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FORESTS
Meshchera is a remnant of the forest ocean. Meshchera forests are as majestic as cathedrals. Even an old professor, not at all inclined to poetry, wrote the following words in a study about the Meshchera region: “Here in the mighty pine forests it is so light that a bird flying hundreds of steps into the depths can be seen.”
You walk through dry pine forests as if you were walking on a deep, expensive carpet; for kilometers the ground is covered with dry, soft moss. In the gaps between the pines lies oblique cuts sunlight. Flocks of birds scatter to the sides whistling and making light noise.
The forests rustle in the wind. The hum passes through the tops of the pines like waves. A lone plane, floating at a dizzying height, seems like a destroyer observed from the bottom of the sea.
Powerful air currents are visible to the naked eye. They rise from the ground to the sky. The clouds melt while standing still. The dry breath of the forests and the smell of juniper must also reach the planes.
Except pine forests, mast and ship, there are forests of spruce, birch and rare spots of broad-leaved linden, elm and oak. There are no roads in oak copses. They are impassable and dangerous because of ants. On a hot day, it is almost impossible to pass through an oak thicket: in a minute your entire body, from your heels to your head, will be covered with angry red ants with strong jaws. Harmless antbears roam in the oak thickets. They pick up old stumps and lick ant eggs.
The forests in Meshchera are robber-like and deaf. There is no greater relaxation and pleasure than walking all day through these forests, along unfamiliar roads to some distant lake.
The path in the forests is kilometers of silence and windlessness. This is a mushroom prel, the careful flitting of birds. These are sticky butternuts covered with pine needles, coarse grass, cold porcini mushrooms, strawberries, purple bells in the meadows, the trembling of aspen leaves, solemn light and, finally, forest twilight, when dampness emanates from the mosses and fireflies burn in the grass.
The sunset glows heavily on the treetops, gilding them with ancient gilding. Below, at the foot of the pines, it is already dark and dull. Bats fly silently and seem to look into your face. Some incomprehensible sound is heard in the forests - the sound of the evening, the end of the day.
And in the evening the lake will finally sparkle, like a black, askew mirror. The night is already standing over him and looking into his dark water - night, full of stars. In the west, the dawn is still smoldering, a bittern is screaming in the thickets of wolfberries, and cranes are muttering and looking around on the moss, disturbed by the smoke of the fire.
All night long the fire flares up and then goes out. The foliage of the birch trees hangs motionless. Dew flows down the white trunks. And you can hear how somewhere very far away - it seems, beyond the edge of the earth - an old rooster crows hoarsely in the forester's hut.
In an extraordinary, never-heard-of silence, dawn arises. The sky in the east is turning green. Venus lights up with blue crystal at dawn. This best time days. Still asleep. The water is sleeping, the water lilies are sleeping, the fish are sleeping with their noses buried in snags, the birds are sleeping, and only the owls are flying around the fire slowly and silently, like clumps of white fluff.
The pot is angry and mutters on the fire. For some reason we speak in a whisper, afraid of scaring away the dawn. Heavy ducks rush by with a tin whistle. The fog begins to swirl over the water. We pile mountains of branches into the fire and watch the huge white sun rise - the sun of the endless summer day.
So we live in a tent on forest lakes for several days. Our hands smell of smoke and lingonberries - this smell does not disappear for weeks. We sleep two hours a day and hardly feel tired. Two or three hours of sleep in the forests must be worth many hours of sleep in the stuffiness of city houses, in the stale air of asphalt streets.
Once we spent the night on Black Lake, in tall thickets, near a large pile of old brushwood.
We took a rubber inflatable boat with us and at dawn we went beyond the edge of the coastal water lilies to fish. Decayed leaves lay in a thick layer at the bottom of the lake, and driftwood floated in the water.
Suddenly, at the very side of the boat, a huge humpbacked black fish with a dorsal fin as sharp as a kitchen knife emerged. The fish dived and passed under the rubber boat. The boat rocked. The fish surfaced again. It must have been a giant pike. She could hit a rubber boat with a feather and rip it open like a razor.
I hit the water with my oar. In response, the fish lashed its tail with terrible force and again passed right under the boat. We stopped fishing and began rowing towards the shore, towards our bivouac. The fish kept walking next to the boat.
We drove into the coastal thickets of water lilies and were preparing to land, but at that time a shrill yelp and a trembling, heart-grabbing howl were heard from the shore. Where we launched the boat, on the shore, on the trampled grass, a she-wolf with three cubs stood with her tail between her legs and howled, raising her muzzle to the sky. She howled long and boringly; the cubs squealed and hid behind their mother. The black fish again passed right next to the side and hooked its feather on the oar.
I threw a heavy lead sinker at the wolf. She jumped back and trotted away from the shore. And we saw how she crawled with the wolf cubs into a round hole in a pile of brushwood not far from our tent.
We landed, made a fuss, drove the she-wolf out of the brushwood and moved the bivouac to another place.
Black Lake is named after the color of the water. The water there is black and clear.
In Meshchera, almost all lakes have water different color. Most lakes have black water. In other lakes (for example, in Chernenkoe) the water resembles shiny mascara. It is difficult to imagine this rich, dense color without seeing it. And at the same time, the water in this lake, as well as in Chernoe, is completely transparent.
This color is especially beautiful in the fall, when yellow and red leaves of birch and aspens fly to the black water. They cover the water so thickly that the boat rustles through the leaves and leaves behind a shiny black road.
But this color is also good in summer, when white lilies lie on the water, as if on extraordinary glass. Black water has an excellent reflection property: it is difficult to distinguish real shores from reflected ones, real thickets from their reflection in the water.
In Lake Urzhenskoe the water is purple, in Segden it is yellowish, in the Great Lake it is pewter in color, and in the lakes beyond Proy it is slightly bluish. In meadow lakes, the water is clear in summer, and in autumn it takes on a greenish sea color and even a smell. sea ​​water.
