Cottage village legend. Legends of the village of Pervomaisky, or a mini-trip to the country of Limonia

A long time ago, people settled in the valley of the northwestern part of the Caucasus Mountains. They began to cultivate the land, grow crops, plant gardens, hunt wild animals, cut down forests and build houses. People disrupted the usual rhythm of life in this area and caused damage.
At the very top high mountain lived the wind Barei. He was simply furious when he realized what people were doing to the mountains where he lived. Bareus became angry and decided to destroy the people, their homes and all the vegetation that existed there. Having properly accelerated, he blew with such incredible force that he wiped everything off the face of the earth and after that began to hate people. Time passed and the same plants that grew before grew again in this place. Everything became the same.
One day, a grandfather and his granddaughter, traveling in search of housing, wandered into this valley. They were so amazed and delighted by the beauty and grandeur of these places that they immediately decided to stay and live here. Neither grandfather nor granddaughter knew anything about the wind. Barei was furious: “People will ruin the local nature again!” He prepared to kill these people too. Rising high, high into the sky, gathering all his strength, he rushed down to the ground with even greater speed than the last time. Out of anger, Barey did not notice anything on his way, he only thought about how to drive people out of here forever. Therefore, approaching the mountain, he did not have time to dodge and crashed into the very top, breaking his wing. Grandfather was glad that he could now cope with the wind, and already wanted to kill Barei with a dagger.
But the granddaughter was a wise girl and stopped him. She realized that everything could be resolved peacefully and began to treat his sick wing, without leaving his side day or night. Barey was amazed at the girl’s kindness, courage and courage, because he thought that all people could only bring evil. Soon the wind recovered, flew to her and asked: “What can I do in gratitude for your concern for me?” She looked into his eyes and replied: “I don’t need anything, I healed your wing because I felt sorry for you.” Barey looked at her and said: “Thank you for everything you have done for me, I will fly away and will no longer interfere with your life here.” Having made a farewell circle around his native valley, he left these places forever.
He still exists and lives in the central part of the Caucasus, only occasionally returning to see if it’s good here people live, flying between your favorite mountains with a gentle and gentle breeze. And that peak, fatal for the wind, still remains bare: nothing grows on it.

This is where the name of the village of Pshada itself, located on the Black Sea coast, comes from, because when someone wants silence to come, he says: “Psh-sh-sh-sh...”

In memory of my wife Shishkina
Dedicated to Zinaida Fedorovna.

"... And somewhere here about you
My soul is coming out of anguish..."

That year we lived in a house that still stands in the schoolyard today. At the beginning of May, at about 8 am, I had to go to school, which was then located in a barracks building on Oktyabrskaya Street. Walking outside the house, I noticed a very elderly man, tall, with a thick white beard and long, combed back hair that rarely protruded from under a gray hat. He was dressed in gray suit wide cut, and shod in low gray canvas boots. A neatly folded ash-colored autumn cloak was thrown over his left shoulder.

His entire appearance showed neatness, neatness, and intelligence.

The man stood by the oak tree, which to this day grows behind the house, and, as if hugging it, quietly whispered something.

About 15 minutes later, returning from school, I saw that the man continued to stand near the oak tree in the same position. His face expressed deep sadness and longing. He seemed completely lost in his own thoughts and thoughts and did not notice anyone or anything. Tears glistened in her eyes under the bright spring rays of the sun. When I was already level with him, he, tightly grasping the oak tree and leaning his whole body against it, began, like the most dear creature, to kiss it passionately. At that moment, a strong gust of wind hit the green crown of the oak tree, and it, as if responding to the stranger’s caress, made a sharp swing in its direction with its trunk. This unexpected liveliness of the oak tree woke up the stranger, and he, unclenching his hands from its trunk, somehow quietly sobbed.

It seemed to me that the man was seriously ill and therefore decided to approach him.

Tell me, maybe, how can I help you? - I asked him.

“No,” he answered, and after a short silence, he continued: “I came to say goodbye - the time is approaching, I’ve reached my ninth decade.” So it was customary among us: every resident of the village, before getting married, after the birth of a son or daughter, or before death, had to, at the call of his soul and heart, pay his debt of respect and reverence to the eternal memory of the founder of Robbery DMITRY BEZRODNY, come or come to his grave and bow low to it . After all, for almost a hundred years he was an elder, a doctor, a priest, and a father figure for the village residents. Great was the wisdom of this man. And there is nothing to say about his modesty and justice.

Excuse me, was he buried near this oak tree? - I asked, interrupting him.

No, his grave and the grave of his bride were on Azure Mountain. This mountain was for us the shrine of shrines. We went there only in festive clothes, as if to a temple of God, with with an open soul And with a pure heart, to perform an oath celebration or repentance for one’s sins,” he answered.

Where is this Lazorev Mountain?

The highest hill behind the cemetery is called Azure Mountain.

