E. Shim Tales found in the grass. Stories and fairy tales Eduard Shim who can read what

A story by E. Yu. Shim for reading in elementary school, a story about Frost, who wants to quickly come into his own.

You're all screwed. Author: E.Y. Shim

Morozko walked through the forest for the first time and got his feet wet. There were still autumn puddles on the ground, there was plenty of water in the swamps, and the forest lakes even overflowed their banks due to the rains.

And Morozka’s feet are in felt boots. Unable to spank.

Morozko sneezed and sniffled. And then he got angry and started slapping each other with his mittens. When it pops, the ice cap is ready.

I made little lids for the puddles.

For swamps - more cover.

For ponds and lakes - very large covers of strong green ice.

Morozko took them in his arms and went to seal the water.

“Now,” he says, “I’ll cover up all this slush.”

He leaned over the puddle and tried on the lid. And from the puddle faint voices:

- Morozko, Morozko, don’t seal the puddle, don’t lower the lid!

It looks frosty, and the puddle is full of all kinds of living creatures: there are swimming beetles, and water-loving beetles, and whirling beetles, there are water spiders, fleas and larvae... They scurry and fuss!

I tried it on - bang! - and instantly sealed the puddle.

“Now,” he says, “I’ll pick up the lid here too!”

- Morozko, Morozko, don’t lower the lid, don’t seal the swamp!

Lo and behold, there are a lot of inhabitants here: frogs, newts, snails swarming around.

- Enough! - said Morozko. - They've outlived it. You're all screwed!

I tried it on - bang! - and instantly sealed the swamp. It goes further. I went out to the lake.

“Now,” he says, “I’ll find the biggest lid!”

- Morozko, Morozko, don’t lower the lid, don’t seal the lake!

Lo and behold, the lake is full of fish. There are pikes, perches, minnows, all kinds of small fry, young fingerlings.

- Enough! - said Morozko. - They've outlived it! You're all screwed!

I tried it on, took aim - bang! - and a thick ice cover lay on the lake.

- Like this! - Morozko says. - Now my time is to walk through the forests and fields. If I want, I’ll have mercy, but if I want, I’ll destroy everyone.

Morozko boasts, walks through the forest, crunches the ice, taps on the trees.

- I am the only ruler here!

And little did Morozka know that all the water inhabitants remained alive and well.

The beetles and larvae sank to the bottom and buried themselves in the soft mud.

The frogs buried themselves in the mud, the snails closed the entrance to the shell with limestone doors.

The fish found a deeper hole, lay down in a row, and slept.

And for those who do not sleep, people made a hole in the ice.

“Breathe for yourself,” they say, “for your health!”

Of course, life under the ice is not very fun. But nothing. You can hold out until spring.

And when spring comes, he will print out all Morozkin’s caps!

Eduard Yurievich Shim (the writer's real name is Schmidt) was born in 1930. During the war, he ended up in evacuation, and then in an orphanage.

He started working as a teenager, was a carpenter, a turner, a driver, and even a gardener; he loved to make fancy crafts with his hands. He graduated from the Leningrad School of Architecture and Art and worked in a design bureau. When he became truly interested in literature, he began writing stories about nature, published in children’s magazines “Murzilka”, “Pioneer”, and joined the editorial board of the thick magazine “Znamya”.

Micro-stories and fairy tales by Eduard Shim are simple and unpretentious, usually these are dialogues of herbs and trees with an inquisitive person who shares his discoveries and knowledge, admires the familiar, believing that “beavers, trees, herbs, and flowers are our brothers, because they all have a common cradle – the Earth.”

Who is this man? Mainly hunter, herb gatherer, forester. For a writer, forests and fields are closer to home. The author of the stories knows how to look into the eyes of a dewy morning and hear how a snowflake breaks as it falls on a thin birch branch.

E. Shim

The bravest

All around the village the fields are still black, and one of them looks like it’s been covered in green paint. Cheerful sprouts, identical, like military brothers, stretch upward. When did they have time to grow up?

Mom said that this bread was winter rye. It was sown here last spring.

The grains managed to germinate before the frost and raise their green fingers above the ground.

Then they were covered with snow. It must have been cold under the snow. Scary... Dark!

But the sprouts endured, waiting for spring. And as soon as she arrived, we got out from under the snow. But now they are the first to warm up.

The bravest!

Birch

We, birches, are kind housewives. We decorate the earth.

Wherever you go, you will meet us everywhere.

And in the dense forest there are birch trees.

And in the swamp, among the hummocks and mosses.

And on dry soil, on sand, on an old fire, even among stones and boulders, on stone mountains, birch trees took root.

It was the most disastrous, most lost place. And the birch trees came there, stood up - and everything immediately became prettier.