But most lakes are still black. Old people say that the blackness is caused by the fact that the bottom of the lakes is covered with a thick layer of fallen leaves. Brown foliage produces a dark infusion. But this is not entirely true. The color is explained by the peat bottom of the lakes - the older the peat, the darker the water.
I mentioned the Meshchera boats. They are similar to Polynesian pies. They are hollowed out from one piece of wood. Only on the bow and stern they are riveted with forged nails with large heads.
The canoe is very narrow, light, agile, and can be used to navigate the smallest channels.
MEADOWS
Between the forests and the Oka River stretch a wide belt of water meadows.
At dusk, the meadows look like the sea. As if on the sea, the sun sets on the grass, and the signal lights burn like beacons on the banks of the Oka. Just as in the sea, fresh winds blow over the meadows, and the high sky has overturned into a pale green bowl.
In the meadows the old riverbed of the Oka stretches for many kilometers. His name is Prorva.
This is a dead, deep and still river with steep banks. The banks are overgrown with tall, old, three-girth sedges, hundred-year-old willows, rose hips, umbrella grasses and blackberries.
We called one reach on this river “Fantastic Prorva”, because nowhere and none of us have seen such huge burdocks, twice the height of a man, blue thorns, such tall lungwort and horse sorrel and such gigantic puffball mushrooms as on this Ples.
The density of the grass in other places on Prorva is such that it is impossible to land ashore from a boat - the grass stands like an impenetrable elastic wall. They push people away. The grasses are intertwined with treacherous blackberry loops and hundreds of dangerous and sharp snares.
There is often a slight haze over Prorva. Its color changes depending on the time of day. In the morning there is a blue fog, in the afternoon there is a whitish haze, and only at dusk the air over Prorva becomes transparent, like spring water. The foliage of the sedges barely trembles, pink from the sunset, and the Prorvina pikes beat loudly in the pools.
In the mornings, when you can’t walk ten steps on the grass without getting completely wet from the dew, the air on Prorva smells of bitter willow bark, grassy freshness, and sedge. It is thick, cool and healing.
Every autumn I spend many days in a tent on Prorva. To get a vague idea of ​​what Prorva is, you should describe at least one Prorva day. I come to Prorva by boat. I have with me a tent, an axe, a lantern, a backpack with food, a sapper's shovel, some dishes, tobacco, matches and fishing equipment: fishing rods, donks, saddles, girders and, most importantly, a jar of underleaf worms. I collect them in the old garden under heaps of fallen leaves.
On Prorva I already have my favorite places, always very remote. One of them is a sharp turn in the river, where it spills into a small lake with very high banks overgrown with vines.
There I pitch a tent. But first of all, I haul hay. Yes, I confess, I drag hay from the nearest stack, I drag it very deftly, so that even the most experienced eye of an old collective farmer will not notice any flaw in the stack. I put the hay under the canvas floor of the tent. Then when I leave, I take it back.
The tent must be stretched so that it hums like a drum. Then you need to dig it in so that when it rains, water flows into the ditches on the sides of the tent and does not wet the floor.
The tent is set up. It is warm and dry. Flashlight " bat" hangs on a hook. In the evening I light it and even read in the tent, but I usually don’t read for long - there is too much interference on Prorva: either a corncrake will start screaming behind a nearby bush, then a pound of fish will strike with a cannon roar, then a willow twig will shoot deafeningly in the fire and will scatter sparks, then a crimson glow will begin to flare up over the thickets and the gloomy moon will rise over the expanses of the evening land. And immediately the corncrakes will subside and the bittern will cease to hum in the swamps; the moon will rise in wary silence. She appears as the ruler of these dark waters, hundred-year-old willows. mysterious long nights.
Tents of black willows hang overhead. Looking at them, you begin to understand the meaning of old words. Obviously, such tents in former times were called “canopy”. Under the shade of willows...
And for some reason on such nights you call the constellation Orion Stozhari, and the word “midnight”, which in the city sounds, perhaps, like a literary concept, takes on real meaning here. This darkness under the willows, and the shine of the September stars, and the bitterness of the air, and the distant fire in the meadows where the boys guard the horses driven into the night - all this is midnight. Somewhere far away, a watchman is chiming the clock on a village bell tower. He strikes for a long time, approximately twelve strokes. Then again dark silence. Only occasionally on the Oka will a tugboat scream in a sleepy voice.
The night drags on slowly; there seems to be no end to it. Sleep in autumn nights strong and fresh in the tent, despite the fact that you wake up every two hours and go out to look at the sky - to find out if Sirius has risen, if the streak of dawn is visible in the east.
The night is getting colder with each passing hour. By dawn, the air already burns your face with a slight frost, the tent flaps, covered with a thick layer of crisp frost, sag slightly, and the grass turns gray from the first matinee.
It's time to get up. In the east, the dawn is already filling with a quiet light, the huge outlines of willows are already visible in the sky, the stars are already dimming. I go down to the river and wash myself from the boat. The water is warm, it even seems slightly heated.
The sun is rising. The frost is melting. The coastal sands become dark with dew.
I boil strong tea in a smoky tin kettle. Hard soot is similar to enamel. Willow leaves, burnt in the fire, float in the kettle.
I've been fishing all morning. From the boat I check the spans that have been placed across the river since the evening. Empty hooks come first - the ruffs have eaten all the bait on them. But then the cord stretches, cuts the water, and a living silver shine appears in the depths - it’s a flat bream walking on a hook. Behind it you can see a fat and stubborn perch, then a small bee with piercing yellow eyes. The pulled out fish seems icy.
Aksakov’s words entirely refer to these days spent on Prorva:
“On a green, flowering bank, above the dark depths of a river or lake, in the shade of bushes, under the tent of a gigantic sedge or curly alder, quietly fluttering its leaves in the bright mirror of the water, imaginary passions will subside, imaginary storms will subside, selfish dreams will crumble, unrealizable hopes will scatter. Nature will enter into its eternal rights. Together with the fragrant, free, refreshing air, you will breathe into yourself serenity of thought, meekness of feeling, condescension towards others and even towards yourself.”
A SMALL DEGREE FROM THE TOPIC
There are many different fishing incidents associated with Prorva. I will tell you about one of them.
