Old mushroom author. old mushroom

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My notebooks -

Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin
old mushroom
We had a revolution in 1905. Then my friend was in the prime of his youth and fought on the barricades on Presnya. Strangers, meeting with him, called him brother.
“Tell me, brother,” they will ask him, “where.”
They will name the street, and the “brother” will answer where this street is.
The first world war came in 1914, and I hear him say:
- Father, tell me.
They began to call not brother, but father.
The Great October Revolution has come. My friend had white silver hair in his beard and on his head. Those who knew him before the revolution met now, looked at the white and silver hair and said:
- What are you, father, began to trade in flour?
“No,” he answered, “silver.” But it's not that.
His real business was to serve society, and he was also a doctor and treated people, and he was also a very kind person and helped everyone who turned to him for advice. And so, working from morning until late at night, he lived for fifteen years under Soviet rule.
I hear one day someone stops him on the street:
- Grandpa, Grandpa, tell me.
And my friend, the former boy, with whom we sat on the same bench in the old gymnasium, became a grandfather.
So time passes, time just flies, you won’t have time to look back.
Okay, I continue about the other. White and white our grandfather, and so finally comes the day of the great holiday of our victory over the Germans. And grandfather, having received an honorary invitation card to Red Square, goes under an umbrella and is not afraid of rain. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and see there, behind a chain of policemen, around the entire square, troops - well done to well done. Dampness around from the rain, and you look at them, how they stand, and it becomes as if the weather is very good.
We began to show our passes, and then, out of nowhere, some boy, a mischievous one, probably thought of sneaking into the parade somehow. This mischievous man saw my old friend under an umbrella and said to him:
“And why are you going, old mushroom?”
I felt offended, I confess, I was very angry here and grabbed this boy by the scruff of the neck. He escaped, jumped like a hare, looked back on the jump and fled.
The parade on Red Square ousted both the boy and the “old mushroom” from my memory for a while. But when I came home and lay down to rest, the “old mushroom” came back to me again. And so I said to the invisible mischief-maker:
Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old one sows the spores of the future and lives for other, new mushrooms.
And I remembered one russula in the forest, where I constantly pick mushrooms. It was towards autumn, when birches and aspens begin to pour down golden and red patches on young Christmas trees.
The day was warm and even parky, when the mushrooms come up from the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything clean, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from the same place, he collects again: you take, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing.
This was such a mushroom, parky day now. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I collected all sorts of rubbish in my basket: russula, redheads, boletus - and there were only two white mushrooms. If mushrooms were real mushrooms, I, an old man, would bend down for a black mushroom! But what to do, bow to the need and russula.
It was very parko, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I wanted to drink to death.
There are streams in our forests, paws diverge from the streams, urea from the paws, or even just sweaty places. I was so thirsty that, perhaps, I even tried wet earth. But the stream was very far away, and the rain cloud was even further away: legs would not lead to the stream, hands would not be enough to reach the cloud.
And I hear somewhere behind a frequent spruce forest a gray bird squeaks:
- Drink, drink!
It happens that before the rain a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink:
- Drink, drink!
“Fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you.”
He looked at the sky, and where to wait for rain: a clear sky above us, and steam from the earth, like in a bathhouse.
What to do here, how to be?
And the bird also squeaks in its own way:
- Drink, drink!
Here I chuckled to myself that that's what an old man I am, I've lived so much, seen so much everything in the world, learned so much, and here it's just a bird, and we have one desire.
“Come on,” I said to myself, “I’ll take a look at my comrade.”
I advanced cautiously, noiselessly through the dense spruce forest, lifted one twig: well, hello there!
Through this forest window, a clearing in the forest opened up to me, in the middle of it there are two birches, under the birches a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry, a red russula, such a huge one that I have never seen in my life. She was so old that the edges of her, as happens only with russula, wrapped up.
And from this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water.
It made my heart happy.
Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - in water. And head up so that a drop in the throat passes.
- Drink, drink! - another bird from the birch squeaks to her.
There was a leaf on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. Here the bird will peck, the water will tremble, and the leaf will go on a spree. And I see everything from the window and rejoice and do not hurry: how much does the bird need, let him get drunk, we have enough!
One got drunk, flew to the birch. Another went down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one that got drunk is on top of her.
- Drink, drink!
I came out of the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch to another.
But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with anxiety, and I understood them so that I was the only one who asked.
- Will he drink?
Another replied:
- Don't drink!
I understood that they were talking about me and one thought about a plate of forest water - "drink", the other argued - "won't drink."
- I'll drink, I'll drink! I told them out loud.
They squealed their “drink-drink” even more often.
But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water.
Of course, it could be done very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for himself. With such a mushroom knife, he would carefully cut the russula, lift it up to him, drink water, and he would immediately press the hat he did not need from the old mushroom on the tree.
What a daring!
And I think that's just stupid. Think for yourself how I could do this if two birds got drunk from an old mushroom before my eyes, and you never know who drank without me, and here I myself, dying of thirst, will now get drunk, and after me it will rain again, and again everyone will drink. And there, seeds will ripen in the mushroom - spores, the wind will pick them up, scatter them through the forest for the future.
Apparently, there is nothing to do. I grunted, grunted, sank down on my old knees and lay on my stomach. Out of necessity, I say, I bowed to the russula.
And the birds! The birds are playing.
Drink or not drink?
“No, comrades,” I told them, “now don’t argue anymore, now I have reached and have a drink.”
It happened so well that when I lay down on my stomach, my parched lips met just with the cold lips of the fungus. But just to take a sip, I see in front of me in a golden boat made of birch leaf, on its thin cobweb, a spider descends into a flexible saucer. Either he wanted to swim, or he needs to get drunk.
- How many of you are here who want to! I told him. - Well, you.
And in one breath he drank the whole forest bowl to the bottom.