Have you been there?

Yes. But everything there was desecrated, not a single azure flower was recognizable. There are no graves themselves. Disappeared and marble monuments grandfather and him eternal bride Anyuta. There are no traces of the cast-iron fences of their graves, and there is no green grove around the graves.

What brought you to this oak tree? Wasn’t it considered a sacred tree by the locals?

No, this oak was never considered sacred among my fellow villagers, and it could not be considered as such. We had no idolaters, and the oak tree was too young to be one. He is five years younger than me, he is the same age as my late brother, who was born in the spring. My father and I planted an oak tree that day, so we are like brothers, almost the same age. Our custom was that as soon as a boy was born in the family, a tree was planted on the same day male, if a girl was born, then the tree female. So this green grove grew between Upper and Lower streets towards Nakhalovskaya. How many trees there were, means so many children were born in the family. In this grove, like in a park, both adults and children rested in the evenings. There were flower beds and a source of spring water. Yes, it was so beautiful here, very beautiful.

His face, furrowed with numerous large and small wrinkles, took on a kind of enthusiastic and thoughtful expression. Probably, at that moment, memories of past delights in this grove flashed through his mind, and maybe it was in this grove that his happiness began. Probably, only happy people can maintain their health, fitness, slimness, complacency and a clean, healthy mind for so long.

At this moment, my wife Shishkina Zinaida Fedorovna and my mother-in-law Shishkina Maria Mikhailovna came up to us. Apologizing for the intrusion, they invited the stranger to come into the house to have breakfast and drink tea.

Having listened to them, the stranger, with a barely noticeable smile, thanked him from the bottom of his heart for their attention and hospitality and, hurriedly, quickly took out a gold watch with a medium-sized silver chain from his trouser pocket. Pressing the button, he opened the watch cover, looked at the time and exclaimed:

ABOUT! I started chatting, it’s time for me to go to Saratov to the station, my train leaves in three hours. When I was going here, I thought that the “Grandfather’s Museum” had been preserved here. I thought of donating both this watch and this penknife to the museum.

This watch was once given to me by mother Tatyana Efimovna herself after the death of her husband, priest Ivan Aleksandrovich Gorizontov, for my great concern about school, and the knife was given by Dmitry Dedushkin himself when we were still boys. And he, bowing low to us, quickly walked to the bus stop. After walking about twenty meters, he slowed down and said loudly as he walked:

Robbery is a legend, citizen!

And I already had to run to work. The unexpected meeting ended just as unexpectedly. The old man left many mysteries. Where, with what and with whom was it necessary to unravel this legend?

After work, I briefly wrote down the content of our conversation with the names and surnames mentioned. I didn’t even have time to ask the old man’s last name, first name and patronymic, and where he lives. But this conversation with him has stuck in my head ever since, and to this day it excites my soul.

I read a lot of historical literature in local history museum Saratov, trying to find some information about Razboishchina, but only one book mentions that in the 19th century they tried to rename Razboishchina to Voskresenskoye. Nothing came of this venture. The robbers rejected the new name for their village. And why? There was no answer.

The search and questioning of old-timers began. Living in a village and not knowing at least its elementary history was somehow inconvenient for me, as a resident and even more so as a history teacher. own conscience and especially in front of students and their parents.

Fortunately for me, no one had any serious questions about the history of the village during this period. Maybe this is because the population of students in the village, and therefore the settlers, was constantly changing. They did not have time to think deeply about the past of the village. And to the question why the village is called Razboishchina, at that time both at school and among the residents of the village there was a simple, rather conventional answer:

Robbers and robbers once lived here. That’s why the residents of the surrounding villages called their settlement Robbery.

And at the beginning I adhered to this version. But last words stranger: Robbery is a legend, and the words Lazorev Mountain, shrine, temple of God, bow low to his (Dmitry Bezrodny) grave - did not fit into a reasonable explanation of the name.

It is unlikely that anyone will honor the memory and worship the graves of the robbers for centuries; it is unlikely that the robbers had shrines and temples of God. Old version I no longer have any idea about the origin of the name of the village. A true explanation had to be found.

Not finding an explanation for the name Robbery in historical literature, I began to collect legends about the village from old people and especially from those who were originally from Robbery.

The collection of legends began with his mother-in-law and wife. Aksinya Bochkareva, a very sociable grandmother who passionately loved to joke around, sometimes came to my mother-in-law. So she told the legend about eternal love Dmitry to his bride Anyuta, the legend about Timofey, about Baba Gruna.

From her words, many other stories were then written down about the first settlers, about their customs, morals, activities, and about their specific affairs. She was a living keeper of the history of the village in individuals and events, only without a chronological sequence of facts, without a historical interpretation of the causes and consequences of events and without their interrelation.

Praskovya Ivanovna Ivanova told a lot of stories about the Schmidt period of history, but her stories were not substantiated in any way and had no connection.