The great tribe of fishermen who lived in the village of Solotche, near Prorva, was excited. A tall old man with long silver teeth came to Solotcha from Moscow. He also fished.
The old man was fishing with a spinning rod: an English fishing rod with a spinner - an artificial nickel fish.
We despised spinning. We watched the old man with gloating as he patiently wandered along the shores of the meadow lakes and, swinging his spinning rod like a whip, invariably dragged an empty spoon out of the water.
And right there, Lenka, the shoemaker’s son, was dragging fish not with an English fishing line, which cost a hundred rubles, but with an ordinary rope. The old man sighed and complained:
- Cruel injustice of fate!
He even spoke very politely to the boys, using “you”, and used old-fashioned, long-ago forgotten words. The old man was unlucky. We have long known that all fishermen are divided into deep losers and lucky ones. For the lucky ones, the fish even bite on a dead worm. In addition, there are envious and cunning fishermen. Cunning people think that they can outwit any fish, but never in my life have I seen such an angler outwit even the grayest ruff, not to mention the roach.
It’s better not to go fishing with an envious person - he won’t bite anyway. In the end, having lost weight from envy, he will begin to throw his fishing rod towards yours, slap the sinker in the water and scare away all the fish.
So the old man was out of luck. In one day, he tore off at least ten expensive lures on snags, walked around covered in blood and blisters from mosquitoes, but did not give up.
Once we took him with us to Lake Segden.
All night the old man dozed by the fire, standing like a horse: he was afraid to sit on the damp ground. At dawn I fried eggs with lard. The sleepy old man wanted to step over the fire to get bread from his bag, stumbled and stepped on a scrambled egg with his huge foot.
He pulled out his leg, smeared with yolk, shook it in the air and hit the jug of milk. The jug cracked and crumbled into small pieces. And the beautiful baked milk with a slight rustle was sucked into the wet ground before our eyes.
- Guilty! - said the old man, apologizing to the jug.
Then he went to the lake, dipped his foot in cold water and dangled it for a long time to wash the scrambled eggs off my shoe. We couldn’t utter a word for two minutes, and then we laughed in the bushes until midday.
Everyone knows that if a fisherman is unlucky, sooner or later he will have such good luck that they will talk about it throughout the village for at least ten years. Finally such a failure happened.
The old man and I went to Prorva. The meadows had not yet been mown. A palm-sized chamomile lashed my legs.
The old man walked and, stumbling over the grass, repeated:
- What a aroma, citizens! What an intoxicating aroma!
There was no wind over Prorva. Even the willow leaves did not move and did not show their silvery underside, as happens in a light wind. In the heated grasses there are bumblebees.
I sat on a broken raft, smoked and watched the feather float. I waited patiently for the float to quiver and go into the green depths of the river. The old man walked along the sandy shore with a spinning rod. I heard his sighs and exclamations from behind the bushes:
- What a wonderful, enchanting morning!
Then I heard quacking, stomping, sniffling and sounds behind the bushes, very similar to the mooing of a cow with its mouth gagged. Something heavy splashed into the water, and the old man shouted in a thin voice:
- My God, what a beauty!
I jumped off the raft, reached the shore in waist-deep water and ran up to the old man. He stood behind the bushes near the water, and on the sand in front of him an old pike was breathing heavily. At first glance, there was no less than a pound.
- Take her away from the water! - I shouted.
But the old man hissed at me and with trembling hands took his pince-nez out of his pocket. He put it on, bent over the pike and began to examine it with the same delight with which connoisseurs admire a rare painting in a museum.
The pike did not take its angry narrowed eyes off the old man.
- Looks great like a crocodile! - said Lenka. The pike glanced sideways at Lenka, and he jumped back. It seemed that the pike croaked: “Just wait, you fool, I’ll tear off your ears!”
- Darling! - the old man exclaimed and bent even lower over the pike.
Then that failure happened, which is still talked about in the village.
The pike took a moment, blinked its eye and hit the old man on the cheek with all its might with its tail. A deafening crack of a slap was heard over the sleepy water. The pince-nez flew into the river. The pike jumped up and fell heavily into the water.
- Alas! - the old man shouted, but it was already too late.
Lenka danced to the side and shouted in an impudent voice:
- Yeah! Got! Don't catch, don't catch, don't catch when you don't know how!
That same day, the old man wound up his spinning rods and left for Moscow. And no one else disturbed the silence of the channels and rivers, did not pick off the cold river lilies with a spinner, and did not admire out loud what is best to admire without words.
MORE ABOUT MEADOWS
There are a lot of lakes in the meadows. Their names are strange and varied: Tish, Byk, Hotets, Promoina, Kanava, Staritsa, Muzga, Bobrovka, Selyanskoe Lake and, finally, Lombardskoe.
At the bottom of Hotz lie black bog oaks. There is always a lull in Silence. High banks protect the lake from the winds. Bobrovka was once inhabited by beavers, but now the young shelespers are chasing them. Gulch - deep lake with such capricious fish that only a person with very good nerves can catch it. Bull is a mysterious, distant lake, stretching for many kilometers. In it, shoals give way to whirlpools, but there is little shade on the banks, and therefore we avoid it. There are amazing golden tenches in Kanava: each tench bites for half an hour. By autumn, the banks of the Kanava are covered with purple spots, but not from autumn foliage, but from the abundance of very large rose hips.
On Staritsa, along the banks there are sand dunes overgrown with Chernobyl grass and string. Grass grows on the dunes; it is called grass. These are dense gray-green balls, similar to a tightly closed rose. If you take such a ball out of the sand and place it with its roots up, it begins to slowly toss and turn, like a beetle turned over on its back, straightens its petals on one side, rests on them and turns over again with its roots towards the ground.
In Muzga the depth reaches twenty meters. Flocks of cranes rest on the banks of the Muzga during the autumn migration. Selyanskoye Lake is all overgrown with black kuga. Hundreds of ducks nest in it.
How names stick! In the meadows near Staritsa there is a small nameless lake. We named it Lombard in honor of the bearded watchman "Langobard". He lived on the shore of a lake in a hut, guarding cabbage gardens. And a year later, to our surprise, the name stuck, but the collective farmers remade it in their own way and began to call this lake Ambarsky.