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We had a revolution in 1905. Then my friend was in the prime of his youth and fought on the barricades on Presnya. Strangers, meeting with him, called him brother.

- Tell me, brother, - they will ask him, - where ... I will name the street, and "brother" will answer where this street is. The first world war came in 1914, and I hear him say;

Father, tell me...

They began to call not brother, but father.

The last big revolution has come. My friend had white, silver hair in his beard and on his head. Those who knew him before the revolution met now, looked at the white and silver hair and said:

- What are you, father, began to trade in flour?

“No,” he answered, “silver. But it's not that. His real business was to serve society, and he was also a doctor and treated people, and he was also a very kind person and helped everyone who turned to him for advice. And so, working from morning until late at night, he lived for fifteen years under Soviet rule. I hear one day someone stops him on the street.

- Grandfather, grandfather, tell me ...

And my friend, the former boy, with whom we sat on the same bench in the old gymnasium, became a grandfather.

So all the time passes, time just flies, you won’t have time to look back ...

Okay, I continue about the other. White and white our grandfather, and so finally comes the day of the great holiday of our victory over the Germans. And grandfather, having received an honorary invitation card to Red Square, goes under an umbrella and is not afraid of rain. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and see there, behind a chain of policemen around the entire square, troops - well done to well done. Dampness around from the rain, and you look at them, how they stand, and it becomes as if the weather is very good.

We began to show our passes, and then, out of nowhere, some boy, a mischievous one, probably thought of sneaking into the parade somehow. This mischievous man saw my old friend under an umbrella and said to him:

“And why are you going, old mushroom?”

I felt offended, I confess, I was very angry here and grabbed this boy by the scruff of the neck. He escaped, jumped like a hare, looked back on the jump and fled.

The parade on Red Square ousted both the boy and the “old mushroom” from my memory for a while. But when I came home and lay down to rest, the “old mushroom” came to my mind again. And so I said to the invisible mischief-maker:

Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old one sows the spores of the future and lives for other, new mushrooms.

And I remembered one russula in the forest, where I constantly pick mushrooms. It was towards autumn, when birches and aspens begin to pour down golden and red patches on young Christmas trees.

The day was warm and even parky, when the mushrooms come up from the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything clean, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from that very place, he collects again, you take it, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing.

This was such a mushroom, parky day now. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I collected all sorts of rubbish in my basket: russula, redheads, boletus, but there were only two white mushrooms. If mushrooms were real mushrooms, I, an old man, would bend down for a black mushroom! But what to do, bow to the need and russula.

It was very parko, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I wanted to drink to death. But do not go home on such a day with only black mushrooms! There was enough time ahead to look for whites.

