall per hectare of forest. All this is processed by mushrooms, mainly raincoats.
During the Great Patriotic War When field hospitals did not have enough dressing material, nurses collected tinder fungi - they successfully replaced cotton wool.
2) Solving the problem.
The sun shines light on the earth.
The redhead is hiding in the grass,
Nearby right there in yellow dresses
There are twelve more brothers.
I hid them all in the box.
Suddenly I look - there are boletus in the grass,
And fifteen of those buttery
They are already in the box.
And you have the answer ready,
How many mushrooms did I find?
Task: Tosya, Frosya and Lyusya are coming from the forest, carrying mushrooms.
It is not Tosya who is carrying the can. Frosya is carrying a basket. Lyusya and Frosya are holding one hand. Which one is Tosya?
Who is Frosya? Who is Lucy?
Who did he see? What did the birds and the mushroom picker want? (Birds who were thirsty. They argued whether a man would drink water from a russula cap)
Creativity Center.
Dramatization of V. Dahl's fairy tale to the soundtrack “Voices of Birds”.
FAIRY TALE
B. Yes l
In the red summer there is a lot of everything in the forest - all kinds of mushrooms and all kinds of berries: strawberries with blueberries, and raspberries with blackberries, and black currant. The girls walk through the forest, pick berries, sing songs, and the boletus mushroom, sitting under an oak tree, puffs up, sulks, rushes out of the ground, gets angry at the berries: “Look, there are more of them!” It used to be that we were honored, held in high esteem, but now no one will even look at us! Wait,” thinks the boletus, the head of all mushrooms, “we, mushrooms, have great power - we will oppress, strangle it, the sweet berry!”
The boletus conceived and wished for war, sitting under the oak tree, looking at all the mushrooms, and he began to pick mushrooms, began to call for help:
Go, little girls, go to war!
The waves refused:
We are all old ladies, not guilty of war.
Go away, honey agarics!
The honey mushrooms refused:
Our legs are painfully thin, we won’t go to war!
Hey you morels! - shouted the boletus mushroom. - Gear up for war!
Morels refused, th they say:
We are old men, no way are we going to war!
The mushroom got angry, the boletus got angry, and he shouted in a loud voice:
Milk mushrooms, you guys are friendly, come fight with me, beat up the arrogant berry!
Milk mushrooms with loads responded:
We are milk mushrooms, brothers are friendly, we are going with you to war, to the wild and wild berries, we will throw them with our hats, we will trample them with our heels!
Having said this, the milk mushrooms climbed out of the ground together, the dry leaf rises above their heads, a formidable army rises.
“Well, there’s trouble,” the green grass thinks.
And at that time, Aunt Varvara came into the forest with a box - wide pockets. Seeing the great mushroom strength, she gasped, sat down and, well, took mushrooms in a row and put them in the back. I picked it up completely, carried it home, and at home I sorted the mushrooms by type and by rank: honey mushrooms into tubs, honey mushrooms into barrels, morels into alyssettes, milk mushrooms into baskets, and the largest boletus mushroom ended up in a bunch; it was pierced, dried, and sold.
From then on, the mushroom and berry stopped fighting.
Music Center
“Mushroom ditties”
Chocolate hat,
White Silk Tunic
Having looked, the honey agaric gasped:
A real commander.Don't play, you bastards
Hide and seek with Vanyusha until dark,
Do Vanya the honor -
There's room in the box!How old are you, morel!
You look like an old man.
The fungus surprised me:
My age is only two days!
G. ZaleskayaAbout mushrooms ditties sang,
They gathered them all in the forest,
And they came home, cooked it, ate it
And they gained weight with squirrels.
VI Reading the last paragraph of the story
- What did the writer want to teach us? (Take care of and protect the forest and those who live in it)
- What rules should a person follow?
- Who benefits from the mushroom?
Conclusion. What rules should a person know when in the forest?
Summarizing your answers, we can say that the forest is the property of the people.
“The forest is a home for its inhabitants”
Lesson summary.
The musician would admit: “Thank you, forests, for your trees, which, having listened to the singing of birds and then turned into pipes, dombras, pianos, delight the hearts of people with their melodies.”
A doctor would say: “Forests are people’s health.”
The forester would have summed up our conversation something like this: “As you can see, everyone needs forests. But in order for forest wealth to become the property of our descendants, instead of one cut down tree, two should be planted. Forests are not only a source of raw materials, but also a priceless decoration of our planet.”