The variety of grasses in the meadows is unheard of. The unmown meadows are so fragrant that, out of habit, your head becomes foggy and heavy. Dense, tall thickets of chamomile, chicory, clover, wild dill, cloves, coltsfoot, dandelions, gentiana, plantain, bluebells, buttercups and dozens of other flowering herbs stretch for kilometers. Meadow strawberries are ripening in the grass before mowing.
OLD MEN
Talkative old people live in the meadows - in dugouts and huts. These are either watchmen at collective farm gardens, or ferrymen, or basket makers. Basket workers set up huts near the coastal willow thickets.
Acquaintance with these old people usually begins during a thunderstorm or rain, when they have to sit in huts until the thunderstorm falls across the Oka River or into the forests and a rainbow overturns over the meadows.
Acquaintance always takes place according to a once and for all established custom. First we light a cigarette, then there is a polite and cunning conversation aimed at finding out who we are, after which there are a few vague words about the weather (“the rains are coming” or, conversely, “it will finally wash the grass, otherwise everything is dry and dry"). And only after this the conversation can freely move on to any topic.
Most of all, old people love to talk about unusual things: about the new Moscow Sea, “water gliders” (gliders) on the Oka, French food (“they cook fish soup from frogs and slurp it with silver spoons”), badger races and a collective farmer from near Pronsk, who, They say he earned so many workdays that he bought a car with music with them.
Most often I met with a grumpy old man who was a basket-maker. He lived in a hut on Muzga. His name was Stepan, and his nickname was “Beard on the Poles.”
Grandfather was thin, thin-legged, like an old horse. He spoke indistinctly, his beard was sticking into his mouth; the wind ruffled my grandfather's shaggy face.
Once I spent the night in Stepan’s hut. I arrived late. It was a gray, warm twilight, with hesitant rain falling. He rustled through the bushes, died down, then started making noise again, as if he was playing hide and seek with us.
“This rain is fussing about like a child,” said Stepan. “It’s just a child—it moves here, then there, or even hides, listening to our conversation.”
A girl of about twelve, light-eyed, quiet, and frightened, was sitting by the fire. She spoke only in a whisper.
- Look, the fool from Zaborye has gotten lost! - the grandfather said affectionately. “I searched and searched for the heifer in the meadows and finally found it until dark.” She ran to her grandfather for fire. What are you going to do with her?
Stepan pulled out a yellow cucumber from his pocket and gave it to the girl:
- Eat, don’t hesitate.
The girl took the cucumber, nodded her head, but did not eat it.
Grandfather put the pot on the fire and began to cook the stew.
“Here, my dears,” said the grandfather, lighting a cigarette, “you wander, as if hired, through the meadows, through the lakes, but you have no idea that there were all these meadows, and lakes, and monastery forests.” From the Oka itself to Pra, almost a hundred miles, the entire forest was monastic. And now it’s a people’s forest, now it’s a labor forest.
- Why were they given such forests, grandfather? - asked the girl.
- And the dog knows why! The foolish women said - for holiness. They atone for our sins before the Mother of God. What are our sins? We hardly had any sins. Eh, darkness, darkness!
Grandfather sighed.
“I also went to churches, it was a sin,” the grandfather muttered embarrassedly. “But what’s the point!” Lapti was disfigured for nothing.
Grandfather paused and crumbled some black bread into the stew.
“Our life was bad,” he said, lamenting. “Neither the men nor the women were happy.” The man would go back and forth - the man, at least, would get drunk on vodka, but the woman would completely disappear. Her boys were neither drunk nor well-fed. All her life she trampled around the stove with her hands, until the worms appeared in her eyes. Don't laugh, stop it! I said the right thing about worms. Those worms in the women's eyes started from the fire.
- Horrible! - the girl sighed quietly.
“Don’t be scared,” said the grandfather. “You won’t get worms.” Now the girls have found their happiness. Previously, people thought - it lives, happiness, on warm waters, V blue seas, but in fact it turned out that it lives here, in the shard. Grandfather tapped his forehead with a clumsy finger. “Here, for example, Manka Malyavina.” She was a vocal girl, that's all. In the old days, she would have cried out her voice overnight, but now look what happened. Every day, Malyavin has a pure holiday: the accordion plays, pies are baked. And why? Because, my dears, how can he, Vaska Malyavin, not have fun living when Manka sends him, the old devil, two hundred rubles every month!
- Where from? - asked the girl.
- From Moscow. She sings in the theater. Those who have heard it say it is heavenly singing. All the people are crying their eyes out. This is what it’s becoming now, a woman’s lot. She came last summer, Manka. So how will you know? A thin girl brought me a gift. She sang in the reading room. I’m used to everything, but I’ll tell you straight: it grabbed me by the heart, but I don’t understand why. Where, I think, is such power given to a person? And how did it disappear from us, men, from our stupidity for thousands of years! Now you'll trample on the ground, you'll listen here, you'll look there, and it seems like everything is going to die sooner and sooner - you just can't choose the time to die, my dear.
Grandfather took the stew off the fire and reached into the hut for spoons.
“We should live and live, Yegorych,” he said from the hut. “We were born a little too early.” You guessed wrong.
The girl looked into the fire with bright, sparkling eyes and thought about something of her own.
HOMELAND OF TALENTS
On the edge of the Meshchera forests, not far from Ryazan, lies the village of Solotcha. Solotcha is famous for its climate, dunes, rivers and pine forests. There is electricity in Solotch.
Peasant horses, herded into the meadows at night, look wildly at the white stars of electric lanterns hanging in the distant forest, and snore with fear.
I lived for the first year in Solotch with a meek old woman, an old maid and a village dressmaker, Marya Mikhailovna. She was called the age-old woman - she whiled away her entire life alone, without a husband, without children.
In her cleanly washed toy hut, several clocks were ticking and two ancient paintings by an unknown Italian master hung. I rubbed them with raw onions, and the Italian morning, full of sun and reflections of the water, filled the quiet hut. The painting was left to Marya Mikhailovna’s father as payment for the room by an unknown foreign artist. He came to Solotcha to study the icon-painting skills there. He was an almost beggarly and strange man. When leaving, he promised that the painting would be sent to him in Moscow in exchange for money. The artist did not send any money - he died suddenly in Moscow.