There are streams in our forests, paws diverge from the streams, urea from the paws, or even just sweaty places. I was so thirsty that, perhaps, I even tried wet earth. But the stream was very far away, and the rain cloud was even further away: legs would not lead to the stream, hands would not be enough to reach the cloud.

And I hear, somewhere behind a frequent spruce forest, a gray bird squeaks:

“Drink, drink!”

It happens, before the rain, a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink:

“Drink, drink!”

“Fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you!”

He looked at the sky, and where to wait for rain: a clear sky above us and steam from the ground, like in a bathhouse.

What to do here, how to be?

And the bird also squeaks in its own way:

“Drink, drink!”

Here I chuckled to myself that that's what an old man I am, I've lived so much, seen so much everything in the world, learned so much, and here it's just a bird, and we have one desire.

“Come on,” I said to myself, “I’ll take a look at my comrade.”

I advanced cautiously, noiselessly through the dense spruce forest, lifted one twig: well, hello there!

Through this forest window, a clearing in the forest opened up to me, in the middle of it there are two birches, under the birches - a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry, a red russula, such a huge one that I have never seen in my life. She was so old that the edges of her, as happens only with russula, wrapped up.

And from this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water. It made my heart happy.

Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - in water. And head up so that a drop in the throat passes.

“Drink, drink!” squeaks another bird from the birch.

There was a leaf on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. Here the bird will peck, the water will tremble, and the leaf will go on a spree. And I see everything from the window and rejoice and do not hurry: how much does the bird need, let him get drunk, we have enough!

One got drunk, flew to the birch. Another went down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one that got drunk, on top of her:

“Drink, drink!”

I came out of the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch to another.

But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with alarm, and I understood them so that one asked:

“Drink?”

Another replied:

“Will not drink!”

I understood that they were talking about me and about a plate of forest water: one thought - "drink", the other argued - "won't drink."

- I'll drink, I'll drink! I told them out loud.

They squeaked their own even more often: “Drink, drink.”

But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water.

Of course, it could be done very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for himself. With such a mushroom knife, he would carefully cut the russula, lift it to himself, drink water, and slam the hat he did not need from the old mushroom right there on the tree.

What a daring!

And I think it's just stupid. Think for yourself how I could do this if two birds got drunk from an old mushroom before my eyes, and you never know who drank without me, and here I myself, dying of thirst, will now get drunk, and after me it will rain again, and again everyone will drink. And there, seeds will ripen in the mushroom - spores, the wind will pick them up, scatter them through the forest for the future ...

Apparently, there is nothing to do. I grunted, grunted, sank down on my old knees and lay on my stomach. Out of necessity, I say, I bowed to the russula.

And the birds! Birds play their own;

“Will he drink or not drink?”

“No, comrades,” I said to them, “do not argue any more now: now I have reached and have a drink.”

So it was okay, when I lay down on my stomach, my parched lips met just with the cold lips of the fungus. But just to take a sip, I see in front of me in a golden boat made of birch leaf, on its thin cobweb, a spider descends into a flexible saucer. Either he wanted to swim, or he needs to get drunk.

- How many of you are here, who want to! I told him. - Well, you ...

And in one breath he drank the whole forest bowl to the bottom.

Perhaps, out of pity for my friend, I remembered the old mushroom and told you. But the story about the old mushroom is only the beginning of my big story about the forest. Further will be about what happened to me when I drank living water.

These will be miracles not like in a fairy tale about living water and dead water, but real ones, as they are performed everywhere and everywhere and at every moment of our life, but only often we, having eyes, do not see them, having ears, we do not hear.
————————————————————
Stories by M.M. Prishvin about nature and
animals. Read for free online

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Target:

Introduce children to the story of the writer M. M. Prishvin
Develop fluent, expressive reading, observation, research, continue work on coherent speech.
Cultivate interest and love for nature.

Equipment:

Portrait of a writer, crossword about mushrooms, a set of postcards.
Mushrooms, a proverb about mushrooms “They look for mushrooms - they roam the forest”
TSO "Voices of Birds"

During the classes

I organizational moment

Warm-up. Let the books of friends come into the houses

Read all your life - get smart.

II Work with a crossword puzzle.