Silk foliage rustles and whispers, birds build nests on the branches, light spills over the ground from the white trunks.

A man will wander in, take a look, and he won’t be able to leave this place.

The beauty bewitched me.

Colored wreath

(excerpt)

I love the rainbow very much - a wonderful arc of joy.

It will spread over the ground like colored gates, sparkle, sparkle - you will admire it! But the rainbow is always far, far away. No matter how much you walk, no matter how much you hurry, you still won’t get close. You can't touch it with your hand.

That’s what I called it – “a distant miracle.”

And suddenly I saw a rainbow in my front garden.

The night rain caused a blue puddle to spill between the ridges. Starlings swam in it. For them, a puddle is as big as a lake. They fearlessly climbed into the middle, fell with their chests into the water, whipped it with speckled wings, and flew up... Splashes over a puddle - a fountain!

And the starlings chatter so desperately that you can immediately understand: wow, what a pleasure it is to have a morning swim!..

And suddenly, above the cheerful starlings, above the blue puddle, a tiny iris lit up in the splashes. It's like a piece of a real big rainbow. And it burns and shimmers with seven-colored fire...

Right here, very close. Just a stone's throw away!

I extended my hand.

The starlings fluttered. The splashes fell and the colors faded.

The iris slipped out of my hands...

But I'm still happy. “That’s how it happens,” I say to myself! You think miracles are far away, you can’t reach them, you can’t get there... But they are here. Near".

Yolkino dress

You make your way through the spruce forest, and the black fir trees are pricking:

Don't touch us!

Just think, it hurt me a little.

And don’t bother me quietly. We take care of our clothes.

What kind of clothes do you have that are so special?

Our green needles are not leaves. They don't change every summer.

So?

A fresh spruce paw has grown, and the needles on it will only be replaced after seven years.

Yes, not soon.

So you have to take care!

Plantain

Guess what kind of doctor Aibolit is sitting by the road?

Plantain.

The grass is so invisible. And invisible, and patient, and tenacious.

It grows wherever it needs to. On a cobblestone road, between stones. On a dry, trampled path where the ground is cracked.

If you step on it, it will endure.

If a cart wheel passes over it, it will endure.

If a truck rolls through the leaves, it will still endure. The leaves will rise, straighten the veins, and smooth out.

Plantain heals itself.

And recently I scratched my leg, and my leg hurt.

Plantain, cure!

Let me cure you.

I picked a plantain leaf and applied it to the sore spot. And everything healed.

Lily of the valley

What flower in our forest is the most beautiful, most delicate, most fragrant?

Of course it's me. Lily of the valley!

What kind of flowers do you have?

My flowers are like snow bells on a thin stem. Look closely, they glow in the twilight.

What's the smell?

The smell is so bad you can't breathe it in!

What do you have on your stem now, in place of the little bells?

Red berries. Beautiful too. What a sight for sore eyes! But don’t touch them, don’t tear them off!

From what?

And they are poisonous!

Why do you, a delicate flower, need poisonous berries?

So that you, sweet tooth, don’t eat!

Little ones are cold

You come across a small Christmas tree in the forest, in the grass. Her crown has turned yellow and her upper legs have turned yellow. It's like they were burned in a fire.

- Christmas tree, was there a fire here?

Did not have.

What happened?

The winter frost burned me.

You? Christmas tree?!

Yes, you are a northern tree. Persistent! Hardy! Are you really afraid of frost?

I'm still small, I'm afraid.

Lingonberry bush

A lingonberry bush pressed against an old rotten stump.

“Don’t rush past,” he says. “Lean towards me.”

Yes, you don't have enough berries.

Don’t be lazy, bend over... There are few berries, because I’m old.

How old are you? As tall as inches! 

So what... I was born a long time ago. When here, in the clearing, the forest was still growing. This was hundreds of years ago...

Hundreds of years?

Hundreds... Young pines rose to the sky. They became giants. The sky was blocked, but I lived. Then the pines grew old and began to dry out. They were cut down. There were short stumps left in the clearing. And I lived.

So, longer than all the trees?

Longer. Now even the stumps in the clearing are rotting. And now new pines are rising...

It turns out that you are their grandfather?

I am their great-grandfather. And I’m still not going to dry out. In winter I hide the green leaves under the snow. In spring I bloom white and pink flowers. There are fewer of them now. But as much as I can, I hand out as many berries to you...

Thank you, great-grandfather!

Cheers, great-grandson.

Spring, red spring...

Answers to page 60

Eduard Shim
What does spring smell like?