Nikolai Grigorievich Zelenkin, Evdokia Markelovna Ivanova, Gavriil Prokofievich Tsitsin, Mikhail Alekseevich Zelenkin, Maria Gavrilovna Pushnyak, Vera Alekseevna Bazhkova provided great assistance in reproducing the history of the village and especially the 20th century.

With a certain historical accuracy, they reproduced the layout of the village streets before 1933, the names of the streets, who owned the houses, where the peasant threshing floors and gardens were located. They described the history of Robbery during the years of the revolution and civil war, during the years of collectivization.

Pushnyak Maria Gavrilovna helped reproduce the changes in the village in the first years of World War II.

Tsitsin Gabriel Prokofievich in his story about “stone burials” helped to archaeologically confirm the truth of the legends “About Timofey”, “About Baba Grunya”, and in the story “About the Big and Small Oak Troughs” to confirm the burial of Anyuta and Dmitry in oak dugout coffins.

The tombstone of Tatyana Efimovna Gorizontova, which was picked up by Pavel Vasilyevich Balakshin from the former Robbery Church, is undoubted proof of the fidelity of the legend “About the prodigal priest Ivan and the golden-haired priest Tatyana.”

Now all I had to do was organize all the collected material into a system, arrange it in chronological order, establish relationships between the stories, determine the approximate dating of the events and give their historical explanation.

In the course of narrating the entire history of the village, I will strive to keep the titles of individual parts of the story as I heard them from the storytellers. At the same time, I will not stray too far from the language of the narrators.

So, let's start flipping through the first pages of the history of our village.

Night thunderstorm

Timofey's detachment, which also included a cavalry squadron (as Pugachev himself jokingly called the detachment of Yakov the Besheny), numbered about 200 people and 50 horses. There were about 20 carts loaded to capacity. Even the sick, old and young had nowhere to sit. They had to walk. But the detachment did not set off on the same day - to the place of the future settlement. It was necessary to find the most convenient place for this, that is, away from the highway, somewhere in the wilderness, but not far from large steppe glades necessary for grazing horses and so that there were reliable sources of water. A cavalry detachment of five people led by Taras was sent to search for such a place. This detachment began to rise up along the right bank of the Elshanskaya river, which later became known as Rodnikova.

About two versts from Elshanka, a very small river flowed into Rodnikovaya, named by Ivan-Boroda, Bezymyanka. This river flowed along the bottom of a shallow ravine with the mysterious name “Golden Bottom”. Not far from the confluence of Bezymyanka and Rodnikovaya, the steeper slope of the gully was densely overgrown with centuries-old linden trees. And among them, they say, there was one linden tree with a girth for three. Driving past it, Dmitry even then noticed a large hollow in it, about five arshins from the ground, which went steeply down into the womb of this “mother”. Dmitry also noticed a rather well-trodden path that windingly descended from the slope of the gully to the mysterious linden tree. Having traveled half a mile up the gully, he crossed Bezymyanka and climbed to the highest slope of the gully. Further on there was a continuous forest.

“There’s nothing to do here,” he decided and turned back.

Having reached the confluence of the rivers, Dmitry realized from the left markers that Taras, Ivan and others were moving up along the right bank of the Rodnikovaya. Dmitry moved in the same direction, but only along the left bank of the river.

Having driven about five miles, Dmitry saw Taras and the others. They stood on the bank of Rodnikova, at the confluence of a small stream. Taras proposed to form a settlement here, but the others objected. Yes. There was water here, but there was a dense forest all around. Where to graze horses? Dmitry had the same opinion. And this place, with a ravine going into the mountains, later became known as “Tarasov Barracks”. Let's go higher. They stopped about three versts from Tarasov barracks. There was no longer a river here, but there were deep holes filled with clean, cool water, and along the bottom of the right branch of the ravine a small stream ran like a snake, babbling mischievously between the stones.

I think we can stop here. Look at how wide the cavity the beam itself is located. Here all the winds pass us by. Here you can burn large fires, and no one will see the smoke and flames from afar. Here even the cattle will be at ease. “Look at the expanses of the steppe,” said Dmitry.

And everyone decided that this was the most convenient place to settle. Nowadays this ravine below the third pond and starting in Padah (a general depression under the Georgian Mountain) is called “Mitka’s barracks”.

The scouts returned to Elshanka late at night. Timofey's detachment settled down to rest on the bank of a spring rivulet near the bridge. They reported their thoughts to him. He approved of them. In the morning, it was decided to set off to the place of the intended settlement, but for now, except for the sentinels, everyone went to bed. Only the horses were awake, greedily nibbling on the lush, dew-speckled grass. The stars were shining brightly in the sky. Somewhere a turtle dove cooed lazily, and a lapwing squealed sleepily.

Dew and the stars burn brightly, there will be buckets tomorrow,” said Timofey.

