What works did Georgy Skrebitsky write? Stories about native nature

The village children ran into my room, out of breath.

Uncle, who we found! Oh, who did we find! They're just rolling their eyes!.. - they all began to shout at once, interrupting each other.

From the confused stories of the guys, I only understood that they had found a den in the forest with some gray shaggy animals, probably with wolf cubs. I took the gun and went into the forest with the kids.

They led me to the very wilderness, to an old, swampy burnt area.

All around were dark, half-rotten tree trunks piled on top of each other. We had to either crawl under them or climb over solid barriers. The twisted roots stuck out like the tentacles of a giant octopus. In the pits below them there was swamp water thick as tar.

Between the rotting trees, young green birch trees and various marsh grasses grew densely.

Even in the heat it was cool here and there was a sharp smell of fragrant swamp dampness.

Where are we going? - I asked my guides.

And that mane over there. There, at the very edge... - they spoke, pointing to a small hill covered with pine trees.

What about the uterus itself with them? - they said. - If she asks us, you won’t bother anymore.

I had little idea what kind of animals the children had found, and therefore, I confess, I also approached the mysterious lair not without timidity. Maybe there are not wolves there, but lynx! The conversation with her will be worse. The she-wolf is cowardly; in case of danger, she will run away from the children, but the lynx, perhaps, can rush.

The kids let me go ahead and huddled together behind me.

There, there, you see, the pine tree has been knocked down, it looks like a hole under the roots. They’re sitting there... all gray, shaggy, their eyes are burning... It’s scary!..

I cocked the gun and began to carefully approach the lair. Having approached about ten steps, I whistled and prepared to shoot. But no one appeared from under the pine tree. I came closer and whistled again. No one again.

Is there anyone there? Maybe everyone ran away a long time ago?

I got close to the pine tree and looked under the roots.

I see two gray ones furry creatures huddle together. I took a closer look and almost screamed in surprise: in a hole under the roots sat two gray furry owls. “What birds! But I almost mistook them for animals. Yes, what funny, big-eyed ones! I’ll take one home, I think, and take it to the city, to the school’s living corner. The guys will be happy!”

I wrapped a handkerchief around my hand so that the eagle owl would not hurt me, and with some difficulty I pulled out from under the roots a large, desperately resisting chick.

The guys surrounded me.

What a monster! And those eyes, those eyes! And it doesn’t look like a bird at all!

The little owl was already almost the size of an adult eagle owl, with a huge head and yellow cat eyes; covered in brownish-gray fluff, with feathers already showing through in some places.

He looked around in fear, opened his mouth and hissed angrily.

We brought him home and put him in a spacious closet.

The caught eagle owl very soon got used to me. When I entered the closet, he no longer huddled in a corner, but, on the contrary, clumsily ran towards me, opened his mouth and demanded food.

I fed him finely chopped raw meat which he swallowed with great greed. I named him Filyusha.

Filyusha felt great; it grew quickly and became covered with feathers. Often, sitting on the floor, he began to flap his wings and jump, trying to fly away.

Once, entering the closet, I did not find an owl on usual place- in the corner behind the box. I searched the entire closet - Filyusha was nowhere to be found. So he escaped somehow.

I was very annoyed and sorry for the little owl. “After all, he doesn’t know how to fly yet, he won’t be able to feed himself, he’ll hide somewhere under a barn or under a house and die,” I thought.

Suddenly someone was fussing over me. I look, and it’s Filyusha: he’s sitting on a shelf near the ceiling and looking at me.

I was delighted and told him:

This is where you got yourself, robber! This means that the wings have become stronger; Soon you will begin to fly completely.

After this, I once passed by the closet. Suddenly I hear - there is noise, some kind of fuss. I opened the door and saw Filyusha sitting in the middle of the floor; all fluffed up, hissing at me, clicking its beak.

I can’t understand what happened to him. I took a closer look: I saw that a huge rat was sticking out from under the eagle owl’s paw.

Hey, brother, are you already starting to hunt for rats here?

“That’s how interesting! - I thought. “I took the little owl from the nest very young, no one taught him, but the time came, he began to hunt himself.”

Filyusha ate the rat all the way down to the last bone and ate the skin too, then he flew up to his shelf, sat down there and dozed off. And the next morning I look - on the floor under the shelf there is a hard gray lump: it was Filyusha who spat out the remains.

Birds of prey always do this: they swallow their prey in whole pieces, along with bones, fur, and feathers. The meat will be digested in their stomach, and everything inedible will stick together into a hard lump. They will spit it out. Such lumps are called pellets.

