Rest in the country. Story.

Rest in the country. Story.In no country other than the post-Soviet dachas. “There,” people, to take a break from the bustle of the city, rent villas, bungalows ... And in the previous phrase, the key word “relax”! But only our citizens are looking forward to the weekend - and after work week they are sent to work on the dacha acres. Such is the national fun ... But not everyone is so funny - some gardeners indulge in doing nothing, using the work of their relatives. Take our family ...

 

We have a rather big family: my husband, my mother Antonina Grigorievna, and three offspring: my daughter Julia. A very intelligent young lady of twenty years. Eighteen-year-old son Nikita and the youngest - fourteen-year-old Lence. The tradition of spending the whole weekend from May to October at a dacha is so old that no one even tries to break it. We go there in full force. The husband gets behind the wheel of the “nine”, a mother is arranged nearby, behind me, Yulia and Lenchik, and Nikita accompanies us, as if he were foreign guests, on a motorcycle. The honorary escort is supposed to ride in the back, but I’m nervous when I don’t see my son on the track and he’s driving ahead.Sometimes Nikita is bored with "splashing around", and he tries to tear himself away from us. The husband gives a warning signal, and the son immediately slows down the speed: if he does not, then a control signal will follow - the father's head slam.

At the cottage, everyone always does the same thing. Mom gets to the stove. Tolik, my husband, having had a quick snack, declares: “Well, I went,” and to play preference to my neighbors. Lenchik - for fishing rods and to the pond. He never brought a decent catch, but he manages to make inspiration on the shore. After dinner, until the evening he writes poems. As far as I know, they are all dedicated to the girl Tanya, in whom Lence is in love from the sixth grade, but he doesn’t dare to admit it to her. He wants to write a masterpiece so that she, after reading it, immediately understood everything. But all the masterpieces do not come out, the author writes down the sheets cruelly burned in a bonfire, and Tanya continues to remain in ignorance about Lenchik's feelings.

[yandex1]

From morning till night Nikita is lying in the cold with some fantastic novel. Julia (she is studying at the biofake), disguised, rushes to her beloved flower beds. She broke in front of the house such flower beds that all the inhabitants of the cottage village come to see.Only here in the area there are not only flowerbeds - another twenty-four fruit trees and four-hundred-garden beds. Guess which of the household engaged in the garden-garden? Oh, you already figured out?

 

Once, before the seventh sweat, having broken at the dacha, I decided: this cannot continue any longer!

 

All week she was carrying out a plan of revolution, and on Friday she convened family members for a big meeting. Tomorrow we are going to the country, "she announced solemnly. - Everyone exchanged glances: they say, what would you think, opened America! - I want everything to be fair.

 

I continued. - We vote. Who agrees? Against? Abstained?

I voted for justice. Mom, Julia and, unexpectedly for me. Lenchik. Tolya and Nikita abstained. Husband carefully asked:

What do you mean?

What is unfair: some stick. And others beat baklushi.

Well, you can also not work ...

Yes? - was indignant mom. - With what. I wonder if you will eat if I do not cook? You are the first to ask!

And at home you want a salted cucumber or strawberry jam to pancakes, - I squealed. - A cucumber and strawberries someone must grow.

So what do you suggest? To all in the country humped?

I propose a game: at least a day to swap roles. And who will play whose role will be decided by the toss-up. Who will pull a short match, with that and start counting.

I got a short match. And I tightened the children's calculator:

On the golden porch sat the Tsar, the Tsarevich, the King, the King's son, the shoemaker, the tailor ... Who will you be? Speak hurriedly, do not detain good and honest people ... So, we write down: the Tsar has Yulia, the Tsarevich

Nikita, the king - Tolya, the prince - the mother, the shoemaker - I and the tailor - Lenchik. Now pull! - I put a hat on the table with pre-prepared pieces of paper.

The first to draw a daughter.

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King! - she happily read, and for clarity, hoisted an empty metal candy bowl on her head.