Mom said:
- It will smell like spring soon.
I asked:
- Mom, what does spring smell like?
Mom says:
- You'll find out for yourself.
The sun began to shine brightly. Drops fall from the roofs and from transparent icicles. They sparkle in the sun.
I speak:
- Does it smell like spring?
“No,” mom answers. - Spring is still smiling. Early!
Then the snow began to melt. Streams ran. The water in the streams makes a loud noise. The sparrows are chirping. The girls have found a dry path and are jumping over a long rope. They laugh loudly.
I speak:
- Does it smell like spring?
- No, mom answers. - Spring is just giving its voice. Early!
Finally the snow melted. It became warm. We found the first snowdrops in the forest.
Mom smelled them and said:
- Now it smells like real spring.
I put the first spring flowers in a small vase.

1. Think about what E. Shim wrote. Mark + .

+ story, fairy tale, poem.

2. Complete the sentences with words from the text.

The sun is shining brightly - it's spring only still smiling.

The streams are running - it's spring only gives a voice.

Snowdrops have bloomed - this is smells like real spring.

3 ∗ . Read the riddle, underline the rhymes. Draw or write down the answer.

I run to my mother river
_ _ _
And I can’t remain silent.
— — —
I am her own son,
And I was born in the spring.

This is nettle.

The hero of the story by Eduard Shima went to pick raspberries in the bushes, and there he found nettles, which burned all his hands and all his legs incited. Read the story and find out what happened next.

Very harmful nettle

I took a stick and started knocking down the tops of the nettles.

- Here you go!.. Here you go!..

- For what? - asks the grandmother.

- And because it’s harmful!

Grandma laughs.

- Is she really harmful, he says? You can bow to every leaf, every blade of grass and say thank you.

- And nettles?

- And nettles.

- I won’t bow and say thank you!

- And in vain... I’m mowing nettles for a cow, and if the cow chews, it won’t come off. I pull nettles for the rabbits - they will also be happy. And the geese will rejoice at the nettles, and the ducks, and the chickens... And you, warrior, too!

- Why will I be happy?

- When early spring comes, I’ll make you some green cabbage soup from nettles. Do you know which ones?

- Which ones?

- Real jam!

From the general meaning of the story one can guess that the word incited means burned.

The main meaning of this story is that every blade of grass brings benefit, every blade of grass can be worshiped if you know this benefit.

Look at the picture showing a beetle (Fig. 2).

Read another story by Eduard Shim.

Beetle on a string

May beetles gnaw leaves on trees. And the larvae of May beetles, fat caterpillars, gnaw the roots of the trees.

In general, they do as much harm as they can.

We catch these May beetles in a cunning way.

Early in the morning, while it is still cool, the beetles do not fly. They sit on young birch trees, numb.

If you shake the tree, the beetles will fall down, just collect them.

So we collect them in a bucket, and one boy took a beetle and tied it to a string. I wanted to play.

The beetle warmed up, came to life, tried to take off, but the string wouldn’t let go.

A beetle is spinning on a string. We laugh, we have fun.

Suddenly grandfather shouts:

- Stop it now! Found some fun!

The boy who tied the beetle was even offended.

- I know it’s a pest!

- Why do you feel sorry?

- Me?!

- You. Although you are not a beetle, but a person.

Remember how grandfather said: “ Would a good person torture someone for fun? Even beetles like these. Even pests! The main idea of ​​this story is that there is nothing superfluous in nature, so you need to treat nature very carefully and attentively.

Read the dialogue between the grandfather and the boy by role:

“It’s a pest,” he says.

- I know it’s a pest!

- Why do you feel sorry?

“I feel sorry for you,” answers the grandfather!

- Me?! - You. Although you are not a beetle, but a person.

- Why feel sorry for me if I’m human?

- Would a good person torture someone for fun? Even beetles like these. Even pests!

The stories “Very Harmful Nettle” and “Bug on a String” have a lot in common, for example, that they teach to be careful and attentive to nature. They also teach that you need to listen to adults and read in order to know a lot.

Look at the picture (Fig. 4):

Rice. 4. Cover of the book by E. Shima “Stories and Tales about Nature” ()

Looking at the title, tell me, could the stories you read above be in this book? Of course they can, because this is a book by the author Eduard Shim. Take this book from the library and read other stories by this author.

During the war he was evacuated and grew up in an orphanage. From the age of 16, Shim worked, changing many occupations: jack of all trades, carpenter and gardener, turner and driver.

Upon returning to Leningrad, he studied at the art and architectural school. Since 1950 he worked in a design bureau. Then he moved to Moscow.

From 1962 to 1972 he was a member of the editorial board of the Znamya magazine. Began publishing in 1949.

Eduard Shim (Fig. 6) wrote mainly for children and about nature.

Rice. 6. Eduard Shim ()

Eduard Shim died in 2006.

Bibliography

1. Kubasova O.V. Favorite pages: Textbook on literary reading for grade 2, 2 parts. - Smolensk: “21st Century Association”, 2011.

