Childhood begins where there are first memories. My – from the mention of my grandmother, her house, yard, village, river and forest. In memory there were all those legends and terrible fairy tales about witches that turn into snakes and drink milk from the cow for a year ahead in one night, frogs that chase people.
All this I listened to quite a little girl, at a time when lights were turned off all over the country in the evening. Then there was always a smell of smoke. Every Sunday, my grandmother lit a real oven in the summer kitchen and kneaded the dough. Before baking it, baptized and read a prayer. The aroma of pies attracted all the neighbors, whom she at last generously treated.
I also remember how my father took me to the lake. We went on a motorcycle and I
If we stayed for long, my mother scolded us, but her anger quickly turned. Just went to the forest for blackberries – it was tastier to tear into the mouth. And in autumn they collected mushrooms and hazel. This man taught me how to love nature, animals. Every evening he read to us with his sister a fairy tale, or Marshak’s poems before going to bed.
In general, childhood is remembered more in the summer, when you could have done a lot of cycling, disappearing on the river bank all day, or playing in the open air. My friends and I made a halabud on the branches of ancient trees, sheltering themselves from the heat.
I remember a large meadow of lilies of the valley behind the parental house among which stood my rocking chair made between pine and atyutino. In all my memories, green and the world is flooded with warm yellow sunlight.
That time is always for me will have a taste of atyutins, strawberries, blackberries and grandmother’s pies. The most beautiful and most carefree time in the life of every person.