The sign is true, but this time it’s not this one,” Baba Grunya said in a half-asleep voice.

You see the new moon on the lower horn new month you can't hang a bucket. To the rain, darling, to the rain... - And then she fell asleep.

Night silence reigned over the camp.

The morning dawn had not yet broken when thunderclouds fell from a rotten corner like a snow avalanche, and behind them, interspersed with black impenetrable thunderclouds. A gusty robber wind burst out from somewhere, chaotically changing its direction. Sometimes his gusts reached such strength that they caused fragile alder branches to break with a crash and noisily fly in different directions, almost a mile away, and flexible willows bent to the very ground, scattering their branches over it in a wide fan. The tall reeds swayed like angry sea waves and made an unpleasant grinding noise with their ancient foliage. Huge clouds with some cruelty ran towards the young moon and covered it. Then impenetrable darkness set in. The brightly shining stars just suddenly became alarmed by what was happening and quickly, one after another, hid behind the sky. The chirping of birds and the croaking of frogs fell silent.

There was a terrible commotion in the camp. Woke up, people did not immediately understand what was happening. And then... A dazzling lightning flashed over many branches of the Moscow highway, and such deafening thunder struck that it seemed to everyone as if the firmament itself had split into pieces, and as a result the earth trembled and swayed under their feet like a quagmire. And what a miracle! A moment passed, everything calmed down and there was such a dead silence that everyone could hear the beating of their disturbed heart.

And suddenly, from the impenetrable darkness overhead, white balls the size of hazelnuts fell to the ground, at first rarely, and then like a wall. From the pain caused by hailstones, people and horses began to take cover under trees and carts.

The gates of the Emelyanovsky yard opened, and the owner began to invite the campers to take refuge from the weather in his mansions and outbuildings. The hail was followed by torrential rain, which calmed down only by lunchtime the next day. Fortunately, the rain was warm and without wind. He didn't damage much. On the contrary, he washed away and carried into the rivers everything that was sick and outdated. Nature created a cleansing on itself. The swollen river demolished the dilapidated Elshansky bridge. But on the other hand, the grass, washed with rainwater, on the soil saturated with moisture, turned green with its pristine youth, and the air was filled with the purest aroma of fragrant flowers.

As soon as the rain stopped and the exhausted clouds dissipated, a bright sun rolled out from somewhere above into a clear clearing in the sky. Flocks of voracious sparrows poured out into the wide inn to feed. Several pairs of wagtails flew together.

The transporters and the sovereign's motley infantry began to converge on the carts. Emboldened, barefoot, naked children now darted among them. They looked with curiosity at the unprecedented clothes in which the army of revenge was dressed. Their colorful sashes, wide ribbons around their waists, black-red or colorful robes with long sleeves, wide, black or brown trousers with knee-length trousers surprised and made the guys laugh.

Oh, fathers! - suddenly someone shouted in a heart-rending, high-pitched voice to the entire camp and, with horror in his eyes, pointed in the direction of Fried Hill.

Look there, people. On the hillock, instead of a mighty oak tree, there are only charred stumps. And the ground around him is smoking red ash for a mile. This is such an unprecedented miracle.

Everyone fell silent and turned their gaze towards Fried. Infinitely shocked by what had happened, they just shook their heads.

Now the mound has truly become fried,” noted Karp, jokingly nicknamed “Fish” for his silence and taciturnity.

Guys, look how many gypsy tents are scattered on Fried Hill.

Yesterday, after the Pugachevites left the shady tent of the oak tree and camped near Rodnikova, a huge, noisy gypsy camp. By all appearances, it was a rich wedding. This is where trouble overtook them.

Later, the following tale emerged about them.

When lightning ignited and crushed the oak tree, a terrible whirlwind picked up the powerful, closely intertwined parts of the oak crown, and together with the huge branches and part of the gypsy carts stuck in them, lifted them somewhere behind the black clouds and carried them, as if on a huge dragon, and branches and carts towards the city. At first they burned with a huge fire, but heavy rain calmed the flames. The gypsies sleeping in the tents woke up from a loud shaking and fire and immediately lost consciousness from horror and burns. They woke up already on the ground. The elements themselves took pity on them and gave them a soft landing. This extraordinary miracle was believed then. Apparently there was something believable about him. Right there, at the place where they had landed, lay a pile of charred oak branches. These gypsies, having lost both their relatives and friends, never awakened the desire to become nomads. And at the same place they formed their own settlement and began to engage in blacksmithing. It’s good that there was plenty of coal for this purpose. This is how a gypsy street allegedly grew up not far from Saratov. Nowadays it is called Kutyakova Street.

