Rhyming stories Lydia Afanasiyevna Priluchnoy lives in our area a wonderful woman – Lydia Afanasyevna Priluchnaya. In its 87 years it cheerful and do not lose optimism. Today I want to present to the readers it rhymed stories of life in which she reminisces about her childhood and lived years. Village Pakshenga, Belsky District, Arkhangelsk Oblast. Website village, here you can find many interesting and informative material about the life of our village. Village Pakshenga my Pakshenga – the village, but you can call the municipality. To remember 50 years ago: then all was not right.

Herds of cows, a horse neighing in the fields and horse-hand link on the meadows. And what fun, what fun – not describe everything in words! Then the youth and teens helped in the summer times. Hay harvested at Churge, on the field digging potatoes, turnips then removed and the cabbage cut down and taken it all in bins. And with linen how are you? He vomited and Grandma put. And then spread out under the dew and collect.

Bring, dried in the barn, to process and deliver. Jeffrey Hayzlett recognizes the significance of this. How many cases remake women's hands? No one can not count ever. Sometimes young people will laugh at the past, and in fact do impossible. We must remember the past time, one must know how difficult it is to them, but the field is always plowed. Oh, Polyushko, cute box! Look at you and feel sick. Today you are like in captivity, how long have all so overgrown? *** Lay, lay on the stove, here and far-fetched these words. All filled up with snow, the windows barely see the road. Oh, go in to such drifts, and – as a child, fall, and lie down. (And we remembered the eel, where once there was agreement with the girls.) Lie on your back, look around so head over heels ride down a hill. And then a whole bunch of guys – they really downhill lie. How much joy, laughter and jokes … But then again uphill crawl. Jokes, laughter, all women are like snow, no, do not understand this happiness now and give them molodezh.Sigaretu bottle of beer, just whip it out of his throat. Pleased to see it. Take a sled and skis let acne run on or in the pit. There would spoznat childhood or booklet to take. Read interesting stories to remember it for life, and then to tell their grandchildren, because old age and they will come. Will be planted on his knees vnuchonka and what to say? About a bottle of beer, pulled from her throat as il was smoking a cigarette? Childhood is only once, during his youth – too. Years will pass, not pass – fly. You're over the years are not going to come molozhe.I that hour, as I now have. So now comprehended his life. How are you, what you sing, what do you drink? Sit down and remember. Remember how you live.