The man went into the pine forest,
Found a slug
Quit sorry
Eat raw. (breast)

He was hidden deep
One, two, three and out
And he stands in sight
White, I'll find you! (Borovik)

Golden -
Very friendly sisters.
They wear red berets
Autumn is brought to the forest in summer. (chanterelles)

In the birch grove
The namesakes met. (boletus)

Along forest paths
Lots of white legs
In colorful hats
From afar conspicuous
Pick it up, don't hesitate... (Russula)

What word did you read? (mushrooms)

Which writer and in which story wrote about mushrooms? (Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin in the story “The Old Mushroom”)

III. Reading part I of the story

What person's life is the writer's story about?
Where and by whom did his friend work?
Find a portrait of this person?
Why did the boy call him an old mushroom?
Where do mushrooms grow?

Work in the centers

It is known that the main collection of mushrooms is the forest. The Karaganda region is the largest in Kazakhstan in terms of area, but there are not much more than 100 thousand hectares of forests here.

A good harvest of edible mushrooms occurs in the Karkaraly forests and in the tracts. Mushrooms are found here: mushrooms, mushrooms, volnushki and russula, as well as tubular - boletus, boletus.

There are many steppe mushrooms on the territory of the region - white steppe and champignons.

Mushrooms also grow in our places, especially a lot of them at the cattle bases, in the wintering places of livestock.

There are almost 100 thousand species of mushrooms in the world. About 300 species of edible mushrooms grow in Russia. It is very important to learn to distinguish edible mushrooms from inedible ones.

How do mushrooms grow?

Mushrooms are not plants. They belong to a separate kingdom, the same as the kingdoms of animals and plants.

The mushroom itself looks like a cobweb, the mycelium - mycelium - is hidden deep underground.

If you carefully unscrew the mushroom familiar to us from the ground, at the base of its legs you can see very thin whitish threads (hyphae). This is part of the mushroom. And what we collect in the forest is not the mushrooms themselves, but their fruiting bodies, with the help of which these masters of disguise spread their “seeds” - spores. Fungal spores are very small. You can only see them under a microscope.

1. Why did M. M. Prishvin call the story “The Old Mushroom”? (He compared the life and deeds of his friend, who gave his knowledge and work to the younger generation, and the old mushroom, like a plant, continues the reproduction of young mushrooms).

IV Reading Part II

2. Find a description of the russula.

3. What other mushrooms did the mushroom picker pick?

Each mushroom has its own place in the forest. The boletus and boletus like to grow near “their” trees - birches and aspens. Mushrooms prefer low grass at the edge of the forest. And russula, which in no case should be eaten raw, are easily visible by their bright hats. The fastest way to collect mushrooms, they are always in sight - on stumps and near the roots of trees.

But the main thing that every mushroom picker should remember is to collect only those mushrooms that are well known to him.

Champignon- edible. It is often confused with the pale grebe. But in the toadstool the plates under the hat are white, and in the champignon they are pink or black. Champignons are very nutritious.

Green russula a bit like the most dangerous mushroom - pale grebe. The venom of the pale grebe is similar to that of a snake. It persists even after prolonged cooking. These mushrooms are not eaten even by worms. But few people know that pale toadstool roses were used in the old days to fight a terrible disease - cholera.

The bright color of the fly agaric warns that it is poisonous. Fly agaric poison causes suffocation, fainting. It is used as a fly killer. They treat sick moose.

line contains a toxin - pyromithrin, which causes severe pain in the stomach.

At the most valuable white- there are dangerous twins. If you break the cap of the porcini mushroom, it will not change its color, and the cap of the werewolves of the bile and satanic mushrooms will first turn red and then turn black.

Conclusion:

1) What are mushrooms? (edible and non-edible)

2) What are the benefits of mushrooms? (It is not necessary to destroy poisonous mushrooms, their mycelium braids the roots of trees and supplies them with moisture.)

So we collected edible mushrooms in a basket, and left the inedible ones in the forest for sanitation.

3) What are useful edible mushrooms? (They contain a lot of proteins, fats, mineral salts useful for humans, phosphoric acid, vitamins A 1, B 1, B 2, C, D. Mushrooms are also rich in extractive and aromatic substances, thanks to which mushroom dishes have a good taste. Edible mushrooms dried, marinated, salted, canned.