Death of Timothy

The sun has long since set. There was such perspiration coming from the ground that it was impossible to breathe. The horse's people were lethargic and tired until they dropped. When Timofey and Mitya approached the parking lot, the convoy had already settled down in a chain along the treeless slope of the ravine. The unharnessed horses immediately grazed in a wide clearing. In some places fires were already smoking. The detachment's field kitchen also began to smoke. People were sitting on what in large groups. Everyone looked towards the forest slope of the ravine. Just yesterday a forest grew there and it went somewhere into the mountains. And now, in a large space behind the beam, the stumps of centuries-old trees were burning out. The storm made its notes here too. Maybe the forest here caught fire from the first lightning strike, or maybe... a burning snake flew here from the Fried Hill and set the forest on fire.

Timofey and Dmitry unharnessed the horses and, without hobbling, let them into the common herd. The cart, like everyone else, was left unloaded, but it was missing three chests. Pugachev, handing them over to Timofey, warned: “In case of emergency.”

These chests, with their contents, aroused almost no special interest among the first settlers, even in a period of discord and schism and extreme need. But a hundred years later, among people of the third and especially the fourth generation, they found the mysterious legend of the valuable “Pugachev treasure.” This legend subsequently played an incorrigibly insidious role. People, greedy for easy money, in search of this treasure, destroyed the burials and buildings of many residents of the village associated with the name of the founder of Robbery - Dmitry Bezrodny.

When Timofey and Mitya approached the “vespers,” as the general gathering was jokingly called, Baba Grunya was the first to break the silence:

Look, Timosha, what grace God has created for us. He prepared a whole field of miracle land for us. There is so much ash and ash here that for many years we will be collecting unprecedented harvests from this field. While the ground is wet, tomorrow we need to sow it with rye.

Baba Grunya accidentally decided to settle here forever,” one of those sitting noted.

But tomorrow and the day after tomorrow there was no need to sow.

Timofey immediately began to give orders where and what from the carts should be unloaded and where to put them. After this, the unloaded items were carefully covered with curtains.

Or maybe he'll get angry again?

Don’t be afraid, Timosha, it won’t rain,” Baba Grunya remarked.

And again everyone fell silent. Fatigue was taking its toll. Soon three blows of a wooden ladle on a copper cauldron were heard from the kitchen. Call for dinner. We had dinner by the light of a large fire. After dinner everyone began to get ready for bed. Timofey gave orders about the guards. They took their places, and he himself sat down on a large elm tree that had been knocked down by a storm, leaning his back on a thick branch as if on the back of a chair. It was necessary to think deeply about the entire work plan for tomorrow. There was no time to waste now. A rainy autumn and a cold winter are ahead. He warned the watchmen not to disturb him until the morning. Soon the tired camp calmed down and fell into a sound sleep. A quiet, starry August night reigned. From here, from the depression, the sky seemed especially high, and the horizon very close. It was warm and calm. The stars did not twinkle, but burned with a bright, calm flame.

At midnight, when the moon sparkled with its full disk, the guard changed. Only Timofey had been sitting motionless in his “chair” since the evening, tilting his head back a little.

Well..., Dad thought deeply,” the new guard said with a grin, looking at him.

That night, burning stars spread across the sky like small beads, and somewhere beyond the horizon, fadingly hid in the thickets of the forest. At midnight, right above the fire, bright coals fell from the sky quickly, quickly, leaving behind them, somewhere in the heights, instant streams of fire. But none of them reached even close to the ground. They all went out without noise or smoke, somewhere in the bottomless abyss of the sky. At the moment of this flash, one of the guards noticed how Timofey’s hand, lying on a branch, fell like a whip onto his knees.

The old man fell asleep completely and soundly, thought Fyodor.

Night time passed slowly for the guards. But it didn't stand. And now it was dawn in the east. When it began to get seriously light, keen ear Fedora caught the sound of a horse stomping approaching from the direction of the Rodnikov barracks. He wanted to wake up Timofey, but immediately saw that it was the cavalry detachment of Yakov the Besheny riding. When the detachment entered the camp, the horsemen jumped off their horses, and, having removed their saddles and bridles, released them into the common herd. They themselves, stretching out their coats on the ground and placing saddles under their heads, quickly began to go to bed without fuss or conversation.

Where is the commander? - Yakov asked one of the guards. - We need to report.

“He’s sleeping by the fire, sitting on a log,” Fyodor answered as he approached.

Yakov approached the fire. Timofey was sleeping on the opposite side. The fire was burning out. A large pile of coals, flickering dimly, smoldered with a faded light.

Yakov approached Timothy from the right. Placing his hand on his shoulder, he slowed him down slightly. As a result, Timofey began to slowly fall to the left and slide down the tree.

“Dad,” Yakov cried out somehow in fear and alarm, not letting him fall to the ground.

Dad, dad,” he called Timofey with special tenderness and love, almost in a whisper, holding his frail body in his powerful hands. Timofey was silent.

Dad-I-I..., he shouted in horror in his drawn-out and bullish voice to the entire sleeping camp. And, having taken a few steps with Timofey’s body, he began to slowly sink to the ground. Laying him on a level place by the fire, Yakov hugged Timofey by the shoulders, and, bowing his head to his chest, sobbed heartily.