Presentation of the centers (highlight the best work of one of the centers).
We had a revolution in nineteen hundred and five. Then my friend was in the prime of his youth and fought on the barricades at Presnya. Strangers When meeting him, they called him brother.
“Tell me, brother,” they will ask him, “where... I’ll name the street, and “brother” will answer where this street is. Came first world war one thousand nine hundred and fourteen, and I hear them say to him:
- Father, tell me...
They began to call him not brother, but father.
The last big revolution has arrived. My friend had white, silver hair in his beard and on his head. Those who knew him before the revolution met now, looked at his white-silver hair and said:
- What, father, have you started selling flour?
“No,” he answered, “silver.” But that's not the point. His real job was to serve society, and he was also a doctor and treated people, and he was also very kind person and he helped everyone who turned to him for advice in everything. And so, working from morning until late at night, he lived for fifteen years under Soviet rule. I hear someone stop him on the street one day.
- Grandfather, grandpa, tell me...
And my friend, the old boy with whom we sat on the same bench in the old school, became a grandfather.
So all the time passes, time just flies, you won’t have time to look back...
Okay, I'll continue about my friend. Our grandfather grows whiter and whiter, and so the day of the great celebration of our victory over the Germans finally arrives. And grandfather, having received an honorary invitation card to Red Square, walks under an umbrella and is not afraid of the rain. So we go to Sverdlov Square and see there, behind a chain of policemen around the entire square, troops - well done to well done. The dampness around is from the rain, but you look at them, how they stand, and it seems as if the weather is very good.
We began to present our passes, and then, out of nowhere, some mischievous boy, probably planning to sneak into the parade someday. This mischievous man saw my old friend under an umbrella and said to him:
- Why are you going, old mushroom?
I felt offended, I admit, I got very angry and grabbed this boy by the collar. He broke free, jumped like a hare, looked back as he jumped and ran away.
The parade on Red Square temporarily displaced both the boy and the “old mushroom” from my memory. But when I came home and lay down to rest, the “old mushroom” came to my mind again. And I said this to the invisible mischief maker:
- Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old one sows spores of the future and lives for other, new mushrooms.
And I remembered one russula in the forest, where I constantly collect mushrooms. It was towards autumn, when birch and aspen trees begin to sprinkle golden and red spots down on the young fir trees.
The day was warm and even parky, when mushrooms climb out of the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything out, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from that same place, pick it again, you take it, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing.
This is what it was like now, a mushroom, park day. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I put all sorts of rubbish into my basket: russula, red caps, boletus mushrooms, but there were only two porcini mushrooms. If boletus mushrooms were real mushrooms, I would old man, lean over for the black mushroom! But what can you do? If necessary, you will bow to the russula.
It was very parky, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I was dying to drink. But you can’t go home on a day like this with only black mushrooms! There was plenty of time ahead to look for whites.
There are streams in our forests, from the streams there are paws, paws from the paws or even just sweaty places. I was so thirsty that I probably would have even tried some wet strawberries. But the stream was very far away, and the rain cloud was even further away: the legs would not reach the stream, the hands would not be enough to reach the cloud.
And I hear, somewhere behind a dense spruce tree, a gray bird squeaks:
“Drink, drink!”
It happens that before the rain, a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink:
“Drink, drink!”
“Fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you!”
I looked at the sky, and where to expect rain: a clear sky above us and steam from the ground, like in a bathhouse.
What to do here, what to do?
And the bird also squeaks in its own way:
“Drink, drink!”
I chuckled to myself that this is what an old man I am, I’ve lived so much, seen so much of everything in the world, learned so much, and here it’s just a bird, and we have the same desire.
“Let me,” I said to myself, “let me look at my comrade.”
I moved forward carefully, silently in the dense spruce forest, lifted one branch: well, hello!
Through this forest window I saw a clearing in the forest, in the middle of it there were two birch trees, under the birches there was a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry there was a red russula, so huge, the likes of which I had never seen in my life. It was so old that its edges, as only happens with russula, were curled up.
And because of this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water. My soul became happier.
Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch tree, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - into the water. And turn your head up so that the drop goes down your throat.
“Drink, drink!” - another bird squeaks to her from the birch tree.
There was a leaf on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. The bird will peck, the water will tremble, and the leaf will go wild. But I see everything from the window and am happy and not in a hurry: how much does the bird need, let him drink, we have enough!
One got drunk and flew to the birch tree. The other one came down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one who got drunk, on top of her:
“Drink, drink!”