Since Filyusha caught a rat, I stopped feeding him chopped meat, and began shooting him sparrows, jackdaws, and crows. I'll bring the dead bird and throw it on the floor. Filyusha will immediately become all fluffed up, aim at the prey as if it were alive, then rush from the shelf, grab it with its claws and begin to tear it with its hooked beak. Eat enough and go back to the shelf.

One day the yard dogs strangled a hedgehog. I have long heard that eagle owls love hedgehog meat. I took the hedgehog, carried it to Filyusha and thought: “How will he tear the meat from the skin with needles from the hedgehog? After all, he’ll probably get pricked, and even if he accidentally swallowed the needle.”

Filyusha just saw the hedgehog, rushed at it, grabbed the prey with his claws and began tearing off large pieces of meat. It tears and swallows, right along with the skin and thorns.

I froze - the needles are sharp, how can he not puncture his entire mouth and stomach with them? And Filyusha, at least! I ate the whole hedgehog.

I was restless all day - I was afraid that the owl might get sick from such a “prickly dinner”. I went to check on him several times, but Filyusha was quietly dozing on his shelf.

The next morning I found two pellets with hedgehog needles on the floor.

About a month has passed since I brought the owl from the forest. Now he was already very good at flying around the closet.

One day I was sitting in the yard near the house. Suddenly I see Filyusha flying out of the open entryway. That's right, the closet door was accidentally left open.

Before I had time to gasp, the owl was already sitting on the roof. Bright sunlight blinded him, he turned his huge head in surprise and did not dare to fly further.

I rushed to the attic stairs, but at that time Filyusha flapped his huge soft wings and quietly flew across the yard to the birch grove.

I ran after him, not knowing what to do. “My gift to the guys flew away!”

Suddenly a whole flock of rooks fell from the birches. With a loud croak they attacked Filyusha. Wings and feathers flashed in the air. Everything got mixed up and flew down.

Distraught with fear, Filyusha fell to the ground and, spreading his wings wide, fought off the rooks.

I ran up, chased away the pugnacious birds and brought the owl back to the closet.

Since then, he no longer tried to escape from the closet during the day.

We lived for one year in Ukraine, in a small village, surrounded by cherry orchards.

Not far from our house there grew an old tree. And then one day in early spring a stork flew in and sat on him. He examined something for a long time, clumsily stepping on his long legs on a thick branch. Then he flew away.

And the next morning we saw that two storks were already busy in the tree.

They were making a nest.

Soon the nest was ready. The stork laid eggs there and began to incubate them. And the stork either flew away to the swamp for food, or stood near the nest on a branch, with one leg tucked under it. So, on one leg, he could stand for a very long time, he could even take a little nap.

One day my mother called me:

Yura, come quickly and look at what a mess I brought!

I rushed headlong towards the house. Mom was standing on the porch, she was holding a purse woven from twigs. I looked inside. There, on a bed of grass and leaves, a plump person in silver fur was fussing about.

Who is this puppy? - I asked.

No, some kind of animal,” my mother answered, “I don’t know what kind.” I just bought it from the kids. They say they brought it from the forest.

We entered the room, walked up to the leather sofa and carefully tilted the wallet to one side.

Well, get out, baby, don't be afraid! - Mom suggested to the animal.

That winter there was no snow for a long time. The rivers and lakes have long been covered with ice, but there is still no snow.

A winter forest without snow seemed gloomy and dull. All the leaves have long fallen from the trees, migratory birds flew south, not a single bird squeaked anywhere; only the cold wind whistles among the bare, icy branches.

I was once walking through the forest with the guys, we were returning from neighboring village. We went out into a forest clearing. Suddenly we see crows circling in the middle of a clearing above a large bush. They croak, fly around him, then fly up, then sit on the ground. I guess they probably found some food there.

They began to come closer. The crows noticed us - some flew away and settled in the trees, while others didn’t want to fly away, so they circled overhead.

The busy squirrel woke up in the branches of an old spruce tree in its nest. Actually, she did not build this nest herself; it was built by a magpie in the form of a dense ball, only leaving a round loophole in one side.

Inside the nest, the magpie made a tray of soft grass stems. The result was a cozy apartment with wicker walls and the same wicker roof. The magpie calmly raised its chicks in it.

In the summer, the kids grew up, and the entire magpie family left their nest and scattered into different sides.

