The name of Khachaturian's ballet. Biography

Nikolay Sladkov

Forest Tales

How the bear was turned over

The birds and animals have suffered through a hard winter. Every day there is a snowstorm, every night there is frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in his den. He probably forgot that it was time for him to turn over to the other side.

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

The birds and animals have run out of patience. Let's go wake up the Bear:

Hey Bear, it's time! Everyone is tired of winter! We miss the sun. Roll over, roll over, maybe you'll get bed sores?

The bear didn’t answer at all: he didn’t move, he didn’t move. Know he's snoring.

Eh, I should hit him in the back of the head! - exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I suppose he would move right away!

“No,” Moose mumbled, “you have to be respectful and respectful with him.” Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg you: turn over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not sweet. We, elk, are standing in the aspen forest, like cows in a stall: we cannot take a step to the side. There's a lot of snow in the forest! It will be a disaster if the wolves get wind of us.

The bear moved his ear and grumbled through his teeth:

What do I care about you moose! Deep snow is good for me: it’s warm and I sleep peacefully.

Here the White Partridge began to lament:

Aren't you ashamed, Bear? The snow covered all the berries, all the bushes with buds - what do you want us to peck? Well, why should you turn over on the other side and hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!

And the Bear has his:

Even funny! You're tired of winter, but I'm turning over from side to side! Well, what do I care about buds and berries? I have a reserve of lard under my skin.

The squirrel endured and endured, but could not bear it:

Oh, you shaggy mattress, he’s too lazy to turn over, you see! But you would jump on the branches with ice cream, and skin your paws until they bleed, like me!.. Turn over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!

Four five six! - the Bear taunts. - That scared me! Well - shoot off! You're preventing me from sleeping.

The animals tucked their tails, the birds hung their noses, and began to disperse. And then the Mouse suddenly stuck out of the snow and squeaked:

So big, but you're scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, the bobtail, like that? He doesn’t understand either for good or for bad. You have to deal with him like us, like a mouse. You ask me - I will turn it over in an instant!

Are you a Bear?! - the animals gasped.

One left paw! - the Mouse boasts.

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

Runs all over it, scratches it with its claws, bites it with its teeth. The Bear twitched, squealed like a pig, and kicked his legs.

Oh, I can't! - howls. - Oh, I’ll roll over, just don’t tickle me! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!

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

The mouse stuck out and squeaked:

Turned over like a darling! They would have told me a long time ago.

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

Forest rustles

Perch and Burbot

Where's the place under the ice? All the fish are sleepy - you are the only one, Burbot, cheerful and playful. What's the matter with you, huh?

And the fact that for all fish in winter is winter, but for me, Burbot, in winter it is summer! You perches are dozing, and we burbots are playing weddings, swording caviar, rejoicing and having fun!

Let's go, fellow perches, to Burbot's wedding! Let’s wake up our sleep, have some fun, snack on burbot caviar...

Otter and Raven

Tell me, Raven, wise bird, why do people burn fires in the forest?

I didn’t expect such a question from you, Otter. We got wet in the stream and froze, so we lit a fire. They warm themselves by the fire.

Strange... But in winter I always warm myself in 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, wait until spring. Where else is that spring - beyond the mountains and beyond the seas...

Not beyond the seas, Hare, spring is just around the corner, but under your feet! Dig the snow down to the ground - there are green lingonberries, mantleberries, strawberries, and dandelions. And you smell it, and you get full.

Badger and Bear

What, Bear, are you still sleeping?

I'm sleeping, Badger, I'm sleeping. That's it, brother, I got into gear - it's been five months without waking up. All sides have rested!

Or maybe, Bear, it’s time for us to get up?

It's not time. Sleep some more.

Won't you and I sleep through the spring after the start?

Don't be afraid! She, brother, will wake you up.

What if she knocks on our door, sings a song, or maybe tickles our heels? I, Misha, fear is so hard to rise!

