Детство начинается там, где есть первые воспоминания. мое - с упоминания о бабушке, ее дом, двор, деревню, реку и лес. в памяти остались все те легенды и страшные сказки о ведьмах, которые превращаются в ужей и выпивают у коровы молоко на год вперед за одну ночь, лягушек, которые преследуют людей. все это я слушала еще совсем малышкой, во времена, когда по всей стране вечером выключали свет . тогда всегда пахло дымом. каждое воскресенье бабушка разжигала настоящую печь в летней кухне и месила тесто. перед тем, как поставить его выпекать, крестила и читала молитву. аромат пирожков привлекал всех соседей, которых она, наконец, щедро угощала. еще вспоминается, как папа возил меня на озеро. ездили мы на мотоцикле и я сидела на бачке. отец ловил небольших карасиков, а я не имела терпения дождаться своих рыбок. бросала удочку и вовсю носилась по берегу, а он ругался, что от моего шума не будет клевать. если мы задерживались надолго, то мама нас ругала, но гнев ее быстро превращался. так же ездили в лес по ежевику - ее вкуснее было рвать в рот. а осенью собирали грибы и орешник. этот человек научил меня любить природу, животных. каждый вечер он читал нам с сестрой сказки, или стихи маршака перед сном. вообще, детство вспоминается больше летом, когда можно было вволю кататься на велосипеде, пропадать на берегу реки целыми днями, или играть под открытым небом. мы с друзьями устраивали себе халабуды на ветвях вековых деревьев укрываясь так от жары. помнится большая поляна ландышей за родительским домом среди которой стояла моя качалка сделанная между сосной и атютиной. во всех моих воспоминаниях зелено и мир залит теплым желтым солнечным светом. то время всегда для меня будет иметь вкус атютины, клубники, ежевики и бабушкиных пирожков. самое прекрасное и самое беззаботное время в жизни каждого человека.

Childhood begins where there first memories. My - with mention of the grandmother, her house, courtyard, village, river and forest. In memory of all those legends were andtrashnye tales about witches who turn into snakes and drink cow's milk for the year ahead for one night, the frogs that have plagued people.
All this I heard a baby still, at a time when all over the country in the evening turned out the light. Then always smelled of smoke. Every Sunday my grandmother kindled this oven in the summer kitchen and kneading dough. Before you put it to bake, crosses and read prayers. The aroma of pies attracted all the neighbors, she finally generously treated.
Still remember how dad took me to the lake. We went on a motorcycle and I was sitting on the tank. Father caught small Karasik, and I did not have the patience to wait for their fish. Threw the bait and did floated along the shore, and he swore that from my noise will not bite.
If we were delayed for a long time, the mother scolded us, but her anger quickly turned. Just went to the forest for blackberry - it was delicious vomit in his mouth. In the fall of collected mushrooms and hazel. This man taught me to love nature and animals. Every evening he gave me and my sister stories, or poems Marshak bedtime.
In general, childhood comes to mind more in the summer when you can ad lib to ride a bike, go to waste on the river all day, or play outdoors. My friends and I arranged myself Khalabuda on the branches of old trees hiding because of the heat.
I remember a large meadow lily of the valley for the parental home among which was my rocking chair made between pine and atyutinoy. All of my memories and green world filled with warm yellow sunlight.
While always for me to have a taste of atyutiny, strawberries, blackberries, and my grandmother's pies. The most beautiful and the most carefree time in everyone's life cheloveka.Detstvo begins where there first memories. My - with mention of the grandmother, her house, courtyard, village, river and forest. In memory of all those legends were andtrashnye tales about witches who turn into snakes and drink cow's milk for the year ahead for one night, the frogs that have plagued people.
All this I heard a baby still, at a time when all over the country in the evening turned out the light. Then always smelled of smoke. Every Sunday my grandmother kindled this oven in the summer kitchen and kneading dough. Before you put it to bake, crosses and read prayers. The aroma of pies attracted all the neighbors, she finally generously treated.
Still remember how dad took me to the lake. We went on a motorcycle and I was sitting on the tank. Father caught small Karasik, and I did not have the patience to wait for their fish. Threw the bait and did floated along the shore, and he swore that from my noise will not bite.
If we were delayed for a long time, the mother scolded us, but her anger quickly turned. Just went to the forest for blackberry - it was delicious vomit in his mouth. In the fall of collected mushrooms and hazel. This man taught me to love nature and animals. Every evening he gave me and my sister stories, or poems Marshak bedtime.
In general, childhood comes to mind more in the summer when you can ad lib to ride a bike, go to waste on the river all day, or play outdoors. My friends and I arranged myself Khalabuda on the branches of old trees hiding because of the heat.
I remember a large meadow lily of the valley for the parental home among which was my rocking chair made between pine and atyutinoy. All of my memories and green world filled with warm yellow sunlight.
While always for me to have a taste of atyutiny, strawberries, blackberries, and my grandmother's pies. The most beautiful and the most carefree time in everyone's life.