But the forest apartment was empty for long. In the fall, a squirrel found her. She immediately began to equip her future home in her own way, insulate it, and prepare it for winter.

My favorite time of year is spring, but not at all like when the grass turns green and leaves bloom on the trees, no, I love the very beginning of spring.

Streams began to run along the hollows, streams gurgled, the roads became muddy, and black and white-nosed rooks walked importantly along them. Here in the fields, along the hillocks, in the hot sun, the first thawed patches appeared, and the larks sang above them. This is my favorite time of the year - the awakening of the earth, its first smile at the sun.

At this time I like to wear not a fur coat, but a light hunting jacket, Wellingtons and go wander out of town.

I walk, without hesitation, straight through the mud, through puddles, and then I sit down somewhere by the side of the road on fallen logs or on a pile of stones, take off my hat and expose my face to the hot April sun.

A reserve is a place where all hunting is prohibited and animals are bred quietly, like in a huge zoo, only not in cages, but in complete freedom. Such reserves are necessary to preserve valuable animals in nature - sables, beavers, seals, moose... I served as a researcher in one of these reserves.

Our reserve was located among forests and swamps, in which a wide variety of animals and birds lived. On the bank of a small forest river there was a house where we, the reserve’s employees, lived.

Every morning at sunrise, we took field bags, notebooks, food with us and went into the forest for the whole day to observe and study the life of its winged and four-legged inhabitants. For tens of kilometers in a circle, we knew every hole, every nest, how many cubs were where, when they were born, what their parents fed them, we knew all their joys and hardships and tried in every possible way to help our forest friends.

So we lived in the forest together with animals and birds, learned to understand their voices and read the notes of their paws and tails in the fresh mud and sand near swamps and rivers.

One morning, when we were already getting ready for a regular hike, we heard cart wheels clattering under the windows. It was a rare event: it was not often that anyone looked into our wilderness. We all jumped out onto the porch.

I really like to go hunting not alone, but with one of my friends, but on one condition: my companion must also understand and love hunting, and not just wander around with me as an outside observer.

Therefore, I strongly protested when my friend Georgy Nikolin, an excellent comrade, but not a hunter at all, decided to go with me to the capercaillie current.

But, I hope, it’s possible to accompany you? - asked Georgy.

Of course you can. I'm always glad to see you, just not when hunting.

We said a friendly goodbye, and Georgy went home. And I, having finished preparing, went to bed.

The next morning at exactly nine o'clock I was already at the station, took a ticket and went to board the carriage.

My friend was waiting for me on the platform. His outfit surprised me a little. Georgy was wearing a short jacket and high boots.

Sometimes at the beginning of autumn there is a rare day. It looks like it's all made of blue glass and decorated with fine gilding. The distance turns transparent blue, and the birches on the slope stand thin and straight, like white candles. Their withering foliage glows with a golden light. The blue sky, the blue distance, the sparkle of the sun and the multi-colored decoration of the forests - how it all looks like some kind of fabulous holiday, for the last greetings of the passing summer.

Everything in nature seems to say goodbye to the sun, to the warmth, to last time dress up brighter, so that later you can take off your farewell outfit for a long time and lock it in a heavy winter chest forged in silver.

On such a fine autumn day, I remember, I was wandering through the birch copses with a gun and a dog - hunting for woodcocks.

I walked around one clearing, another, a third... It was already beginning to get dark. The yellow candles of the birches burned brighter in the autumn twilight. The wind died down. A clear September evening was approaching.

I sat down on a stump. Karo lay down at my feet; This is how we spent this quiet day.

Suddenly, something crunched in the distance, branches crackled - getting closer, closer... Some kind of hoarse, abrupt roar, or maybe a groan, was heard in the silence.

A cold, dim sun rises in the winter fog. The snowy forest sleeps. It seems that all living things have frozen from this cold - not a sound, only occasionally the trees crackle from the frost.

I go out into a forest clearing. Behind the clearing is a thick old spruce forest. All the trees are covered with large cones. There were so many cones that the ends of the branches bent under their weight.

How quiet! In winter you won't hear birds singing. Now they have no time for songs. Many flew south, and those that remained huddled in secluded corners, hiding from the bitter cold.

Suddenly, like a spring breeze, there was a rustle over the frozen forest: a whole flock of birds, cheerfully calling to each other, flew over the clearing. But these are crossbills - natural northerners! They are not afraid of our frosts.