Wow! You'll probably jump up! She, Borya, will give you a bucket of water under your sides - I bet you won’t stay too long! Sleep while you're dry.

Magpie and Dipper

Oooh, Olyapka, you don’t even think about swimming in the ice hole?!

And swim and dive!

Will you freeze?

My pen is warm!

Will you get wet?

My pen is water-repellent!

Will you drown?

I can swim!

A … A … Do you get hungry after swimming?

That's why I dive, to eat a water bug!

Winter debts

The Sparrow was chirping on the dung heap - and he was jumping up and down! And the Crow croaks in his nasty voice:

Why, Sparrow, was he happy, why was he chirping?

“The wings itch, Crow, the nose itches,” Sparrow answers. - The passion to fight is the hunt! Don’t croak here, don’t spoil my spring mood!

But I'll ruin it! - Crow does not lag behind. - How can I ask a question?

I scared you!

And I'll scare you. Did you peck crumbs in the trash bin in winter?

Did you pick up grains from the barnyard?

Picked it up.

Did you have lunch in the bird cafeteria near the school?

Thank you guys for feeding me.

That's it! - Crow bursts into tears. - How do you think you will pay 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, Vorona, were...

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

Decent ones, maybe they do,” Sparrow became angry. - But are you doing it, Crow?

I'll cry before anyone else! Do you hear a tractor plowing in the field? And behind him, I pick out all sorts of root beetles and root rodents from the furrow. And Magpie and Galka help me. And looking at us, other birds are also trying.

Don't vouch for others either! - Sparrow insists. - Others may have forgotten to think.

But Crow doesn’t let up:

Come and check it out!

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

Congratulations on your housewarming! - Sparrow says. - In my joy, I suppose I forgot about my debts!

I haven’t forgotten, Sparrow, that you are! - Titmouse answers. “The guys treated me to delicious salsa in the winter, and in the fall I’ll treat them to sweet apples.” I protect the garden from codling moths and leaf-eaters.

For what reason did Sparrow fly to my forest?

“But they’re demanding payment from me,” Sparrow tweets. - And you, Woodpecker, how do you pay? A?

That’s how I try,” answers the Woodpecker. - I protect the forest from wood borers and bark beetles. I fight them tooth and nail! I even got fat...

Look, thought Sparrow. - And I thought...

Sparrow returned to the dung heap and said to Crow:

Yours, hag, the truth! Everyone is paying off winter debts. Am I worse than others? How can I start feeding my chicks mosquitoes, horseflies and flies! So that the bloodsuckers don't bite these guys! I'll pay back my debts in no time!

He said so and let’s jump up and chirp on the dung heap again. Bye free time There is. Until the sparrows in the nest hatched.

Polite jackdaw

I have many acquaintances among wild birds. I know only one sparrow. He is all white - an albino. You can immediately tell him apart in a flock of sparrows: everyone is gray, but he is white.

I know Soroka. I distinguish this one by its impudence. In winter, it used to be that people would hang food outside the window, and she would immediately fly in and ruin everything.

But I noticed one jackdaw for her politeness.

There was a snowstorm.

In early spring there are special snowstorms - sunny ones. Snow whirlwinds swirl in the air, everything sparkles and rushes! Stone houses look like rocks. There is a storm at the top, snowy waterfalls flow from the roofs as if from mountains. Icicles from the wind grow in different directions, like the shaggy beard of Santa Claus.

And above the cornice, under the roof, there is a secluded place. There, two bricks fell out of the wall. My jackdaw settled in this recess. All black, only a gray collar on the neck. The jackdaw was basking in the sun and also pecking at some tasty morsel. Cubby!

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

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov (1920-1996) - writer, author of more than 60 books about nature. Member of the CPSU since 1952.