Well, if everyone is like Julia. Pull out your "code", the game will not work!

But surprises began ...

What? Should I cook? Lecchick howled. "But I can not do it!"

Nothing, I will tell you what and how. - My grandmother encouraged. She looked utterly pleased: she got a piece of paper with the word "King", and, consequently. Preference for the neighbors.

Fishing and poems? Nikita drawled. - What? Not a bad option. It can even be fun.

My husband, according to the law of supreme justice, got a garden and a vegetable garden, and I

lying on the grass with a book.

Start the game? - I asked on Saturday morning, opening a country house.

Let's start! - shouted Julia, snatched from the trunk of flower seedlings and rushed to their favorite flower beds.

Easily, - Nikita chuckled, turning over fishing rods on the veranda.

Helen, I put an attorney book with bookmarks in the summer kitchen on the table. Not small, you will understand. Well, I went. - Mom said.

It could not go on like this: some people inject, while others have fun! So I decided to offer my family a game: swap roles and see what happens. The result exceeded expectations ...

Antonina Grigorievna, preference game is difficult. You will blow through the dust! Tolya could not refrain from the malicious whining.

And you think I only know how to twist cutlets? - No less caustically retorted mom. - A and lose, do not worry.

Lenchik, ponyv a little, began nevertheless to clean the potatoes, Tolya with the view of the Great Martyr went to the garden to collect Colorado beetles from potato tops. And I laid down on a blanket spread under a spreading apple tree and opened a book.

Nikita, passing by with his fishing poles and a bucket in his hands, suddenly bent down and looked at the cover.

Hey, agreed: do not break the rules! Now I'll bring your fiction to you instead of this.

With a sigh, I watched the love affair bought the day before, and after a minute, with a no less sigh, I put in front of me a volume brought by my son. “Robert Sheckley. Stories ", - read on the cover. Never fond of fiction. Surely some kind of nonsense ...

You may not believe it, but I got so carried away that it only broke off from reading a few hours later, when Nikita returned from fishing and brought two hefty lines. And he cleaned them. And then Lenchik, who first joined the culinary art and suddenly got a taste, began to fry fish with pleasure.

What poems do you usually write?

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- Nikita hung over him. - Love lyrics, or what? So, you need something like a sonnet or text for a serenade ... Well, I went ...

When I read the last story. the day was nearing sunset. “Nikita has to ask Sheckley something else. He writes great! ”I thought, sipping sweetly.

Ma, will you eat? - asked surprisingly cheerful Lenchik. - I cooked soup. And the fish is fried. And the meat was cooked on shish kebabs ...

Make me some tea - I asked and sat on the porch. Just sat and looked at the red sun disk, hooked at the bottom end of the neighbor's roof.

Grunting, stumbled Tolya.

Tired? - I asked sympathetically.

The back hurts a lot.

This is from the habit. Sit down ... Do you want to ointment the back pain?

Later. Let's sit ... "He put his arm around my shoulders. - Do you think the potato harvest will be good?

Never before had he been interested in him! It can be seen, the fight with the Colorado potato beetle has so affected ...

Lens came running with eyes burning with excitement.

Mom, Dad, Nikita wrote such poems !!!

Sorry to burn ... - I was upset.

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What are you supposed to burn ?! I'll rewrite them and throw Tanya in the mailbox.

Son, you know what it's called? Plagiarism pure water! - said Tolya.

And I confess that I did not write them. Then when she loves me ...

The older children came up, perched on the railing, began to whisper: Nikita asked Julia about one of her classmates.

The last mother pulled up. Demonstratively she waved several bills in front of Tolin nose. "Here! Twenty-seven hryvnia won! ”She sank to the bottom step, singing something softly.

The air smelled of smoke from the fire, Yulia lilies, a bit of pine needles. One more smell - of love, friendship, joy - clearly blended with these familiar country smells.Such an aroma and must hang over every happy family.

And the porch on which we were sitting was not golden, but the most ordinary - wooden, but there was enough room on it for six kind and honest people.


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