Crossbills clung to the tops of the fir trees. The birds grabbed the cones with tenacious claws and pulled out delicious seeds from under the scales. When the pine cone harvest is good, these birds are not threatened by the lack of food in winter. They will find food for themselves everywhere.

I stood in the clearing and watched the crossbills fussing about in their airy dining room.

The morning sun brightly illuminated the green tops of fir trees, clusters of ruddy cones and cheerful, feasting birds. And it seemed to me that spring had already come. Now the smell of thawed earth will smell, the forest will come to life and, meeting the sun, the birds will chirp.

This happened a long time ago. Vesna-Krasna flew from the south to our region. She was going to decorate the forests with green foliage, and spread a colorful carpet of herbs and flowers on the meadows. But here’s the problem: Winter doesn’t want to leave, apparently she liked staying with us; Every day it becomes more lively: a blizzard, a blizzard begins to swirl, and runs wild with all its might...

When will you go to your North? - Spring asks her.

Wait,” Winter answers, “your time has not come yet.”

I waited and waited for Spring and was tired of waiting. And then there were all the birds and animals - all living things prayed to her: “Drive away Winter, it has frozen us completely, let us at least bask in the sun, roll in the green grass.”

Again Spring asks Winter:

Georgy Skrebitsky is known to the world as a naturalist writer. Georgy Alekseevich was born in Moscow in 1903. He grew up in a provincial town, which was not distinguished by the brightness of nature. However, the family of the future writer loved nature in any of its manifestations. The father was engaged in hunting and fishing, and the son shared his hobbies. The love for nature, developed in childhood, became the main guideline in creativity for Skrebitsky.

Georgy Alekseevich perfectly combined his scientific career with literary activity. He used his knowledge when writing naturalistic works. Skrebitsky makes his debut by publishing the story “Ushan”. According to the author himself, in this work he seems to look into the past, into the world of his childhood. The sincerity of the story did not leave readers indifferent. Skrebitsky's stories can be read in the collections “Simps and Cunning People” and “Notes of a Hunter.” It was they who brought the author fame as one of the best children's naturalist writers.

It is known that Georgy Alekseevich often worked in collaboration with the talented animal writer Vera Chaplina. Their creative tandem gave good results. They wrote short educational stories about the natural world for young readers. The text of such stories is very easy to understand, but the work on their creation was not easy. Being responsible researchers, Skrebitsky and Chaplina always tried to recreate real nature in their stories in precise detail. They sought to ensure that readers could not only figuratively, but also truly imagine how, for example, a squirrel winters or how a cockchafer lives. The accuracy of every word, the rhythm of phrases brought to perfection - all this became the key to the success of their stories.

Georgy Alekseevich wrote not only stories. Skrebitsky's tales make up a minority creative heritage naturalist writer, but they are also important. This is instructive short stories, bright and emotional, in which animals are often the main characters, and the natural world is contrasted human society. Skrebitsky's tales will definitely appeal to young readers. They can be read at home or studied in classes in elementary grades. The texts of Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky’s fairy tales can be found in this section of the literary site.

Valentina Ivanovna Naphanyuk
Long-term plan “Acquaintance with the work of G. Skrebitsky”

Long-term plan(mini project)

« Getting to know the work of G. Skrebitsky»

Senior preschool age

Tasks:

1. Introduce children to the life and work of G.. Skrebitsky.

2. Deepen children’s knowledge about the animal world through the works of G. Skrebitsky.

3. Foster the ability to enjoy the artistic word.

4. Expand parents’ ideas about children’s literature.

5. Involve parents in family reading literary works.

6. Create conditions for search and research activities.

Planning and organization of activities

Form of work Topic Additional purpose Material

Presentation “Writer G.A. Skrebitsky» Give children an idea of ​​the personality of the writer and his books. Portrait of a Writer

Decorating a book corner "Wonders of nature in the pages of books" Create conditions for implementation acquaintance with the writer Books with stories and fairy tales G. Skrebitsky

Reading stories by G. Skrebitsky"Fluff"

"Four Artists"

"White coat"

"Caring Mom"

"Thief"

"Mitya's Friends"

Forest Echo ". To develop the ability to analyze actions literary heroes and evaluate them, justifying your judgments.