I left the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch tree to another.
But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with alarm, and I understood them so much that one asked:
“Will you drink?”
Another replied:
“He won’t drink!”
I understood that they were talking about me and about a plate of forest water: one made a wish - “he will drink”, the other argued - “he will not drink”.
- I’ll drink, I’ll drink! - I told them out loud.
They squeaked even more often: “He’ll drink, he’ll drink.”
But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water.
Of course, you could do it very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for themselves. With his mushroom knife, he would carefully cut the russula, pick it up, drink the water, and immediately slam the unnecessary cap from the old mushroom on the tree.
What daring!
But in my opinion, this is simply stupid. Think for yourself how I could do this, if two birds got drunk from an old mushroom before my eyes, and you never know who drank without me, and now I myself, dying of thirst, will now get drunk, and after me it will rain again, and again everyone will start drinking. And then the seeds - spores - will ripen in the mushroom, the wind will pick them up and scatter them throughout the forest for the future...
Apparently there is nothing to do. I grunted, grunted, sank to my old knees and lay down on my stomach. Out of necessity, I say, I bowed to the russula.
And the birds! The birds are playing their game;
“Will he drink or won’t he drink?”
“No, comrades,” I told them, “now don’t argue anymore: now I’ve got there and I’ll drink.”
So it turned out well, when I lay down on my stomach, my parched lips met the cold lips of the mushroom. But just to take a sip, I see in front of me, in a golden boat made of birch leaves, on its thin cobweb, a spider descends into a flexible saucer. Either he wanted to swim, or he needed to get drunk.
- How many of you are here, willing! - I told him. - Well, you...
And in one breath he drank the entire forest cup to the bottom.
Perhaps, out of pity for my friend, I remembered the old mushroom and told you. But the story about the old mushroom is only the beginning of my big story about the forest. What follows will be about what happened to me when I drank from the living water.
These will be miracles not like in the fairy tale about living water and dead water, but real ones, as they happen everywhere and at every moment of our lives, but often we, having eyes, do not see them, and having ears, we do not hear them.
————————————————————
Stories by M.M. Prishvina about nature and
animals. Read for free online
Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin (1873-1954) - Russian Soviet writer, author of works about nature, hunting stories, works for children.
Almost all of Prishvin’s works published during his lifetime are devoted to descriptions of his own impressions from encounters with nature; these descriptions are distinguished by the extraordinary beauty of their language. Konstantin Paustovsky called him “the singer of Russian nature,” Gorky said that Prishvin had “the perfect ability to give a flexible combination simple words almost physical perceptibility to everything."
http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki
"Old Mushroom"
Chit.N.Litvinov
recording 1978
It was towards autumn, when birch and aspen trees begin to sprinkle golden and red spots down on the young fir trees. The day was warm and even parky, when mushrooms climb out of the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything out, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from that very place, collect again: you take it, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing. This is what it was like now, a mushroom, park day. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I put all sorts of rubbish into my basket: russula, redcap, boletus mushrooms, but there were only two porcini mushrooms. If boletus mushrooms were real mushrooms, I, an old man, would bend over for a black mushroom! But what can you do? If necessary, you will bow to the russula. It was very parky, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I was dying to drink. There are streams in our forests, from the streams there are paws, paws from the paws or even just sweaty places. I was so thirsty that I probably would have even tried some wet strawberries. But the stream was very far away, and the rain cloud was even further away: the legs would not reach the stream, the hands would not be enough to reach the cloud. And somewhere behind a thicket of fir trees I hear a gray bird squeaking: “Drink, drink!” It happens that before the rain, a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink: - Drink, drink! “You fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you.” I looked at the sky, and where to expect rain: a clear sky above us, and steam from the ground, like in a bathhouse. What to do here, what to do? And the bird also squeaks in its own way: “Drink, drink!” I chuckled to myself that this is what an old man I am, I’ve lived so much, seen so much of everything in the world, learned so much, and here it’s just a bird, and we have the same desire. “Let me,” I said to myself, “let me look at my comrade.” I moved forward carefully, silently in the dense spruce forest, lifted one branch: well, hello! Through this forest window I saw a clearing in the forest, in the middle of it there were two birch trees, under the birches there was a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry there was a red russula, so huge, the likes of which I had never seen in my life. It was so old that its edges, as only happens with russula, were curled up. And because of this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water. My soul became happier. Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch tree, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - into the water. And turn your head up so that the drop goes down your throat. - Drink, drink! - another bird squeaks to her from the birch tree. There was a leaf on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. The bird will peck, the water will tremble, and the leaf will go wild. And I see everything from the window and am happy and not in a hurry: how much does a bird need, let him drink, we have enough! One got drunk and flew to the birch tree. The other one came down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one who got drunk is on top of her. - Drink, drink! I left the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch tree to another. But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with alarm, and I understood them so much that I was the only one asking. -Will you drink? Another answered: “He won’t drink!” I understood that they were talking about me and about the plate of forest water, one of them made a wish - “he will drink”, the other argued - “he will not drink”. - I’ll drink, I’ll drink! – I told them out loud. They squeaked their “drink, drink” even more often. But it wasn’t so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water. Of course, you could do it very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for themselves. With his mushroom knife, he would carefully trim the russula, pick it up, drink the water, and immediately squash the unnecessary cap from an old mushroom on a tree. What daring! And, in my opinion, this is simply stupid. Think for yourself how I could do this, if two birds got drunk from an old mushroom before my eyes, and you never know who drank without me, and now I myself, dying of thirst, will now get drunk, and after me it will rain again, and again everyone will start drinking. And then the seeds - spores - will ripen in the mushroom, the wind will pick them up and scatter them throughout the forest for the future. Apparently there is nothing to do. I grunted, grunted, sank to my old knees and lay down on my stomach. Out of necessity, I say, I bowed to the russula. And then the birds! The birds are playing their game. – Will he drink or won’t he drink? “No, comrades,” I told them, “now don’t argue anymore, now I’ve got there and I’ll drink.” So it turned out well that when I lay down on my stomach, my parched lips met the cold lips of the mushroom. But just to take a sip, I see in front of me, in a golden boat made of birch leaves, on its thin cobweb, a spider descends into a flexible saucer. Either he wanted to swim, or he needed to get drunk. - How many of you are here, willing! – I told him. - Well, you. And in one breath he drank the entire forest cup to the bottom.
http://www.prishvin.org.ru/ll-al-elbook-1464/
On this page of the site there is literary work My notebooks -. old mushroom the author whose name is Prishvin Mikhail Mikhailovich.. Old mushroom in RTF, TXT, FB2 and EPUB formats, or read online e-book Prishvin Mikhail Mikhailovich - My notebooks -. An old mushroom without registration and without SMS.
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My notebooks -
Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin
old mushroom
We had a revolution in nineteen hundred and five. Then my friend was in the prime of his youth and fought on the barricades at Presnya. Strangers meeting him called him brother.
“Tell me, brother,” they will ask him, “where.”
They will name the street, and the “brother” will answer where this street is.
The First World War came in nineteen fourteen, and I heard people say to him:
- Father, tell me.
They began to call him not brother, but father.
The Great One has come October Revolution. My friend had white silver hair in his beard and on his head. Those who knew him before the revolution met now, looked at his white-silver hair and said:
- What, father, have you started selling flour?
“No,” he answered, “in silver.” But that's not the point.
His real job was to serve society, and he was also a doctor and treated people, and he was also a very kind person and helped everyone who turned to him for advice in everything. And so, working from morning until late at night, he lived for fifteen years under Soviet rule.
I hear someone stop him on the street one day:
- Grandpa, grandpa, tell me.
And my friend, the old boy with whom we sat on the same bench in the old school, became a grandfather.
So time passes, time just flies, you won’t have time to look back.
Okay, I'll continue about my friend. Our grandfather grows whiter and whiter, and so the day of the great celebration of our victory over the Germans finally arrives. And grandfather, having received an honorary invitation card to Red Square, walks under an umbrella and is not afraid of the rain. So we go to Sverdlov Square and see there, behind a chain of policemen, around the entire square, troops - well done to well done. The dampness around is from the rain, but you look at them, how they stand, and it seems as if the weather is very good.
We began to present our passes, and then, out of nowhere, some mischievous boy, probably planning to sneak into the parade someday. This mischievous man saw my old friend under an umbrella and said to him:
- Why are you going, old mushroom?
I felt offended, I admit, I got very angry and grabbed this boy by the collar. He broke free, jumped like a hare, looked back as he jumped and ran away.
The parade on Red Square temporarily displaced both the boy and the “old mushroom” from my memory. But when I came home and lay down to rest, the “old mushroom” came to my mind again. And I said this to the invisible mischief maker:
- Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old one sows spores of the future and lives for other, new mushrooms.