Russian language center

1. How to understand the meaning of a proverb?

They are looking for mushrooms - they are prowling through the forest.

2. Find out the name of the mushrooms from the description.

The first mushroom is both white and black, the second is red, the third is yellowish, and the fourth is with a pale brown hat.

(according to the second word, pick up words with the same root, highlight the root)

Raincoat

Upon learning that this is a mushroom, many are surprised: what kind of mushroom? The mushroom should have a leg and a hat, but here it’s just a white ball. Still, it's a mushroom. Raincoat. It is called so because it usually appears after ...

What can you tell about this mushroom (according to Yu. Dmitriev)

It appears in May after rain. These mushrooms are eaten very young, and if they outgrow, they become poisonous. In Italy, this mushroom is preferred to all other edible mushrooms.

V Selective reading.

1. What season does M. M. Prishvin describe in the story?

2. When else can you pick mushrooms? (spring, summer, autumn)

3. How did he pick mushrooms?

Mushroom Quiz

What forest plants can replace meat? (mushrooms, porcini mushrooms and champignons are the most valuable in terms of nutritional value)
Can a mushroom eat a house? (Maybe it's a house fungus that destroys wood)
What birds eat mushrooms? (grouse)
This mushroom has many names: grandfather's tobacco, Galkin's bath, damn tobacco. What is the real name of the mushroom? (mushroom-raincoat)
Which mushrooms appear first? (morels, lines)
What are the colorful mushrooms called? (russula)

Science Center

Which mushrooms do not grow in soil?

"Tea mushroom"

The drink of this fungus is used as a soft drink and as a home remedy for lack of appetite, low acidity, headaches, and stomach problems. In medicine, it is noted that this infusion or tea kvass retards the growth of some bacteria and kills others. Doctors recommend gargling them with a sore throat. In nature, this kombucha is known. This is a cohabitation (symbiosis) of three microorganisms: a yeast fungus - Torul, acetic acid and gluconic bacteria. The film of kombucha is layered as it grows. If desired, these layers are separated, placed in a wide glass jar and poured with sugared tea solution and settled water - (100 grams of sugar per 1 liter of water). This infusion gradually turns into a pleasant drink. The film continues to grow and stick to the surface because the carbon dioxide produced by the yeast lifts it up. The infusion should be changed every 5-6 days in winter and 2-3 days in summer. The mushroom should be washed with boiled water in winter after 2-3 weeks, and in summer after 1-2 weeks. You can not drink the infused infusion. Cold and strong light slow down the growth of kombucha.

Mushrooms bring us both benefit and harm. Many cap mushrooms and cultural molds (in cheese) are edible, but there are also extremely poisonous species. Some fungi, such as Aspergillus, cause diseases in plants and animals, while others produce the antibiotics we need. Yeast is used in baking and brewing.

Fungi live at the expense of other organisms. These mushrooms grow on a tree. They penetrate into it with hundreds of thin filaments of mycelium (they are called hyphae), which digest the nutrients of the tree and absorb them.

Conclusion. What should each person observe in order to be healthy?

Alexander Fleming

This is one of the scientists who have brought humanity the greatest benefit. He was born in Scotland in 1881 and was a professor of medicine at the University of London.

Fleming became world famous for his discovery of penicillin. Quite by chance, he discovered that the mold destroyed the colony of bacteria - the causative agents of the infectious disease that he studied. He decided that since the mold was able to destroy the bacteria, it could be used to treat diseases caused by these bacteria. The scientist began work and managed to get a substance with antibiotic properties from the mold; since this type of mold bore the Latin name Penicillium Notatum, Fleming called the new substance “penicillin”. He received the Nobel Prize in Medicine in 1945 and died in 1995. Mankind is grateful to Alexander Fleming, as his discovery helped save the lives of many people.

Center for Mathematics

1) Do you know?

Squirrel harvests up to 600 g of dry mushrooms for the winter.

The boletus grows faster than all tubular mushrooms - 4-5 cm per day.

Every year, more than two tons of needles, leaves, cone branches and bark fall on a hectare of forest. All this is processed by mushrooms, mainly raincoats.