Illustrations for stories and fairy tales

Conversation on creativity G. Skrebitsky"Naturalist Writer" Introduce children to the writer’s work, teach to answer questions, develop children’s speech activity. Portrait of a writer, art books

Free drawing “Draw your favorite story character” Develop skills in drawings to convey the character of the characters in stories Paper, colored pencils

Compiling a mnemonic table “Draw a story "Fluff" G. Skrebitsky» Teach children to jointly come up with a mnemonic table for the story and use it to retell the story White cardboard, felt-tip pens

Outdoor games:

"Sly Fox"

("Caring Mom")

"Hares in the garden"

("White coat")

"Owl and Mice"

("Nakhodka") Contribute to the realization of children's needs for physical activity. Learn to convey the habits of animals and birds in the game. Masks of fox, hare, owl

Final quiz based on the stories of G. Skrebitsky“A Journey through the Fairy Tales and Stories of G. Skrebitsky» Strengthen interest in the writer's work,the ability to recognize a writer’s works by their writing style. Activate children's speech Illustrations for the writer's stories and fairy tales

Consultation for parents (home reading) Getting to know the work of G. Skrebitsky Offer parents a list of the writer’s works to read to children at home Consultation

Quiz for kids creativity G. Skrebitsky.

Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky- one of the best representatives Russian literature. He knew how to talk about the ordinary in a bright and colorful way. The writer had a special love for Russian nature.

Quiz by creativity G. A. Skrebitsky contains 10 questions. The teacher asks a question and says 3 answer options. Children choose the correct answer.

1. What was the name of G. A.’s first book? Skrebitsky?

"On the forest path"

"Glade of Miracles"

"Island of White Birds" +

2. Second book by G. A. Skrebitsky called"About simpletons and cunning people" appeared in 1944. Who is this book about?

About wolves and hares

About foxes and hares

About different animals +

3. Many works Skrebitsky written for preschoolers and primary schoolchildren. Underline those that belong to the author.

"Little Badger", "Rook, Jackdaw, Magpie", "Fox" +

"Hedgehog", "Starling, twitch, capercaillie", "Kangaroo"

"Kid", "Bullfinch, tit, sparrow"

4. What works do you know? Skrebitsky dedicated to hunting?

"With a gun and without a gun" +

"Hunter's Tales" +

"Hunting trails" +

5. What was the name of G. A.’s very first story? Skrebitsky?

About the deciduous hare - "Ushan" +

About the little fox - "Ryzhik"

About the bunny - "Belyak"

6. Under what name was the cycle of fairy tales published? Skrebitsky?

"Tales of Nature"

"About tailed and eared"

"Tales of the Pathfinder"+7. What works by G.A. You know Skrebitsky, which have birds in their names?

"Tit and Nightingale"

“About our birds, starlings and tits”

"Rook, Jackdaw, Magpie" +

8. Where did G. A. spend his childhood and adolescence? Skrebitsky?

In the city of Orel, Oryol province

In the town of Chern, Tula province +

In Smolensk province

9. Who taught the future writer to love nature?

10. Select the genres of literature that G. A. addressed. Skrebitsky.

Fables in prose +

There were hunters +

Plot stories +

Summary of a conversation with children on creativity G. A. Skrebitsky.

Target: introduce children to creativity naturalist writer.

Tasks:

- introduce children with the writer's biography

To form children’s ideas about Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky how about creative personality

Instill a love of nature through the writer’s stories.

Develop children's speech, memory, thinking, attention.

Material for the conversation:

1. Portrait of the writer and his biography.

2. Books with illustrations by a naturalist writer.

Progress of the conversation:

Children sit on chairs in a semicircle. In front of them is a board with a portrait of George Skrebitsky.

Educator: - Guys, today we will talk about the wonderful naturalist writer Grigory Alekseevich Skrebitsky, here is his portrait.

Georgiy Skrebitsky born in Russia on July 20, 1903 in Moscow, in the family of a doctor. At the age of four, he and his whole family moved to live in the Tula province, in the small town of Chern in Tula region. Childhood impressions of the dim nature of these places remained forever in the memory of the future writer. The family where the boy grew up loved nature very much, and the future writer’s adoptive father was an avid hunter and fisherman, and managed to pass on his hobbies to his son. In 1921 Skrebitsky graduated from the Chern school of the 2nd degree and went to study in Moscow, where in 1925 he graduated from the literary department. Then he enters the Faculty of Game Science and Fur Breeding at the Higher Zootechnical Institute in order to thoroughly study the world of nature and animals close to him from childhood. Upon completion of training (1930) works at the All-Union Institute of Fur Farming, in the laboratory of zoopsychology of the Institute of Psychology at Moscow State University. Candidate of Biological Sciences (1937) .