And I remembered one russula in the forest, where I constantly collect mushrooms. It was towards autumn, when birch and aspen trees begin to sprinkle golden and red spots down on the young fir trees.
The day was warm and even parky, when mushrooms climb out of the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything out, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from that very place, collect again: you take it, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing.
This is what it was like now, a mushroom, park day. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I put all sorts of rubbish into my basket: russula, redcap, boletus mushrooms, but there were only two porcini mushrooms. If boletus mushrooms were real mushrooms, I, an old man, would bend over for a black mushroom! But what can you do? If necessary, you will bow to the russula.
It was very parky, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I was dying to drink.
There are streams in our forests, from the streams there are paws, paws from the paws or even just sweaty places. I was so thirsty that I probably would have even tried some wet strawberries. But the stream was very far away, and the rain cloud was even further away: the legs would not reach the stream, the hands would not be enough to reach the cloud.
And I hear somewhere behind a dense spruce tree a gray bird squeaks:
- Drink, drink!
It happens that before the rain, a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink:
- Drink, drink!
“You fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you.”
I looked at the sky, and where to expect rain: a clear sky above us, and steam from the ground, like in a bathhouse.
What to do here, what to do?
And the bird also squeaks in its own way:
- Drink, drink!
I chuckled to myself that this is what an old man I am, I’ve lived so much, seen so much of everything in the world, learned so much, and here it’s just a bird, and we have the same desire.
“Let me,” I said to myself, “let me look at my comrade.”
I moved forward carefully, silently in the dense spruce forest, lifted one branch: well, hello!
Through this forest window I saw a clearing in the forest, in the middle of it there were two birch trees, under the birches there was a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry there was a red russula, so huge, the likes of which I had never seen in my life. It was so old that its edges, as only happens with russula, were curled up.
And because of this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water.
My soul became happier.
Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch tree, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - into the water. And turn your head up so that the drop goes down your throat.
- Drink, drink! - another bird squeaks to her from the birch tree.
There was a leaf on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. The bird will peck, the water will tremble, and the leaf will go wild. But I see everything from the window and am happy and not in a hurry: how much does the bird need, let him drink, we have enough!
One got drunk and flew to the birch tree. The other one came down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one who got drunk is on top of her.
- Drink, drink!
I left the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch tree to another.
But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with alarm, and I understood them so much that I was the only one asking.
-Will you drink?
Another replied:
- He won’t drink!
I understood that they were talking about me and about the plate of forest water, one of them made a wish - “he will drink”, the other argued - “he will not drink”.
- I’ll drink, I’ll drink! – I told them out loud.
They squeaked their “drink-drink” even more often.
But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water.
Of course, you could do it very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for themselves. With his mushroom knife, he would carefully trim the russula, pick it up, drink the water, and immediately squash the unnecessary cap from an old mushroom on a tree.
What daring!
And, in my opinion, this is simply stupid. Think for yourself how I could do this, if two birds got drunk from an old mushroom before my eyes, and you never know who drank without me, and now I myself, dying of thirst, will now get drunk, and after me it will rain again, and again everyone will start drinking. And then the seeds - spores - will ripen in the mushroom, the wind will pick them up and scatter them throughout the forest for the future.
Apparently there is nothing to do. I grunted, grunted, sank to my old knees and lay down on my stomach. Out of necessity, I say, I bowed to the russula.
And the birds! The birds are playing their game.
– Will he drink or won’t he drink?
“No, comrades,” I told them, “now don’t argue anymore, now I’ve got there and I’ll drink.”
So it turned out well that when I lay down on my stomach, my parched lips met the cold lips of the mushroom. But just to take a sip, I see in front of me, in a golden boat made of birch leaves, on its thin cobweb, a spider descends into a flexible saucer. Either he wanted to swim, or he needed to get drunk.
- How many of you are here, willing! – I told him. - Well, you.
And in one breath he drank the entire forest cup to the bottom.
It would be great to have a book My notebooks -. old mushroom author Prishvin Mikhail Mikhailovich you would like it!
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We had a revolution in nineteen hundred and five. Then my friend was in the prime of his youth and fought on the barricades at Presnya. Strangers meeting him called him brother.
“Tell me, brother,” they will ask him, “where.”
They will name the street, and the “brother” will answer where this street is.
The First World War came in nineteen fourteen, and I heard people say to him:
- Father, tell me.
They began to call him not brother, but father.