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born on January 5, 1920 in Moscow, but most lived his life in Leningrad. Since childhood, he loved nature and was interested in it. From the second grade I began to keep a diary, where I wrote down my first impressions and observations. In his youth he was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity, considering sport hunting to be barbaric. Instead, he began to engage in photo hunting and put forward the call “Don’t take a gun into the forest, take a photo gun into the forest.” During the war, he volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. In peacetime, he retained the same specialty.

He wrote his first book, “Silver Tail,” in 1953. In total, he wrote more than 60 books. Together with Vitaly Bianchi he produced the radio program “News from the Forest”. He traveled a lot, usually alone, these travels are reflected in books. He wrote a lot about the need to protect nature, protect endangered species, and educate careful attitude to nature.

He has repeatedly opposed the practice of keeping wild animals in captivity (including in zoos), arguing that the life of such animals is not fulfilling.

Selected bibliography

• "Silver Tail", 1953.
• "The Nameless Path", 1956.
• "Planet of Wonders", 1963.
• "Miombo." Book about Africa, 1976.
• “The Brave Photo Hunter”, 1977
• "The Whistle of Wild Wings", 1977.
• “Drops of the Sun”, collection of short stories, 1978.
• “Invisible Aspen”, 1979. Observations of flying squirrels made in childhood.
• "White tigers". Book about India
• “Into the forest according to riddles”, 1983.
• "Colorful Earth", 1984.
• "Under the Invisible Cap", 1986.

N. Sladkov also wrote many stories, including for children.

Awards and prizes

• State Prize of the RSFSR named after N.K. Krupskaya (1976) - for the book “Underwater Newspaper”.

Nikolai Sladkov’s books describe a number of unusual events that happened to him during his travels.

Planning to swim down the Ili River, N. Sladkov lost his kayak on the first day of the trip. Then he swam part of the river to Balkhash on his back, placing an inflatable pillow under his head and putting his property and supplies on a rubber raft tied to his leg.
Looking for snow leopard in the area of ​​the city of Elburz, N. Sladkov climbed a mountain, climbed onto a mountain cornice and brought down a block of stone. The boulder destroyed a section of the cornice and Sladkov found himself blocked on the cornice where the golden eagles' nest was located. He lived for 9 days on this ledge, eating part of the prey that the eagles brought to the chicks. Then he descended, using the branches that made up the nest.

Notes

1. Glotser Vl. Sladkov // Brief literary encyclopedia/ Ch. ed. A. A. Surkov. - M.: Sov. Encycl., 1962-1978. — T. 6: Saying — “ Soviet Russia" - 1971. - P. 936.
2. Sladkov, Nikolai Ivanovich. Collected works in three volumes. - Leningrad: Children's literature, 1988. - 100,000 copies. — ISBN 5-08-000088-0.
3. Story "Wild House"
4. N. Sladkov “The Whistle of Wild Wings”, 1977.

https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D1%EB%E0%E4%EA%EE%E2,_%CD%E8%EA%EE%EB%E0%E9_%C8%E2%E0%ED %EE%E2%E8%F7

Nikolai Sladkov was born on January 5, 1920 in Moscow. During the war, he volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. In peacetime, he retained the same specialty.

In his youth he was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity, considering sport hunting to be barbaric. Instead, he began to engage in photo hunting and put forward the call “Don’t take a gun into the forest, take a photo gun into the forest.”
He wrote his first book, “Silver Tail,” in 1953. In total, he wrote more than 60 books. Together with Vitaly Bianchi he produced the radio program “News from the Forest”. He traveled a lot, usually alone, these travels are reflected in books.

In total, during his adventure-filled life, Nikolai Ivanovich wrote more than 60 books. Among the most famous are such publications as “The Corner of the Eye”, “Behind the Feather of a Bluebird”, “The Invisible Aspen”, “Underwater Newspaper”, “The Land Above the Clouds”, “The Whistle of Wild Wings” and many others wonderful books... For the book "Underwater Newspaper" Nikolai Ivanovich was awarded State Prize named after N.K. Krupskaya.