Solotcha is located 25 km from Ryazan. You need to leave the city along Yesenin Street. The only thing, car travelers, be aware that the section of Yesenin Street from Teatralnaya Square is one-way. This means that instead of directly and quickly leaving the city for Solotcha, you need to spend time driving around side and unclear streets. The road to Solotcha is good.

To understand what Solotcha is, it would be good to fly up and look at it from top to bottom. And see below you the blue thread of the river and the sea of ​​pine caps. This is for those who have developed spatial imagination.

For those who perceive the world more through their senses, it is better to imagine how pine trunks smell in the sun. How the rustling blows of pine cones sound on the springy mossy-grass coat of the earth or on your hair. How huge lily of the valley thickets hug the feet of pine giants. How clouds of strawberry flowers smile at the sun through dry pine needles. Or better yet, jump on your bike and tear through the enveloping pine air with speed. Or simply fill yourself with it from head to toe while slowly floating on a walk along the winding stitch-paths. Or you can, in shorts and swimsuits, carefreely rush somewhere into the depths of the countless pine trees - there is a cool river, and even dunes, and you can see the tangled roots of pine trees growing on a high bank-cliff. Sanatoriums and rest houses are hidden in the Solotchinsky forests.

For those who love facts, here is the information: Solotcha is the land of the vast forests of Meshchera. (In the word “Meshchera” the stress is on the last syllable). Since ancient times, Meshchera was divided between three principalities into Moscow, Vladimir and Ryazan. Swamps - mshars - stretch for kilometers. And the forests of Meshchera are dense, dense and mysterious. They say there are places where time stops...

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We are coming here to see Solotchinsky convent, which, if described in one word, would be warmth. If several, then I’ll add - silence and joy. The monastery is located right in the center of Solotcha. Solotcha is a very small town. It could be called a large village, but this is hampered by the central concreted square, still headed by Ilyich, with stunted, unkempt plantings in the flower beds. The gaze of the statue penetrates the monastery wall. We parked. We entered.

Solotchinsky Monastery - founded 10 years after the Battle of Kulikovo (in 1390) by Prince Oleg Ryazansky. Here he took monastic vows and schema, and after another 12 years (in 1402) he found his final resting place. For some reason, I often come across discrepancies - in one place they write that the Pokrovsky Monastery (in the name of the Intercession Holy Mother of God), in the other, that - Nativity of the Theotokos (in the name of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary). I couldn't find any details. Apparently, when was his re-consecration.

The first church of the monastery, erected under Prince Oleg, was indeed Pokrovsky, stood on the banks of the Oka, and later the tomb of Prince Oleg (in the schema of Joachim) and his wife Princess Euphrosyne (in the monasticism of Eupraxia) was installed in it.

In the 16th century built a beautiful white stone Cathedral of the Nativity (in the center). His style is Old Russian.

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In the 17th century being completed Spiritual Church(in the name of the Holy Spirit) with the Refectory(left), Holy Gate with the Gate Baptist Church(in the name of John the Baptist) , as well as the Bell Tower and cells(left). Builder: Yakov Bukhvostov. Style: Naryshkin Baroque. Decorating with tiles is Stepan Polubes (if not himself, then his workshop). Particularly beautiful tiled figures of the four evangelists are located on the gate church.

In the 18th century sandy shore landslide, along with a fragment ( NW corner) monastery. The river bank was strengthened, and the princely relics were transferred to the Nativity Cathedral.

The territory of the monastery is quite large, with a minimum of asphalt paths (in my opinion, only one). Throughout the rest of the space there is velvety low grass, trees and behind the fence there are flower beds and beds of nuns. There is also a booth offering fresh cottage cheese and milk. The ancient Nativity Cathedral is closed. We just walked around it. The entrance to the Spiritual Church is decorated with birch trees - Trinity was recently celebrated. My husband stayed to photograph the tiles on the snow-white walls of the church; I climbed the wooden steps and went inside. The main feeling is comfort, Sun rays pushed the walls of the already large volume of internal space apart. The nuns went about their business without paying too much attention to me. I lit the candles and suddenly saw the image of the Virgin Mary, which almost brought tears to my eyes. She held the child's hand to her lips. Such a maternal gesture - as if kissing her. And this completely led away from the canons. First you see the mother and baby, then you only realize that it is the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus. I asked what this icon was called. - “Comforter” - they answered me. It's on the right. On the left, two also attracted attention unusual images Mother of God. One is snow-white, decorated with pearls - “Vladimirskaya”. Nearby there is a very dark face, shimmering with gold - “Iverskaya”.

We walked around the church a little more. The territory of the monastery still requires and requires labor. There were few tourists besides us. Then they asked an elderly nun where the monument to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker was located, which is a copy of the sculpture in Demre (Myra Lycia) - the Turkish city where the saint was born. It turned out that it was not here, that is, not in the monastery. Necessary behind the square get out onto the road and drive a little. This is the village part of Solotcha. On this street on the right we saw a carved house with a mezzanine - Museum of Professor Ivan Petrovich Pozhalostin(1837-1909, 72 years old) famous copper engraver. It’s a mistake to think that you don’t know him - remember the classic black and white portrait of Nekrasov, http://www.artsait.ru/art/p/pojalostin/main.htm is the work of Pozhalostin, who was called “an outstanding master of classical engraving.” With this method of engraving, the master cuts out strokes on a copper plate with an obliquely sharpened steel gravel (cutter) or “creates an image by combinations of parallel and intersecting lines and dots.” And when printing, he fills them with paint. Rembrandt in Holland, Goya in Spain - they were also engravers. Pozhalostin created about 70 engraving portraits that “brought to us the appearance the best people 19th century." But the unequal competition of engraving with cheaper methods of artistic reproduction led to the liquidation of this direction at the Imperial Academy of Arts and the artist’s exile. He left St. Petersburg for his native Solotcha. We did not go to his Museum (Poryadok St., 76, http://www.museum.ru/M1593) for two reasons - due to lack of time and due to reviews from people who visited there, and called the exhibition “very meager” . (You can read about Pozhalostin and look at his portrait here http://ryazhsk.ru/content/view/25/).