The Great October Revolution has arrived. My friend had white silver hair in his beard and on his head. Those who knew him before the revolution met now, looked at his white-silver hair and said:
- What, father, have you started selling flour?
“No,” he answered, “in silver.” But that's not the point.
His real job was to serve society, and he was also a doctor and treated people, and he was also a very kind person and helped everyone who turned to him for advice in everything. And so, working from morning until late at night, he lived for fifteen years under Soviet rule.
I hear someone stop him on the street one day:
- Grandpa, grandpa, tell me.
And my friend, the old boy with whom we sat on the same bench in the old school, became a grandfather.
So time passes, time just flies, you won’t have time to look back.
Okay, I'll continue about my friend. Our grandfather grows whiter and whiter, and so the day of the great celebration of our victory over the Germans finally arrives. And grandfather, having received an honorary invitation card to Red Square, walks under an umbrella and is not afraid of the rain. So we go to Sverdlov Square and see there, behind a chain of policemen, around the entire square, troops - well done to well done. The dampness around is from the rain, but you look at them, how they stand, and it seems as if the weather is very good.
We began to present our passes, and then, out of nowhere, some mischievous boy, probably planning to sneak into the parade someday. This mischievous man saw my old friend under an umbrella and said to him:
- Why are you going, old mushroom?
I felt offended, I admit, I got very angry and grabbed this boy by the collar. He broke free, jumped like a hare, looked back as he jumped and ran away.
The parade on Red Square temporarily displaced both the boy and the “old mushroom” from my memory. But when I came home and lay down to rest, the “old mushroom” came to my mind again. And I said this to the invisible mischief maker:
- Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old one sows spores of the future and lives for other, new mushrooms.
And I remembered one russula in the forest, where I constantly collect mushrooms. It was towards autumn, when birch and aspen trees begin to sprinkle golden and red spots down on the young fir trees.
The day was warm and even parky, when mushrooms climb out of the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything out, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from that very place, collect again: you take it, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing.
This is what it was like now, a mushroom, park day. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I put all sorts of rubbish into my basket: russula, redcap, boletus mushrooms, but there were only two porcini mushrooms. If boletus mushrooms were real mushrooms, I, an old man, would bend over for a black mushroom! But what can you do? If necessary, you will bow to the russula.
It was very parky, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I was dying to drink.
There are streams in our forests, from the streams there are paws, paws from the paws or even just sweaty places. I was so thirsty that I probably would have even tried some wet strawberries. But the stream was very far away, and the rain cloud was even further away: the legs would not reach the stream, the hands would not be enough to reach the cloud.
And I hear somewhere behind a dense spruce tree a gray bird squeaks:
- Drink, drink!
It happens that before the rain, a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink:
- Drink, drink!
“You fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you.”
I looked at the sky, and where to expect rain: a clear sky above us, and steam from the ground, like in a bathhouse.
What to do here, what to do?
And the bird also squeaks in its own way:
- Drink, drink!
I chuckled to myself that this is what an old man I am, I’ve lived so much, seen so much of everything in the world, learned so much, and here it’s just a bird, and we have the same desire.
“Let me,” I said to myself, “let me look at my comrade.”
I moved forward carefully, silently in the dense spruce forest, lifted one branch: well, hello!
Through this forest window I saw a clearing in the forest, in the middle of it there were two birch trees, under the birches there was a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry there was a red russula, so huge, the likes of which I had never seen in my life. It was so old that its edges, as only happens with russula, were curled up.
And because of this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water.
My soul became happier.
Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch tree, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - into the water. And turn your head up so that the drop goes down your throat.
- Drink, drink! - another bird squeaks to her from the birch tree.
There was a leaf on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. The bird will peck, the water will tremble, and the leaf will go wild. But I see everything from the window and am happy and not in a hurry: how much does the bird need, let him drink, we have enough!
One got drunk and flew to the birch tree. The other one came down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one who got drunk is on top of her.
- Drink, drink!
I left the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch tree to another.
But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with alarm, and I understood them so much that I was the only one asking.
-Will you drink?
Another replied:
- He won’t drink!
I understood that they were talking about me and about the plate of forest water, one of them made a wish - “he will drink”, the other argued - “he will not drink”.
- I’ll drink, I’ll drink! – I told them out loud.
They squeaked their “drink-drink” even more often.
But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water.
Of course, you could do it very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for themselves. With his mushroom knife, he would carefully trim the russula, pick it up, drink the water, and immediately squash the unnecessary cap from an old mushroom on a tree.