The news of Timofey's death swept through the camp with lightning speed.

Grandma Grunya came up. She knelt down and said in a firm voice:

Timosha, my son, you are our hope. I once left you, but now I have to bury you.

Then she stood up, straightened up, and her whole posture and her whole expression acquired determination and confidence.

There are no words to express how hard it is for me to speak. Grief, terrible grief befell us at this harsh hour. It is difficult to find us a replacement for Timothy. Almost impossible. He was both our mind and heart. He was truly Dad for us... But what to do? Despair will not help grief. The Emperor ordered that we not only preserve our strength and lives. He looks to us as a future fighting force.

Listening to Baba Grunya and looking at her endurance, people gradually began to emerge from their state of despair. Stopped crying and sobbing. We began to calm down a little and regain hope for our salvation, with the help of this wise, strong-willed and very kind woman. And Baba Grunya is already in her eighties.

Publication to be continued...

The amphitheater in Kokoshkin - you must agree, sounds bizarre and even extravagant. But nevertheless, this is not fiction - the construction of the Kokoshkin analogue of the famous Roman Colosseum has already begun. Inspired by this news, the NO correspondent decided to find out what else the small settlement of New Moscow, which challenged the Eternal City itself, could surprise the world with. And we went to Kokoshkino.

The amphitheater is being built near the railway station. This is exactly the central part of the settlement. There are many shops around, there is even an old club, which, however, is no longer in operation.

There are archival photographs of the village in the local library, let me show you everything,” smiles local resident Enver Sofinov, one of the activists of the Tatar community of Moscow and the Moscow region, a member of the Union of Journalists. - I’ve lived here since 1998, I’ve been studying local history for a long time, I’ve already collected enough material about Kokoshkino to fill a book.

We walk through green courtyards to the old library building. Bright new buildings and highways can be seen nearby. Most recently, a new automobile overpass in Kokoshkin was opened by Moscow Mayor Sergei Sobyanin.

The library is located in an old building among trees and residential buildings. It also houses a local music school. It's cool inside and smells of old books - the same smell was in ours school library in my hometown.

People from Kokoshkin often come to us! The library is popular,” librarian Natalya Averina greets correspondents and points to a clearly new stand at the entrance. - We organized a book circulation event. The guys bring books that they have already read, leave them here at the stand and take new ones.

The Kokoshkin Library has preserved a large number of books about the settlement, about honorary residents, about the heroes of these places.

We also have local legends,” Enver smiles mysteriously and takes out archival photographs.

Legend of the driver

Kokoshkino began to be rebuilt in 1952. Until this time, there was a railway station and several villages - Brekhovo, Novobrekhovo, Sanino, which are part of the settlement.

Brekhovo is the estate of the Kokoshkin family, where they lived. Its owner, Fyodor Kokoshkin, was a deputy of the State Duma of the first convocation,” says Enver and shows me the portrait handsome man with a thick mustache. - In 1918, he was killed in the hospital by sailors.

It is believed that the urban-type settlement was named in honor of the owner of the estate, a representative of a famous noble family. However, there is another version.

Until the 20s of the last century, this platform was officially an unnamed stopping point “Rezezd 33rd km,” says Enver. - Even the letters have been preserved, where this address is indicated - the 33rd kilometer. Although back in 1899 it was already mentioned as Kokoshkino. There were only barracks and a wooden house around; the locals called these buildings “pyatidvorka.”

The driver of the Moscow-Kyiv-sortirovochnaya station lived here. His name has not been preserved, but they called him Kokoshkinsky. So in Tsarist Russia it was customary to give nicknames that reflected the name of the estate. He was shot by the White Guards in 1917, but the name became attached to the station - hence the name. This version has many opponents, but it has a right to exist.

The legend about the river Dunno

There is a river called Neznayka in Kokoshkino. Immediately, of course, I remember the hero of Nikolai Nosov’s work - little man in a blue hat. The river seems similar to him - just as mischievous, cheerful and playful. Along the banks you can see backwaters and whirlpools three meters deep.

Why is it called Dunno? - I ask the local historian.

Yes, imagine the dialogue. “What kind of river?” - “I don’t know.” And so it went - Dunno, - Vladimir Dobrokhotov, another resident of Kokoshkin, whom we met on the way to the river, laughs into his thick mustache. “We moved here with my parents when I was three years old. I have been living since then.

Locals say that the French who died in battle during the retreat were buried in mounds on the banks of the Dunznaika River.

But I haven’t seen any mention of this in any source,” says Enver, “so it’s definitely a myth. They also say that the fish in it are large - pike, perch, crucian carp. Our people repeat that Dunno is a river of miracles.