However, it is not the scientific career of a naturalist researcher, but the literary creation Became the main thing in George's life from the late 1930s Skrebitsky. In 1939, a popular science film was released based on the script he wrote. "Island of White Birds", the material for which was a scientific expedition to the bird nesting grounds of the White Sea.

It was then that the writing workshop itself took place. debut: story published "Ushan". “This,” Georgy Alekseevich said later, “is like a chink through which I looked into the country of the past, the country of my childhood.”

Already the first collections Skrebitsky"Simps and Cunning People" (1944, "Hunter's Tales" (1948) put him among the best children's naturalist writers.

Like-minded person and literary co-author of George Skrebitsky Since the late 1940s, Vera Chaplina has become a famous animal writer. In our joint creativity they also turned to the youngest readers - they wrote very short educational stories about nature in a magazine "Murzilka" and in a book for first graders « Native speech» . But these simple and easy-to-understand texts turned out to be a technically very difficult work for real writers and nature experts, which they were in full Skrebitsky and Chaplin. It was important for them, while achieving simplicity, not to stray into primitiveness. Special precision of the word was required, the rhythm of each phrase was verified in order to give the kids a figurative and at the same time correct idea of ​​what “How a squirrel spends the winter” or how the cockchafer lives.

Co-authored Skrebitsky and Chaplin create scripts for cartoons "Forest Travelers"(1951) And "In the forest thicket"(1954) . After a joint trip to Western Belarus, they publish a book of essays "In Belovezhskaya Pushcha" (1949) .

In the 1950s Skrebitsky continues to work on his new collections stories: "In the forest and on the river" (1952, "Our reserves" (1957) . The result creativity the writer became two autobiographical stories "From the first thawed patches to the first thunderstorm".

Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky He wrote both stories about nature and animals, as well as fairy tales, for children.

Questions:

1. When was G. born? Skrebitsky?

2. Where did he live?

3. Who taught G. Skrebitsky to love nature?

4. What was your profession? Skrebitsky?

5. How "the main thing" I liked studying Skrebitsky most of all?

6. What was the name of the writer’s first story?

7. What did G. love and about whom did he write his stories and fairy tales? Skrebitsky?

8. What stories G. Do you remember Skrebitsky?

9. What fairy tales of G. Skribitsky do you know?

10. What is the difference between a fairy tale and a story?

11. Why do you think Skrebitsky was called a naturalist writer?

Well, guys, today you learned a lot of interesting things about creativity naturalist writer Georgiy Alekseevich Skrebitsky. I've already introduced with some stories and fairy tales of the writer, in the future I will tell you I'll introduce you with other works of the writer, with the same interesting tales and stories about native nature and the animal world.

Georgy Skrebitsky

In our forests, birches begin to turn green before others.
You enter a birch forest, and it seems that it is all covered with a barely noticeable green haze.
And what a smell! Fresh, sharp and slightly bitter. This is what young, barely blossoming birch leaves smell like.

Winged guests

Georgy Skrebitsky

In the evening, nana brought a board from the barn, sawed it and put together a house. Instead of windows and doors, I cut out a round hole in one of the walls, and nailed a perch at the entrance.

Well,” said dad, “guess the riddle: there’s a palace on the stake, there’s a singer in the Palace - who is it?”

“Starling,” Yura shouted.
- Right. So we made an apartment for him. Tomorrow morning we will build a birdhouse in the garden.

Yura woke up in the morning - the sun was shining through the window, drops were pouring from the roof, and sparrows were chirping all over the yard.

There was still deep snow in the garden. Dad and Yura barely made their way to the old apple tree. Dad nailed the birdhouse to a long pole and tied the pole with wire to the trunk of the apple tree.

“Now it’s good,” he said, “you can see the birdhouse from all over.”

Five days have passed. The thawed patches in the garden turned black and huge puddles spilled over. In the puddles, as in a mirror, the sky and clouds were reflected, and when the sun comes in, it’s even painful to look at them, they sparkle.

One time Dad calls Yura into the garden:
- Look at the guests who showed up to us.

Yura came running and looked - a starling was sitting on the roof of the birdhouse and singing. Then another starling flew up to him and darted straight into the house.

Spring the artist

Georgy Skrebitsky

Vesna Krasna started work. She didn't get down to business right away. At first I thought: what kind of picture should she draw?

Here the forest stands in front of her - still gloomy and gloomy like winter.

“Let me decorate it in my own way, in spring!” She took thin, delicate brushes. I touched the birch branches with a little greenery, and hung pink and silver earrings on the aspens and poplars.