During the Great Patriotic War, when field hospitals did not have enough dressing material, nurses collected tinder fungi - they successfully replaced cotton wool.

2) Solution of the problem.

The sun sheds light on the earth.
Ryzhik is hiding in the grass,
Near right there in yellow dresses
There are twelve other brothers.
I hid them all in a box.
Suddenly I look - butterflies in the grass,
And fifteen of those oil
They are already in the box.
And your answer is ready
How many mushrooms did I find?

A task: Tosya, Frosya and Lusya are coming out of the forest, carrying mushrooms.

The can is not carried by Tosya. Frosya is carrying a basket. Lusya and Frosya hold on to one hand. Which one is Tosya?

Who is Frosya? Who is Lucy?

Who did he see? What did the birds and the mushroom picker want? (Birds who wanted to drink. They argued whether a person would drink water from a russula hat)

Creativity Center.

Dramatization of the fairy tale by V. Dahl to the phono-chrestomathy “Voices of Birds”.

STORY

B. Yes eh

In the red summer, there is a lot of everything in the forest - and all kinds of mushrooms and all kinds of berries: strawberries with blueberries, and raspberries with blackberries, and black currants. Girls walk through the forest, pick berries, sing songs, and a boletus mushroom, sitting under an oak tree, and puffing up, pouting, rushing out of the ground, angry at the berries: “Look, they were born! It used to be that we were honored, respected, but now no one will look at us! Wait, - thinks the boletus, the head of all mushrooms, - we, mushrooms, are a great force - we will bend down, strangle it, sweet berry!

The boletus conceived and made a war, sitting under an oak tree, looking at all the mushrooms, and he began to call the mushrooms, began to call for help:

Go you, volushki, go to war!

Waves refused:

We are all old women, not guilty of war.

Go, you bastards!

Refused mushrooms:

Our legs are painfully thin, let's not go to war!

Hey morels! - shouted mushroom-boletus. - Equip for war!

Morels refused, th they say:

We are old men, so where are we going to war!

The mushroom got angry, the boletus got angry, and he shouted in a loud voice:

Milk mushrooms, you guys are friendly, go fight with me, beat the puffy berry!

Mushrooms with loaders responded:

We are milk mushrooms, brothers are friendly, we go with you to war, to forest and field berries, we will throw our hats on it, we will trample it with the fifth!

Having said this, the milk mushrooms climbed together from the ground, a dry leaf rises above their heads, a formidable army rises.

“Well, be in trouble,” the green grass thinks.

And at that time Aunt Varvara came into the forest with a box - wide pockets. Seeing the great cargo force, she gasped, sat down and, well, took the mushrooms in a row and put them in the back. I collected it full-full, forcibly brought it home, and at home I dismantled the fungi by birth and by rank: volnushki - into tubs, honey mushrooms - into barrels, morels - into beetroots, mushrooms - into boxes, and the largest boletus mushroom got into mating; it was pierced, dried, and sold.

Since that time, the mushroom has ceased to fight with the berry.

Music Center

“Mushroom ditties”

chocolate papakha,
White silk uniform
Looking at it, the honey agaric gasped:
Real commander.

Don't play you bastards
Before dark with Vanyusha hide and seek,
Do Vanya the honor -
There is a place in the box!

How old are you, you bastard!
You look like an old man.
The fungus surprised me:
My age is only two days!
G. Zaleskaya

They sang ditties about mushrooms,
Gathered them all in the forest
And they came home, cooked, ate
And filled up with proteins.

VI Reading the last paragraph of the story

What did the writer want to teach us? (Protect and protect the forest and those who live in it)
What rules must a person follow?
Who benefits from the mushroom?

Conclusion. What rules should a person know while in the forest?

Summarizing your answers, we can say that the forest is the property of the people.

“The forest is a house for its inhabitants”

Summary of the lesson.

The musician would confess: “Thank you, forests, for your trees, which, having heard a lot of birdsong and then turning into flutes, dombras, pianos, delight the hearts of people with their melodies.”

A doctor would say: "Forests are people's health."

The forester would sum up our conversation like this: “As you can see, everyone needs forests. But in order for the forest wealth to become the property of our descendants, instead of one cut down tree, two should be planted. Forests are not only a source of raw materials, but also an invaluable decoration of our planet.”