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

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Yesterday's snow

Who needs yesterday's snow? Yes, to those who need yesterday: only yesterday’s snow can go back to the past. And how to live it again. I did just that, following the old trail of the lynx on its yesterday.
...Before dawn, the lynx emerged from the gloomy spruce forest into the moonlit moss swamp. She floated like a gray cloud between the gnarled pines, silently stepping with her wide paws. Ears with tassels are tense, curved mustaches puff up at the lips, and the moon zigzags in the black eyes.
A hare rolled diagonally, rustling the snow. The lynx rushed after him with greedy, swift leaps, but was too late. After hesitating, the gray cloud smoothly floated on, leaving behind a dot of round traces.
In the clearing, the lynx turned towards the holes of the black grouse, but the holes were cold, like the day before yesterday. She smelled hazel grouse sleeping under the snow by the stream, but the hazel grouse, even in their sleep, heard her quiet creeping steps on the roof of their snowy bedroom and fluttered out into the gap, as if through an attic window.
Only in the blind predawn light did the lynx manage to grab a squirrel, which for some reason had descended onto the snow. It was trampled and twisted here - snow pounding. She ate the whole squirrel, leaving a fluffy tail.
Then she went on, followed the hare's tracks, and rolled around in the snow. She walked further and dug a hole near the pine tree with her paw - snow walls in the grooves of her claws. But she didn’t like something here, she abandoned the hole, jumped onto a snow mound, turned around, trampled and lay down. And she dozed like a lazy cat on a warm bed all last day.
And now I’m sitting on her mound, listening to the forest. The wind rolls over the pines, and the tops are dusted with snow. In the depths of the forest, a woodpecker secretly taps. The powder rustles with pine scales like a mouse with a piece of paper.
The lynx heard all this yesterday. Yesterday's snow told everything.

Dried stones

A bear came out into the clearing. They lie in the clearing gray stones. Maybe they've been lying there for a thousand years. But then the bear came and started to take them on. I tampered with the paws and turned them over - the stone immediately became two-colored. There was only one dry top visible, and now there is a damp dark bottom. The bear sniffed the two-colored stone and continued. The second stone was turned upside down with its wet bottom. Then the third. Fourth.
He walked around the entire clearing, turning over all the stones. All the stones have their wet bottoms facing the sun.
And the sun is burning. The wet stones began to smoke and steam came from them. Drying.
I look at the bear and don’t understand anything. Why does he dry the stones like mushrooms in the sun? Why does he need dry stones?
I'd be afraid to ask. Bears are weak-sighted. He still can’t see who’s asking. It will crush you blindly.
I look silent. And I see: the bear approached the last, largest stone. He grabbed it, leaned on it and turned it over too. And quickly head into the hole.
Well, there’s no need to ask. And so everything is clear. Not the stones beast
drying, and looking for a place to live under the stones! Bugs, slugs, mice. The stones are smoking. The bear is chomping.
His life is not easy! How many stones did you turn over? You got one mouse. How long does it take to turn over to fill your belly? No, not a single stone in the forest can lie for a thousand years without moving.
The bear chomps and paws right at me. Maybe I seemed like a stone to him too? Well, wait, now I’ll talk to you in my own way! I sneezed, coughed, whistled, and knocked my butt on the wood.
The bear groaned and went to break the bushes.
I and the dried stones were left in the clearing.

Three eggs lay in the seagull's nest: two were motionless, and the third was moving. The third one was impatient, it even whistled! If it had been his will, it would have jumped out of the nest and, like a bun, would have rolled along the bank!
The testicle fiddled and fidgeted and began to crunch softly. A hole crumbled at the blunt end. And through the hole, like in a window, a bird’s nose stuck out.

A bird's nose is also a mouth. The mouth opened in surprise. Of course: the egg suddenly became light and fresh. Hitherto muffled sounds began to sound powerful and loud. An unfamiliar world burst into the cozy and hidden home of the chick. And the little seagull became shy for a moment: maybe it’s not worth poking your nose into this unknown world?