We drove a little further and stopped at a bright blue Church in honor of the Kazan Mother of God. Here among the bright flower beds stands monument to Nicholas the Wonderworker- a figure with arms raised up on the globe. One sculpture is located in hot Turkey in the city of Demre. The second, its copy, is in Russia, in Ryazan Solotcha. Placed here in 2006. Sculptor - Raisa Lysenina. To the question “Why here in Ryazan and why a copy?” - the answer is this: in the Turkish homeland, this monument to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker used to stand in the center of the city, and then for some reason it was dismantled and moved closer to the ruins of the temple where the saint served. And without globe, which the Turks “lost” somewhere... For some reason, Santa Claus now stands in its former place... Therefore, right here on Ryazan land people made the decision to recreate a copy of it and install it again...

“...The Lord speaks from the throne, slightly opening the window to heaven: “O my faithful servant, Mikola, go around the Russian region. Protect the people there, torn by grief in black troubles. Pray with him for victories and for their poor comfort." S. Yesenin

The day was approaching the middle and we wanted to satisfy not only our curiosity, but also our urgent hunger. There weren't many options, or rather just two roadside ones cafe which we saw on the way to Solotcha. One on the right, the other on the left. Preference was given to the second option, called "Lesnoye" which was right in pine forest. Literally. One pine tree even grew from the roof (apparently, they decided to leave it, not cut it down, and thus built it into the room). I also want to note that Pinery in Solotch - this is such a forest - such a height, such a width. Ship's! It is not for nothing that Solotcha is called the “gate to Meshchera”; Meshchera forests have always been an image of a dense, dense, impenetrable forest. So we immediately decided that we would sit in the air. We walked around the cafe on the left and chose a cozy wooden table under an umbrella. While we were waiting for our order, we took a short walk through the forest, among the pine trees. Beauty! I was shocked by the huge lily of the valley plantations that spread out like an even carpet under the pine trunks. What blooms and smells here in the spring is probably called lily of the valley paradise. The pines creaked and grumbled, the wind got stuck in their tenacious needles and, breaking free, offendedly tore round cones from the pine curls and threw them down. Everything we ordered was delicious (okroshka, shish kebab, salads), although the service was very slow. The main thing here is to enjoy the grace of pine.

The unmown meadows are so fragrant that, out of habit, your head becomes foggy and heavy. Dense, tall thickets of chamomile, chicory, clover, wild dill, cloves, coltsfoot, dandelions, gentiana, plantain, bluebells, buttercups and dozens of other flowering herbs stretch for kilometers. Meadow strawberries are ripening in the grass before mowing.

Talkative old people live in the meadows - in dugouts and huts. These are either watchmen at collective farm gardens, or ferrymen, or basket makers. Basket workers set up huts near the coastal willow thickets.

Acquaintance with these old people usually begins during a thunderstorm or rain, when they have to sit in huts until the thunderstorm falls across the Oka River or into the forests and a rainbow overturns over the meadows.

Acquaintance always takes place according to a once and for all established custom. First we light a cigarette, then there is a polite and cunning conversation aimed at finding out who we are, after which there are a few vague words about the weather (“the rains are coming” or, conversely, “it will finally wash the grass, otherwise everything is dry and dry"). And only after this the conversation can freely move on to any topic.

Most of all, old people love to talk about unusual things: about the new Moscow Sea, “water gliders” (gliders) on the Oka, French food (“they cook fish soup from frogs and slurp it with silver spoons”), badger races and a collective farmer from near Pronsk, who, They say he earned so many workdays that he bought a car with music with them.

Most often I met with a grumpy old man who was a basket-maker. He lived in a hut on Muzga. His name was Stepan, and his nickname was “Beard on the Poles.”

Grandfather was thin, thin-legged, like an old horse. He spoke indistinctly, his beard was sticking into his mouth; the wind ruffled my grandfather's shaggy face.

Once I spent the night in Stepan’s hut. I arrived late. It was a gray, warm twilight, with hesitant rain falling. He rustled through the bushes, died down, then started making noise again, as if he was playing hide and seek with us.

This rain is fussing about like a child,” said Stepan. “It’s just a child—it moves here, then there, or even hides, listening to our conversation.”

A girl of about twelve, light-eyed, quiet, and frightened, was sitting by the fire. She spoke only in a whisper.

Look, the fool from Zaborye has gotten lost! - the grandfather said affectionately. “I searched and searched for the heifer in the meadows and finally found it until dark.” She ran to her grandfather for fire. What are you going to do with her?

Stepan pulled out a yellow cucumber from his pocket and gave it to the girl:

Eat, don't hesitate.

The girl took the cucumber, nodded her head, but did not eat it.

Grandfather put the pot on the fire and began to cook the stew.

“Here, my dears,” said the grandfather, lighting a cigarette, “you wander, as if hired, through the meadows, through the lakes, but you have no idea that there were all these meadows, and lakes, and monastery forests. From the Oka itself to Pra, almost a hundred miles, the entire forest was monastic. And now it’s a people’s forest, now it’s a labor forest.

Why were they given such forests, grandfather? - asked the girl.

And the dog knows why! The foolish women said - for holiness. They atone for our sins before the Mother of God. What are our sins? We hardly had any sins. Eh, darkness, darkness!

Grandfather sighed.