Presentation of the centers (highlight the best work of one of the centers).

We had a revolution in 1905. Then my friend was in the prime of his youth and fought on the barricades on Presnya. Strangers, meeting with him, called him brother.

“Tell me, brother,” they will ask him, “where.”

They will name the street, and the “brother” will answer where this street is.

The first world war came in 1914, and I hear him say:

- Father, tell me.

They began to call not brother, but father.

The Great October Revolution has come. My friend had white silver hair in his beard and on his head. Those who knew him before the revolution met now, looked at the white and silver hair and said:

- What are you, father, began to trade in flour?

“No,” he answered, “silver.” But it's not that.

His real business was to serve society, and he was also a doctor and treated people, and he was also a very kind person and helped everyone who turned to him for advice. And so, working from morning until late at night, he lived for fifteen years under Soviet rule.

I hear one day someone stops him on the street:

- Grandpa, Grandpa, tell me.

And my friend, the former boy, with whom we sat on the same bench in the old gymnasium, became a grandfather.

So time passes, time just flies, you won’t have time to look back.

Okay, I continue about the other. White and white our grandfather, and so finally comes the day of the great holiday of our victory over the Germans. And grandfather, having received an honorary invitation card to Red Square, goes under an umbrella and is not afraid of rain. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and see there, behind a chain of policemen, around the entire square, troops - well done to well done. Dampness around from the rain, and you look at them, how they stand, and it becomes as if the weather is very good.

“And why are you going, old mushroom?”

I felt offended, I confess, I was very angry here and grabbed this boy by the scruff of the neck. He escaped, jumped like a hare, looked back on the jump and fled.

The parade on Red Square ousted both the boy and the “old mushroom” from my memory for a while. But when I came home and lay down to rest, the “old mushroom” came back to me again. And so I said to the invisible mischief-maker:

Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old one sows the spores of the future and lives for other, new mushrooms.

And I remembered one russula in the forest, where I constantly pick mushrooms. It was towards autumn, when birches and aspens begin to pour down golden and red patches on young Christmas trees.

The day was warm and even parky, when the mushrooms come up from the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything clean, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from the same place, he collects again: you take, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing.

This was such a mushroom, parky day now. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I collected all sorts of rubbish in my basket: russula, redheads, boletus - and there were only two white mushrooms. If mushrooms were real mushrooms, I, an old man, would bend down for a black mushroom! But what to do, bow to the need and russula.

It was very parko, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I wanted to drink to death.

And I hear somewhere behind a frequent spruce forest a gray bird squeaks:

- Drink, drink!

It happens that before the rain a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink:

- Drink, drink!

“Fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you.”

He looked at the sky, and where to wait for rain: a clear sky above us, and steam from the earth, like in a bathhouse.

What to do here, how to be?

And the bird also squeaks in its own way:

- Drink, drink!

Here I chuckled to myself that that's what an old man I am, I've lived so much, seen so much everything in the world, learned so much, and here it's just a bird, and we have one desire.

“Come on,” I said to myself, “I’ll take a look at my comrade.”

I advanced cautiously, noiselessly through the dense spruce forest, lifted one twig: well, hello there!

Through this forest window, a clearing in the forest opened up to me, in the middle of it there are two birches, under the birches a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry, a red russula, such a huge one that I have never seen in my life. She was so old that the edges of her, as happens only with russula, wrapped up.

And from this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water.

It made my heart happy.

Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - in water. And head up so that a drop in the throat passes.

- Drink, drink! - another bird from the birch squeaks to her.

One got drunk, flew to the birch. Another went down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one that got drunk is on top of her.

- Drink, drink!

I came out of the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch to another.

But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with anxiety, and I understood them so that I was the only one who asked.

- Will he drink?

Another replied:

- Don't drink!

I understood that they were talking about me and one thought about a plate of forest water - "drink", the other argued - "won't drink."

- I'll drink, I'll drink! I told them out loud.

They squealed their “drink-drink” even more often.

But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water.

Of course, it could be done very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for himself. With such a mushroom knife, he would carefully cut the russula, lift it up to him, drink water, and he would immediately press the hat he did not need from the old mushroom on the tree.

What a daring!