There are several on the river settlements With unusual names- Kharyino, Penino, Piskovo, Starolesye. It has three tributaries - the Likova and Svinorka rivers, and near the village of Marushkino - the Aleshenka stream.

On old maps the river is called Neznan, Neznanka,” explains Enver. - Apparently it’s a mysterious river.

The Legend of Ponds and Sholokhov

In addition to the river, Kokoshkinsky ponds glisten in the sun - three artificial reservoirs, densely covered with greenery along the banks. There used to be a beach here and people often swam local residents. Now there are only ducks and rare fish in the water. No one knows how the ponds appeared; there is no mention in the documents. But there is a legend about other bodies of water in the settlement.

According to Enver, the Kokoshkin family was also known for the floating islands that they built on the rivers on their estates. However, this was not the case in Brekhov.

In June 1993, the Moscow Journal published Natalya Runovskaya’s story “What’s in my name...”, says Enver. - In it, the author talks about the Kokoshkin family. Natalya Runovskaya met with the great-granddaughter of Fyodor Kokoshkin the first, Irina Fedorovna Kokoshkina, the sister of the owner of the estate in Brekhov. She mixed up the ponds in two different estates. There were no floating islands with musicians and benches in Brekhov, this is how the Kokoshkins had fun on their other estate - Bedrino, now Nekrasovka in the Lyubertsy region.

There’s nothing left of our estate in Brekhov,” adds Vladimir. - I only remember the big cast-iron gates and that’s it, they’re gone. Although, they said, barns and some cellars were preserved.

By the way, the Kokoshkin family was friends with writers, poets, and the most famous people.

Irina Fedorovna said that Leonid Andreev, Pavel Antokolsky, Andrei Bely, Alexander Blok, Valery Bryusov, Vasily Vatagin (animal artist), Igor Severyanin, Marina Tsvetaeva visited their house,” explains Enver. - And she also said that she was godmother of the actor Alexey Batalov. He later told someone in an interview that he did not remember his godparents. And Irina Fedorovna asserted this. Now, of course, it is difficult to verify this fact.

Old-timers told me that Sholokhov also appeared here,” adds Vladimir Anatolyevich.

The legend of the fascist landing

Not far from Kokoshin, closer to the village of Zaitsevo, earthen fortifications have been preserved in a field. Some of them have already been filled in - new housing complexes were being built there. But some still exist.

Baba Vera lived here with us, she told us that during the war, German troops landed near Zaitsev,” continues Vladimir. - They looked at this silence around and disappeared somewhere. But there remained trenches and pits where there were dugouts and cells of riflemen. We played war games there.

There is also a memorial in Kokoshkino - an obelisk dedicated to local residents who died on the fronts of the Great Patriotic War of 1941–1945. It is located just between the station and the amphitheater under construction. On two marble slabs there are 64 names of family members of Kokoshkin residents who did not return home from the war.

Hero of the Soviet Union Alexander Dmitrievich Levchenko also lived in Kokoshkino. He lived modestly and didn’t tell anyone much about the war or his exploits. In 1943, together with another soldier, he penetrated behind enemy lines, captured two anti-tank guns that were impeding the movement of our tanks, reported the situation by radio and held the position until reinforcements arrived. In 1944, Alexander Dmitrievich was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

Uncle Ignatov came to our school for courage lessons,” adds Vladimir. - He burned in a tank four times, four times he was taken to be shot. Twice - the Germans, twice - ours for not saving the combat vehicle. Then they sorted it out and let me go. He is from Kokoshkin too, he lived here. On vacation, he traveled all over the Union, earned money for monuments and installed them.

We pass by two ancient old women. Both are wearing headscarves and have kind faces.

Hello, have a nice day! - Avdotya Mikhailovna nods.

Previously, all the Kokoshkinskys knew each other, greeted each other, and communicated. Now many new houses have been built, and the people there are different. Almost all young people come with families, but the place is quiet, just right for walking along the green paths with a stroller.

The legend about the musical village in New Moscow

In general, our village is musical, there are many groups, both youth and adults,” says Enver. - I recently went to a “dacha” - an analogue of a city apartment. There were a lot of girls and guys there, everyone was passing the guitar around and singing.

Boys about 12 years old run past, I stop one of them - the tallest one.

Kokoshkino is a musical village, there are many groups, both youth and adults

I want to music school“I’m learning to play the piano,” Nikita says in an almost adult voice. - And my dad writes poems himself and sets them to music.

Vladimir says that the passion for music began in Kokoshkin a very long time ago. When the magazine “Young Technician” published a tutorial on how to build a guitar, everyone started making them themselves.

We sat all day, tried, tried, but there was always a problem with the fingerboard,” recalls Vladimir. - At first, my mother also sent me to a music school, but when it comes by force, it doesn’t take root. And then in one group I saw a guy play “I Met You...” overkill, and that’s it, the world ceased to exist for me. I spent six hours at home figuring out how to play it. Happened! And at the age of 15 I wrote my first song. Patriotic.