But the sun warmed gently, my eyes got used to bright light. Green blades of grass swayed and lazy waves splashed.

The little seagull rested its paws on the floor and its head on the ceiling, pressed, and the shell shattered. The little gull was so frightened that he shouted loudly at the top of his lungs: “Mom!”

So in our world there is one more seagull. In the chorus of voices, voices and little voices, a new voice began to sound. He was timid and quiet, like the squeak of a mosquito. But it sounded and everyone heard it.
The little seagull stood on trembling legs, fidgeted with the hairs of its wings and boldly stepped forward: water is water!

Will he avoid the menacing pikes and otters? Or his path will end in the teeth of the first sly fox?
The wings of his mother, a seagull, spread out over him, like hands ready to protect him from adversity.
The fluffy bun rolled into life.

Serious bird

There is a colony of herons in the forest near the swamp. There are so many herons! Large and small: white, gray, red. Both daytime and nighttime.

Herons vary in height and color, but all are very important and serious. And the heron-heron is most important and serious.

The heron is nocturnal. During the day she rests on the nest, and at night she catches frogs and fish fry in the swamp.

At night in the swamp she feels good - it's cool. But during the day there is trouble on the nest.

The forest is stuffy, the sun is hot. The night heron sits on the edge of the nest, in the very heat. It opened its beak from the heat, hung its wide wings - completely softened. And he breathes heavily, with wheezing.

I was amazed: a serious-looking bird, but so stupid! To hide in the shadows is not enough for that. And she built the nest somehow - the chicks’ legs fall through the cracks.

Heat. A night heron wheezes in the heat, with its beak agape. The sun moves slowly across the sky. A night heron slowly moves along the edge of the nest...

And suddenly the blood hit my face - I felt so ashamed. After all, the night heron shielded its chicks from the burning sun with its body!

The chicks are neither cold nor hot: there is shade above, and the breeze blows from below in the crack of the nest. They added long noses theirs one on top of the other, their legs dangling in the crack and sleeping. And when they wake up and ask for food, the night heron will fly to the swamp to catch frogs and fry. He will feed the chicks and sit on the nest again. He moves his nose around - he is on guard.

Serious bird!

Great titmouse

Our loud-voiced and white-cheeked tit is called the great or common tit. That it is big, I agree with this: it is larger than other tits - plumes, tits, blue tits. But I cannot agree with that that she is ordinary!

She amazed me from the very first meeting. And that was a long time ago. She fell into my trap. I took her in my hand, and she... died! Just now she was alive and playful, pinching her fingers with twists and turns - and then she died. I unclenched my hand in confusion. The titmouse lay motionless on the open palm with its paws up, and its eyes were filled with white. I held it, held it, and put it on a tree stump. And as soon as he pulled his hand away, the titmouse screamed and flew away!
How ordinary she is if she is such an extraordinary deceiver! If he wants, he will die, if he wants, he will be resurrected.
Then I learned that many birds fall into some kind of strange stupor if they are placed with their backs down. But the titmouse does it better than anyone and often saves it from captivity.

Whistlers.

How much can you whistle? I came to the swamp in the dark, at one thirty at night. On the side of the road, two cranes were already whistling - who would win? They whispered like whips: “Here! Whoa!” Exactly like that - once a second. When I count to five, I hear five “twots,” and when I count to ten, I hear ten. At least check your stopwatch!
But it’s only customary to say that it goes in one ear and comes out the other. Where is it - it gets stuck!
Before dawn, these little craps were whistling all over my ears. Although they fell silent early: at three thirty minutes.
Now let's count.
The cranes whistled for exactly two hours, that’s 120 minutes, or 7200 seconds. That is 14,400 seconds for two, 14,400 whistles! Without ceasing. And they were whistling even before I arrived, maybe for more than an hour!
And they didn’t become hoarse, didn’t grow hoarse, and didn’t lose their voices. That's how much you can whistle if it's spring...