And I think that's just stupid. Think for yourself how I could do this if two birds got drunk from an old mushroom before my eyes, and you never know who drank without me, and here I myself, dying of thirst, will now get drunk, and after me it will rain again, and again everyone will drink. And there, seeds will ripen in the mushroom - spores, the wind will pick them up, scatter them through the forest for the future.

Apparently, there is nothing to do. I grunted, grunted, sank down on my old knees and lay on my stomach. Out of necessity, I say, I bowed to the russula.

And the birds! The birds are playing.

Drink or not drink?

“No, comrades,” I told them, “now don’t argue anymore, now I have reached and have a drink.”

It happened so well that when I lay down on my stomach, my parched lips met just with the cold lips of the fungus. But just to take a sip, I see in front of me in a golden boat made of birch leaf, on its thin cobweb, a spider descends into a flexible saucer. Either he wanted to swim, or he needs to get drunk.

- How many of you are here who want to! I told him. - Well, you.

And in one breath he drank the whole forest bowl to the bottom.

We had a revolution in 1905. Then my friend was in the prime of his youth and fought on the barricades on Presnya. Strangers, meeting with him, called him brother.

“Tell me, brother,” they will ask him, “where.”

They will name the street, and the “brother” will answer where this street is.

The first world war came in 1914, and I hear him say:

- Father, tell me.

They began to call not brother, but father.

The Great October Revolution has come. My friend had white silver hair in his beard and on his head. Those who knew him before the revolution met now, looked at the white and silver hair and said:

- What are you, father, began to trade in flour?

“No,” he answered, “silver.” But it's not that.

I hear one day someone stops him on the street:

- Grandpa, Grandpa, tell me.

And my friend, the former boy, with whom we sat on the same bench in the old gymnasium, became a grandfather.

So time passes, time just flies, you won’t have time to look back.

Okay, I continue about the other. White and white our grandfather, and so finally comes the day of the great holiday of our victory over the Germans. And grandfather, having received an honorary invitation card to Red Square, goes under an umbrella and is not afraid of rain. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and see there, behind a chain of policemen, around the entire square, troops - well done to well done. Dampness around from the rain, and you look at them, how they stand, and it becomes as if the weather is very good.

“And why are you going, old mushroom?”

I felt offended, I confess, I was very angry here and grabbed this boy by the scruff of the neck. He escaped, jumped like a hare, looked back on the jump and fled.

Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old one sows the spores of the future and lives for other, new mushrooms.

And I remembered one russula in the forest, where I constantly pick mushrooms. It was towards autumn, when birches and aspens begin to pour down golden and red patches on young Christmas trees.

The day was warm and even parky, when the mushrooms come up from the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything clean, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from the same place, he collects again: you take, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing.

It was very parko, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I wanted to drink to death.

And I hear somewhere behind a frequent spruce forest a gray bird squeaks:

- Drink, drink!

It happens that before the rain a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink:

- Drink, drink!

“Fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you.”

He looked at the sky, and where to wait for rain: a clear sky above us, and steam from the earth, like in a bathhouse.

What to do here, how to be?

And the bird also squeaks in its own way:

- Drink, drink!

Here I chuckled to myself that that's what an old man I am, I've lived so much, seen so much everything in the world, learned so much, and here it's just a bird, and we have one desire.

“Come on,” I said to myself, “I’ll take a look at my comrade.”

I advanced cautiously, noiselessly through the dense spruce forest, lifted one twig: well, hello there!

And from this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water.

It made my heart happy.

Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - in water. And head up so that a drop in the throat passes.

- Drink, drink! - another bird from the birch squeaks to her.

One got drunk, flew to the birch. Another went down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one that got drunk is on top of her.

- Drink, drink!

I came out of the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch to another.

But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with anxiety, and I understood them so that I was the only one who asked.

- Will he drink?

Another replied:

- Don't drink!

I understood that they were talking about me and one thought about a plate of forest water - "drink", the other argued - "won't drink."

- I'll drink, I'll drink! I told them out loud.

They squealed their “drink-drink” even more often.

But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water.

Of course, it could be done very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for himself. With such a mushroom knife, he would carefully cut the russula, lift it up to him, drink water, and he would immediately press the hat he did not need from the old mushroom on the tree.