I also went to churches, it was a sin,” the grandfather muttered embarrassedly. “But what’s the point!” Lapti was disfigured for nothing.

Grandfather paused and crumbled some black bread into the stew.

“Our life was bad,” he said, lamenting. “Neither the men nor the women were happy.” The man would go back and forth - the man, at least, would get drunk on vodka, but the woman would completely disappear. Her boys were neither drunk nor well-fed. All her life she trampled around the stove with her hands, until the worms appeared in her eyes. Don't laugh, stop it! I said the right thing about worms. Those worms in the women's eyes started from the fire.

Horrible! - the girl sighed quietly.

“Don’t be scared,” said the grandfather. “You won’t get worms.”

More about meadows

There are a lot of lakes in the meadows. Their names are strange and varied: Tish, Byk, Hotets, Promoina, Kanava, Staritsa, Muzga, Bobrovka, Selyanskoe Lake and, finally, Lombardskoe.

At the bottom of Hotz lie black bog oaks. There is always a lull in Silence. High banks protect the lake from the winds. Bobrovka was once inhabited by beavers, but now the young shelespers are chasing them. Promoina is a deep lake with such capricious fish that only a person with very good nerves can catch it. Bull is a mysterious, distant lake, stretching for many kilometers. In it, shoals give way to whirlpools, but there is little shade on the banks, and therefore we avoid it. There are amazing golden tenches in Kanava: each tench bites for half an hour. By autumn, the banks of the Kanava are covered with purple spots, but not from autumn foliage, but from the abundance of very large rose hips.

On Staritsa, along the banks there are sand dunes overgrown with Chernobyl grass and string. Grass grows on the dunes; it is called grass. These are dense gray-green balls, similar to a tightly closed rose. If you take such a ball out of the sand and place it with its roots up, it begins to slowly toss and turn, like a beetle turned over on its back, straightens its petals on one side, rests on them and turns over again with its roots towards the ground.

In Muzga the depth reaches twenty meters. Flocks of cranes rest on the banks of the Muzga during the autumn migration. Selyanskoye Lake is all overgrown with black kuga. Hundreds of ducks nest in it.

How names stick! In the meadows near Staritsa there is a small nameless lake. We named it Lombard in honor of the bearded watchman - “Langobard”. He lived on the shore of a lake in a hut, guarding cabbage gardens. And a year later, to our surprise, the name stuck, but the collective farmers remade it in their own way and began to call this lake Ambarsky.

The variety of grasses in the meadows is unheard of. The unmown meadows are so fragrant that, out of habit, your head becomes foggy and heavy. Dense, tall thickets of chamomile, chicory, clover, wild dill, cloves, coltsfoot, dandelions, gentian, plantain, bluebells, buttercups and dozens of other flowering herbs stretch for kilometers. Meadow strawberries are ripening in the grass before mowing.

Homogeneous members of the sentence(major and minor), not connected by conjunctions, are separated by commas.

For example: In the office there were brown velvet armchairs, bookcase (Eb.); After lunch he sat on the balcony, held a book on my knees (Bun.); Cold, emptiness, uninhabited spirit meets the house (Sol.); Shcherbatova told about my childhood, about Dnieper, About how their estate came to life in the spring dried out, old and you(Paust.).

Combinations of verbs like I'll take it and go and have a look. In the first case, this is a designation of one action: I'll take it and go to the forest to pick mushrooms(the first verb is lexically defective); in the second case verb I'll take a look indicates the purpose of the action: I'll go have a look New film.

Comma at homogeneous members not put:

1. If homogeneous members are connected by non-repeating single connecting And dividing unions And , or , or , Yes (=and ).

For example: Motor ship became across the river and gave turn it downstream(Spread); Will support is he Uzdechkina or won't support? (Pan.). It's never too early to ask yourself: business I'm working out or trifles? (A.P.Ch.) A training of mental strength possible and necessary in any conditions.

2. If homogeneous members are connected by means of a union YES AND :

For example: I'll take it yes and I'll leave.

3. If the last member of a series of homogeneous members is joined by unions and, yes, or, then a comma is not placed in front of it.

For example: Dense, tall thickets stretch for kilometers daisies, chicory, clover, wild dill, carnations, coltsfoot, dandelions, gentians, plantains, bells, buttercups and dozens other blooming herbs (Paust.).

4. There is no comma in phraseological units with repeated conjunctions and... and, neither... nor (they connect words with opposing meanings): and day and night, and old and young, and laughter and grief, and here and there, and this and that, and here and there, neither two nor one and a half, neither give nor take, neither matchmaker nor brother, neither back nor forth, neither bottom nor tire, neither this nor that, neither stand nor sit, neither alive nor dead, neither yes nor no, neither hearing nor spirit, neither oneself nor people, neither fish nor meat, nor this nor that, neither peahen nor crow, neither shaky nor shaky, neither this nor that etc. The same with paired combinations of words, when there is no third option: and husband and wife, and earth and sky.

A comma is placed for homogeneous terms

1. If there are between homogeneous members adversarial union ah, but, yes (in meaning " But »), however, although, but, however ) and connecting union and also, and even .

For example: The secretary stopped taking notes and secretly cast a surprised glance, but not against the arrested person, but against the procurator (Bulg.); The child was harsh but sweet (P.); Student capable, although lazy; He visited the library on Fridays however not always; Mokeevna had already taken the wicker basket out of the house, however stopped- I decided to look for apples(Shcherb.); The apartment is small, but cozy(gas.); She knows German and French.

2. At pairwise combination of homogeneous members of a sentence a comma is placed between pairs (conjunction And valid only within groups).

For example: Alleys planted lilacs and lindens, elms and poplars, led to the wooden stage(Fed.); The songs were different: about joy and sorrow, the day past and the day to come (Gaych.); Geography books and tourist guides, friends and casual acquaintances they told us that Ropotamo is one of the most beautiful and wild corners of Bulgaria(Sol.).

In sentences with homogeneous members, it is possible to use the same conjunctions on different grounds(between different members sentences or groups of them). In this case, when placing punctuation marks, different positions of conjunctions are taken into account.