Day by day the picture of spring becomes more and more elegant.

In a wide forest clearing, she painted a large spring puddle with blue paint. And around her, like blue splashes, scattered the first flowers of snowdrops and lungworts.

Draws one day, another. There are bird cherry bushes on the slope of the ravine; their branches were covered by Spring with shaggy clusters of white flowers. And on the edge of the forest, also all white, as if covered in snow, there are wild apple and pear trees.

In the middle of the meadow the grass is already greener. And in the dampest places, marigold flowers bloomed like golden stars.

Everything comes alive all around. Sensing the warmth, insects and spiders crawl out of various cracks. May beetles buzzed near the birch branches. The first bees and butterflies fly to the flowers.

And how many birds there are in the forests and fields! And for each of them, Vesna Krasna came up with an important task.

Happy Bug

Georgy Skrebitsky

It was a warm spring evening. Grandma Daria left the house and sat down on the porch. This is just what the guys were waiting for. Like sparrows, they flew in from different ends of the village.
“Grandma, tell me something more interesting,” they chattered.
The old woman looked at the children with affectionate eyes, faded like autumn flowers, thought and said:
- Okay, I'll tell you a fairy tale about a happy bug-worm. And you sit and listen. That's how it was.
Spring has arrived on earth. She brought with her many, many colorful silks to decorate forests and meadows with them, to dress butterflies and bugs, so that everything around would look elegant and festive.
Spring asked the Red Sun:
— Warm it up better land. Wake up everyone who has been sleeping soundly throughout the long winter. Let them get out of their cracks, lye.
The sun warmed the earth. Various insects crawled out, some from a crack, some from an earthen hole, some from under tree bark, and they all crawled, ran, and flew into a spacious forest clearing. There Spring was waiting for them with its colorful silks, gold, silver threads and other decorations.
Butterflies and beetles appeared in the clearing. Spring saw them and said:
- So I flew to you from the warm south. What gifts do you want to receive from me so that they will bring you joy and happiness, so that you can fly and run merrily through fields and forests?
Then all the butterflies and beetles began to speak at once:
“You see, Spring, how worn and dirty our wings have become over the fall and winter, how ugly we all are.” Give us bright, elegant clothes, then we will fly away in different directions, we will circle over the flowers, rejoice at your arrival, then we will be truly cheerful and happy.
“Okay,” Spring answered them and began to dress up each of the aliens.
She gave the white butterfly a bright white dress. Lemongrass is soft yellow, like a golden autumn leaf. The mourning butterfly was wrapped in black velvet with a white border at the ends of the wings. She dressed the moths that circle near the spring puddles in light blue muslin. But the cheerful nettle butterfly chose a colorful dress, reddish-red, with dark and blue specks.
The important, sedate beetles also decided to dress up. The cockchafer dressed in a chocolate-colored suit, the rhinoceros beetle dressed in brown, and even attached a long horn to his head as a decoration. The dung beetle chose a dark blue suit. The bronze bug took the longest to find suitable clothes. Finally, he put on a golden-green caftan, so elegant that as soon as he got out into the sun in it, he sparkled in its rays.
Spring gave away many more beautiful clothes to various butterflies, beetles, agile dragonflies and cheerful grasshopper horses. The grasshoppers wanted to dress in tailcoats to match the color of the grass. And the angry bumblebees and wasps dressed up in yellow jackets with black belts.
“Well, it seems that I pleased everyone,” said Vesna, “now everyone is happy, they can fly wherever they want and enjoy the warmth of the sun.”
At this time, a breeze came, rustled in the tree branches, and lifted last year’s withered leaf from the ground.
Spring looked under the leaf and saw a small, inconspicuous bug there. He didn’t even look like a bug, he looked more like some kind of brown worm.
- Who are you? - Spring asked him. - What is your name?
“My name is Ivanov the worm,” the stranger answered her.
- Why are you sitting under a leaf and not getting out of there? Don't you want to get a nice outfit from me? Don't you want to be content and happy?
The worm-beetle looked at Spring, thought and answered:
“But I’m already feeling good, I’m already happy, happy that it’s warm and everything around has come to life, rejoicing at your arrival.” I don’t need a bright dress - I’m a night bug, I crawl out from under the foliage when it gets dark and the first stars light up in the sky. Why do I need a beautiful outfit? I am happy that I live in my native forest. Thank you, Vesna, for dressing him so beautifully. I don't need anything more from you.
Vesna was surprised that this modest bug did not ask anything for itself from her. And then I thought and realized: after all, he is the happiest. He rejoices not for himself alone, but for everyone, he rejoices and lives in one common happiness.
And then Spring decided: “I’ll give him a tiny blue lantern. Let him light it every evening and keep it shining all night. Let this lantern burn like a bright star in the dark night grass, and remind the inhabitants of the forest that happiness never fades, even in the darkest times. dark night»…
“That’s the end of the fairy tale,” Grandma Daria smiled. She fell silent, looking into the distance beyond the outskirts. There, across the river above the blue expanse of meadows, the first stars were already shining.
The guys also became quiet. What were they thinking? Maybe about the happy Ivan the worm, who has probably already crawled out from under the withered leaves and is lighting his dim blue light in the night forest. Or maybe about how good it is to be able to be happy for others in life, to rejoice and know that your little star illuminates not only yours, but also other people’s happiness.

Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky was born on July 20 (August 2), 1903 in Moscow. At the age of four, still a baby, he was adopted by Nadezhda Nikolaevna Skrebitskaya. Some time later, Nadezhda Nikolaevna married the zemstvo doctor Alexei Mikhailovich Polilov, after which the whole family moved to live in the Tula province, in the small town of Chern. The family where the boy grew up loved nature very much, and the future writer’s adoptive father was an avid hunter and fisherman, and managed to pass on his hobbies to the boy. Sincere love for nature, which appeared and became conscious in childhood and teenage years, has become a reference point for everything life path Georgy Skrebitsky, giving an incomparable originality to his work. Georgy Skrebitsky often recalled that from childhood he was most interested in two things: natural history and fiction. And he managed to embody both of these professions, successfully combining with one another and giving us a wonderful naturalist writer.

In 1921, Georgy Alekseevich graduated from the Chern school of the 2nd stage and went to study in Moscow, where in 1925 he graduated from the literary department at the Institute of Words. After that, he pursued his other passion and entered the Faculty of Game Science and Fur Breeding at the Higher Zootechnical Institute in order to thoroughly study the world of nature and animals that was close to him from childhood. After graduating from this institute, Georgy Skrebitsky became a researcher at the All-Union research institute fur farming and hunting. Here he worked for five years, and these years became an excellent scientific school for him, because every year in the summer he went on different expeditions and participated in the study of the natural life of animals.

Later, Georgy Alekseevich becomes a research assistant in the laboratory of zoopsychology at the Institute of Psychology at Moscow State University. Here he became a candidate of biological sciences and took the position of associate professor at the Department of Animal Physiology at Moscow University. He traveled a lot on various expeditions in which he observed the life of animals in their natural environment. During this time he wrote a lot scientific works in zoology and zoopsychology. But memories of childhood, of the very first encounters with his native nature, constantly surfaced in Georgy Alekseevich’s memory. Scientific work constantly enriched knowledge about the nature and life of animals, and hunting trips often turned into truly adventure stories. Georgy Skrebitsky begins to write down his memories, addressing them to all those readers who are not indifferent to the nature around them.

Thus began the unification of two beloved professions in one person, and Georgy Alekseevich realized his true calling - to be a singer of his native nature. Georgy Skrebitsky wrote his first story - "Ushan", about a leaf-falling hare - in 1939, after which he completely devoted himself to writing a variety of literary works dedicated to nature. His books have always enjoyed great popularity both in our country and in many foreign countries, having been translated to many foreign languages- Bulgarian, German, Albanian, Hungarian, Slovak, Czech, Polish and others.

The pinnacle of Georgy Skrebitsky’s creative talent is rightfully considered to be two large books that he wrote in last years own life. This is a wonderful story about childhood, “From the first thawed patches to the first thunderstorm,” and a wonderful story about youth, “The chicks grow wings.” This autobiographical works, whose action takes place largely in Czerny in the decades before October Revolution and in the first years after the formation Soviet power. These books crown creative path Georgy Skrebitsky, they especially expressively revealed the bright features of his literary talent, directly related to a subtle understanding of the natural world and its most diverse inhabitants. Children's and youth's perceptions help to especially accurately convey the narrative of an entire period of Russian life, which was marked by significant historical events. The works of Georgy Skrebitsky are written with great warmth; they are unusually poetic and kind.

In the summer of 1964, Georgy Alekseevich felt unwell and was taken to the hospital with an attack of acute pain in his heart.
Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky died on August 18, 1964, he died of a heart attack and was buried in Moscow at the Vagankovskoye cemetery.