BY THE WAY

The Kokoshkins are a Russian noble family. The founder was Vasily Vasilyevich Glebov, nicknamed Kokoshka ( which means “large, heavy”. - "BUT" ). The Brekhovo estate was bought by his grandson famous playwright Fedora Kokoshkina - Fyodor Fedorovich Kokoshkin, who was born in 1871. His cousin- Nikolai Alexandrovich, was an actual Privy Councilor.

REFERENCE

The floating islands in the Bedrino estate were peat areas of land that were separated from the shores of the lake and moved on the water. Often there were plants and even trees on them. Orchestras performed on the islands and gazebos were installed.

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The journey of Alexander, for whom an ordinary bike ride turned into new impressions and knowledge.

Some trips last for a week, while others take only a few hours. Some take a thousand photos during their vacation and bring a bunch of souvenirs with them, while others return with one photo and a small magnet. We are all different and relax differently, but each of us has trips that we want to talk about.

We recently invited Kirov residents to publish diaries of their travels in our Your Route section. The idea was liked by readers. Thanks to them, we already know what a trip alone can be like and how to profitably spend a weekend in. We are sure that this is just the beginning, and we are waiting for new stories about your trips around Kirov region, in Russia, as well as other, no less beautiful countries.

Today about my little trip to the suburbs of Kirov, Alexander tells. He is sure that all trips, even the shortest ones, can be interesting.

– I’m not an athlete or even a bike traveler, I just ride a bike around the region. Three years ago I realized that there was nowhere to ride around Kirov, and it was not interesting, so I began to travel outside the city. Gradually, my trips began to lengthen, and now my average and very comfortable route is one hundred kilometers a day.

At a distance of 50 kilometers from Kirov there are many interesting objects that deserve attention. Today I would like to talk about a trip that impressed me. It took place in the middle of summer, then I went to the village of Pervomaisky, which is next to Slobodsky. You can get there different ways: by bicycle, car or bus - whichever you prefer. For a bicycle, I can recommend the route through Zarechny and Borovitsa. The village is located on the right side along the highway to Slobodskoye, there is a turn there, and getting there is not difficult. I’ll say right away that driving a car will be difficult - the roads are terrible, especially at the entrance to Pervomaisky itself.

This village is also called the country of Limonia, because there is Lake Limonikha. Pervomaisky itself is small: there is a private sector, panel houses and various enterprises. In general, a simple working village. How is he unusual? There is a very beautiful Transfiguration Church here. It is built in the shape of a ship. This is a unique building that is simply impossible to pass by.

But it’s not the only interesting place; there’s a high hill in Pervomaisky. I have never seen such an object in the Kirov region.

Unfortunately, there are no signs in the village, so I didn’t know where to go. And then hospitable local residents came to my aid. Typical working youth were driving to the beach on a hot day, I waved my hand, and they stopped. I asked about the hill, the guys got out of the car very politely and told me in detail where it was. They were delighted that someone had come to them for tourism purposes. They even offered to carry me out, but I refused. By the way, I asked a couple more times for directions, and the residents showed the way very friendly.

After driving just a couple of kilometers through the village, I saw the place I was looking for. This nameless hill is a landmark of Pervomaisky. The mountain, I’m not afraid of this word, is 30-40 meters high with a steep slope. There is a fabulous legend about how he appeared. Like, one day twelve heroes came, led by Onokha. They raised a hill and founded a settlement on it. Then they began to fight with the strongest of the neighboring heroes, but quickly made peace. And Onokha wooed the daughter of this hero. He agreed to give up his daughter only on the condition that the Onokha brothers bring the semi-precious stones by the appointed time, otherwise he will hang Onokha and the heroes will be petrified. The heroes were a little late. Near the pit from which they dragged clay for the hill, they petrified, and a lake formed above them.

Vyatka goes around the village, so from this place there is a very beautiful view. At the top you experience an unforgettable feeling when you look at such a picturesque picture. I stayed there for about an hour, and I didn’t even want to leave.

From Pervomaisky I decided to get to the village of Shchukovo. There is a small chapel and a holy spring there. They say that the water in it cures drunkenness. I don’t drink myself, so I can’t say for sure whether this is true or not :). In general, if you are interested, it makes sense to go and check it out.

This is a very simple route. And it’s a pity that the residents of the Kirov region know little about such places, because it’s really very beautiful here.

To travel to another city, for example, to Kazan or Yoshkar-Ola, you need to spend at least two days. But, if you understand that you have to work tomorrow, you can arrange a short trip around the region - budget-friendly, profitable and interesting. I would like to note that when you ride a bicycle, and not a car, you have the opportunity to see and feel everything. There is no need to be afraid, you just need to sit down and go.

Any journey is worthy of being told about it. We are waiting for your stories and your personal routes with tips and photos. Write to us at [email protected].