For example: ...Everywhere she was greeted cheerfully And friendly And assured her that she was good, sweet, rare(Ch.) - in this sentence there are conjunctions And not repeating, but single, connecting pairs of two homogeneous members of a sentence ( fun and friendly; met and assured).

In the example: No one else disturbed the silence of the channels and rivers, no longer picked off cold river lilies with a spoon, and no one admired out loud what is best to admire without words(Paust.) - first And connects the word forms of channels and rivers dependent on the word silence, the second And closes the series of predicates (did not violate, did not break off and did not admire).

Homogeneous members of a sentence, united in pairs, can be included in other, larger groups, which in turn have unions. Commas in such groups are placed taking into account the entire complex unity as a whole, for example, the contrastive relations between groups of homogeneous members of the sentence are taken into account.

For example: Father Christopher, holding a wide-brimmed top hat, to someone bowed and smiled not softly and touchingly, as always, and respectfully and tensely (Ch.).

It is also taken into account different level connecting relationships.

For example: In them[bench] you will find calico for shrouds and tar, candy and borax for exterminating cockroaches(M.G.) - here, on the one hand, word forms are combined calico and tar, candy and borax, and on the other hand, these groups, already with the rights of single members, are united by a repeating union And .

Compare the option without pairwise union (with separate design of homogeneous members): ...You will find calico for shrouds, tar, candy, and borax for exterminating cockroaches.

3. Homogeneous members of a sentence, connected repeating conjunctions , if there are more than two ( and... and... and, yes.., yes... yes, neither... nor... nor, or... or... or, li... li... li, either... or... or, either... or... or, then... then... then, not that... not that... not that, either... or ...either ), separated by commas.

For example: It was sad And in the spring air, And in the darkening sky And in the wagon(Ch.); Did not have neither stormy words neither passionate confessions, neither oaths(Paust.); You could see her every day That with a can, That with a bag and That and with a bag and a can together - or in the oil shop, or On the market, or in front of the house gate, or on the stairs(Bulg.).

In the absence of a union And before the first of the listed members of the sentence, the rule is observed: if there are more than two homogeneous members of the sentence and the conjunction and is repeated at least twice, a comma is placed between all homogeneous terms (including before the first And ).

For example: They brought a bouquet of thistles and placed it on the table, and here in front of me fire, and turmoil, and crimson round dance of lights (Sick.); And today the poet’s rhyme - weasel, and slogan, and bayonet, and whip (M.).

One should not confuse the repeated conjunction and and conjunctions and, placed on different bases: It was quiet and dark, and smelled sweetly of herbs (the first stands between the homogeneous parts of the main member of the sentence, and the second joins part of the complex sentence).

When repeating other conjunctions twice, except And , a comma is always used .

For example: Constantly prick my gypsy eyes life is either stupid or merciless (A. Ostr.); lady not that barefoot, not that in some transparent... shoes(Bulg.); Early whether, late whether, but I'll come.

Unions either, or are not always repetitive.

Yes, in a sentence And you can’t understand whether Matvey Karev is laughing at his words or at the way the students are looking into his mouth(Fed.) Union whether introduces explanatory subordinate clause, and a union or connects homogeneous members.

Compare unions either, or as repeating: Going whether rain, or the sun is shining - he doesn’t care; Sees whether he is, or does not see(G.).

4. With homogeneous members of the sentence, in addition to single or repeating conjunctions, they can be used double(comparative) unions, which are divided into two parts, each located at each member of the sentence: both... and, not only... but also, not so much... as, as much as... so much, although and... but, if not... then, not that... but, not that... ah, not only not., but rather... than etc. A comma is always placed before the second part of such conjunctions.

For example: I have an errand How from the judge So equals And from all our friends(G.); Green was Not only a magnificent landscape painter and master of plot, But It was still And a very subtle psychologist(Paust.); They say that in summer Sozopol is flooded with holidaymakers, that is Not really holidaymakers, A vacationers who came to spend their holidays near the Black Sea(Sol.); Mother not really angry, But I was still unhappy(Kav.); There are fogs in London if not every day, That every other day for sure(Gonch.); He was not so much disappointed, How many surprised by the current situation.

A semicolon can be placed between homogeneous members of a sentence (or their groups):

1. If they include introductory words: It turns out that there are subtleties. There must be a fire Firstly, smokeless; Secondly, not very hot; A Thirdly, in complete calm(Sol.).

2. If homogeneous members are common (have dependent words or subordinate clauses related to them): He was respected behind its excellent, aristocratic manners, for the rumors about his victories; for that that he dressed beautifully and always stayed in the best room the best hotel; for that that he generally dined well, and once even dined with Wellington at Louis Philippe’s; for that that he carried with him everywhere a real silver travel bag and a camp bathtub; for that that he smelled of some extraordinary, surprisingly “noble” perfume; for that that he played whist masterfully and always lost...(T.)

A dash is placed between homogeneous members of the sentence:

1. When omitting an adversative conjunction: People's knowledge of laws is not desirable - it is mandatory(gas.); A tragic voice, no longer flying, no longer ringing - deep, chesty, “Mkhatovsky”(gas.).

2. When there is a conjunction to denote a sharp and unexpected transition from one action or state to another: Then Alexey clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, pulled the boots with all his might with both hands - and immediately lost consciousness(B.P.); ...I always wanted to live in the city - and now I’m ending my life in the village(Ch.).

Homogeneous members of the sentence and their various combinations when dividing a sentence (parcelations) separated by dots .

For example: And then there were long hot months, the wind from the low mountains near Stavropol, smelling of immortelle flowers, a silver crown Caucasus Mountains, fights near forest rubble with Chechens, screeching bullets. Pyatigorsk, strangers with whom you had to treat yourself as friends. And again fleeting Petersburg and the Caucasus, the yellow peaks of Dagestan and the same beloved and saving Pyatigorsk. Short rest, broad ideas and poems, light and soaring to the sky, like clouds over the tops of mountains. And a duel (Paust.).