Biography of Alexander Zavolokin

You will forgive me, fellow countrymen, fellow countrymen. Runes, a whisper, a habit, a river-a pure-pipe, a river-a-tank. Running in new centuries. And her people live along the banks, my good fellow countrymen. Their pure hearts, bright souls will remain in my memory forever. Mira and prosperity, dear fellow countrymen! Sun to you, faith and love! Live for a long time! He hastily exchanged city passengers for rural ones.

I sneezed once, the other and shook from the roared engine. At the bend, he swayed slightly, waved his wings, ran away and flew away. And I stayed on the "green deck of the earth ship" of the Suzun airport. The flight field is a small patch, the edge. It clung to the forest on the one hand, on the other, it was cut by the Suzunku river. Only “An-2” fly here. During my century, many types and types of aircraft have changed.

Only “An-2” has not changed. He firmly entered our life. Convenient, unpretentious, modest rural worker. So is it from him, with Annushka, and with this Suzun airfield, my first steps began and my peers: large and small life paths, meetings and partings, unrest and joy? .. How many of them, such "earthly ships with green decks", are scattered across Russia: simple, friendly and such necessary people!

I rejoiced and admired the edges of the southern, the edges of the northern ones, but only you, your native side, are closer to all of me. Your ditties, talk, songs and human souls - all this sits tight in my heart, excites him and touches pain. Do not loving me and never part, my Father, my land, my land, which has such a strict and tender, like a snowdrop, a beautiful name - Siberia!

Native side! In the afternoon there was heat. The sun burned dazzlingly, although the days became noticeably shorter and the first frosts appeared in the morning. In the borus from the ripeness of the puffed, large burgundy lingonberries. On the shores of the Ob, a leverage of huge, cheerful winds, an orange sea buckthorn was gained by juice. Brusniks we scored a whole tub.

Mother floods her with water. So she remains in the winter, freezing in the tub. You will go out into the pantry in the winter, you will long in the frozen lingonberry and then drink the gulls - wonderful! Especially after the bathhouse. We also laid strawberries, one might say, in full, right in the meadows. You mow grass and immediately choose a berry in the mowed rows.

There are such berry mowers in Suzun. And there is nothing to talk about mushrooms. No one specially goes after them. Everything is done along the way: you go from arable land - mushrooms, you go from mowing - mushrooms. Mother will drive the calf into the forest, goes back, and her apron of slippery oils, stupid baskets, is already full. Today my mother and I gathered for sea buckthorn.

She went after her for the first time in her life. There was no time for her: four children, the garden, eternal household chores. Father gave us a horse. He worked in the timber industry, and the horse was assigned behind him, his name was blue. We harnessed him in the walker and rolled it lightly to the Ob. At first, the road went forest, and then we went to the collective farm bread field.

Verkh-Suzunskaya, collective farm. You have never been here. It’s good here.

Look, mom, what pines here! These single pines in the bread field have always reminded me of Shishkin’s painting “Rye”. Mom answered nothing. She changed in her face, thought, went into her senses. It can be seen that this scope, bread gold and an endless blue skill greatly excited it. The road in the forest seemed wide, and everything was in sight; She was visible both in front and behind.

On the field is a completely different matter. She became narrow and ran away from me with a thin thread for good. The sky swung open without a trace. The sun increased its power, and our wagon and blue - it all decreased on the field. The ridiculous, scalp pine trees towered mighty on one side or the other side of the road. Large resinous branches swayed slightly in the wind, greeted and escorted us on the road.

And bread on this earth will be born the same rich, fat, cast. Forest and field. I have always shared these two concepts. I had different sensations. Forest is something in common, more accessible to man, natural from nature, wild. But the collective farm field, bread - state, precious and inviolable. I stopped the dove. Mother got off the walker and went forward along the road. She walked a little, then sharply turned into the field.

And then she knelt down. Mom had tears in her eyes. She touched her eyes with her hands, hugged them, stroked and said a little audibly: - Bread! I got a lump to my throat. I did not know what to do. I understood and did not understand my mother. In any case, I did not expect such a turn. I was silent, and for a long time we were silent later, collecting a sea buckthorn. Mom was happy.

She was resting from household chores. The day was wonderful, sunny. With Ob was pulled by river freshness, and from the baskets it smelled of spicy sea buckthorn. And I, as if by the way, asked my mother: - Why did you cry today? As I saw the field, ears - my heart came up. After all, since childhood, I cleaned bread in Altai. In the twelve years, she knitted the sheaves. The wife is still a little audible at one end of the field, while the other end passes-I’ll tie up eighteen to twenty sheaves.

Suslons were put in nine sheaves. Eh, beauty! They stand like soldiers!The grain in the sheaves will stand so, it will dry up to it - you won’t take it on the tooth. Then they brought it to the current, put them in the layout and in a thresher ... Then you will cry ... From childhood I was accustomed to him. Alexander Dmitrievich led the Ensemble “Vechesk”, annually was an honorary guest of the district holiday “Zavolokinskaya Harmony”.

Gorshenin, A.