2. Kubasova O.V. literary reading: Workbook for the textbook for grade 2, 2 parts. - Smolensk: “21st Century Association”, 2011.

4. Kubasova O.V. Literary reading: Tests: 2nd grade. - Smolensk: “21st Century Association”, 2011.

Homework

1. Tell how Viktor Dragunsky came up with the idea to create the series “Deniska’s Stories”.

3. Take a book with Dragunsky's stories from the library and read several of them.

He and I sometimes meet in the elevator. Naturally, we gradually became acquainted.

"What's your last name?"

"Shim Eduard Yurievich."

“Ah!.. Is this the same Shim who is the writer?”

“Yes, what’s your last name?”

"Obraztsov Sergey Vladimirovich."

“Ah!.. Are you the same Obraztsov who runs the puppet theater?”

"Right".

From that day on they began to say hello; then I invited Eduard Yuryevich to the premiere, and he gave me his not yet published manuscript to read. I read it and wanted to write a preface to this future book.

Shim asked the publisher. They said: okay, let him write.

So I write.

It's winter outside. The branches of the trees are edged with fluffy sausages of snow. There are two feeders on the balcony railing. One looks like a round house with the same round terrace. It is with millet grain. The other is like a small metal string bag. It contains trimmings of lard.

Busy tree sparrows are constantly hovering around the swinging house, and sometimes, out of nowhere, a nuthatch appears. The two ends are the same, like a spindle. You won’t understand where the head is and where the tail is. It's spicy everywhere.

Tits—coal tits, chickadees, and blue tits—fly to the metal string bag; They hang on a string bag with their backs down and peck at the lard. They get scared of each other, fly away, come back and hang again. They prevent me from writing because it’s always interesting to look at them.

Under the table, at my feet, a stray dog ​​named Lizaveta was curled up like a donut. Her head looks like a fox. Amazing little dog; It’s not even clear how I lived without her until now.

Shim's manuscript is on the table.

Here the titmouse has arrived again. Head to one side, looking at me. And it begins to seem to me that either my tits and sparrows flew out of the manuscript onto the balcony, or they flew straight from the balcony into the manuscript.

Writer Shim is doing a wonderful job, invaluable. Opens children's eyes and souls.

I would really like mothers, fathers, grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles and aunts, older sisters and brothers - in a word, everyone who reads this book to children would understand how important everything that is written in it is.

Let the story have only ten lines. Still important. Because every line is a seed falling into the heart of a child.

A child is born, a person is created.

Created from the first day by everything that surrounds him, Mother's hands, the smell of milk, the blue of the sky, thunder, rain, children's voices.

A person is educated - and not only by his parents and school, but by everything, literally by everything that he perceives. And the most important thing is to teach the child to see, feel and love all living things.

Only in this way can kindness grow in his heart.

Only in this way will curiosity arise and develop in him - the mother of all science.

This is the only way to develop emotion, excitement - the mother of all talent.

Let the child fall in love with Shimov’s goat Matryona, even though she gnawed the brooms.

Let him understand that you cannot torment a beetle by tying it to a string, even if it is a harmful beetle.

Let him love guessing spring by the smell of the earth.

Let him find out how bread grows under the snow - the same bread his mother gives him for dinner.

Let him love life.

A truly detailed life in which the smallest is as beautiful and as amazing as the largest.

Let him be happy because he has learned to both see and feel.

S. Obraztsov

My father went to work on a collective farm. Mom said:

When it smells like spring, we will go too.

And I don’t even know what spring smells like. I don't remember from last year.

Now the sun has begun to warm up, the icicles are crying on the roofs. The sky is high and blue.

I speak:

Does it smell like spring?

No, says mom. - Spring just smiled. Early!

The snow had already become dirty, and streams were gurgling on the roads. Sparrows chatter all day long. Let's open the window - there's a spring noise outside.

I speak:

Does it smell like spring?

Finally, almost all the snow in the city melted. Already warm. At the crossroads they sell spring flowers.

Mom bought a bouquet of snowdrops. They are so blue and have short legs. They weren’t even cut, but pulled out of the ground right with the bulbs and roots.

Mom smelled the snowdrops and said:

Now it smells like real spring... It's time to go!

I sniffed it too. It turned out that snowdrops do not smell like flowers at all. And not green grass and leaves.

Spring smells like ordinary earth.

First we traveled by train, then in a brand new bus.

I climbed into the front seat and looked out the window. I'm still waiting for our village to show up.

Mom said:

You will notice it from afar!

But there is no village in sight yet. The road stretches across fields. And the fields are still black, empty, and tractors are working on them everywhere.

The tractor crawls, and behind it there are even, even furrows, as if the earth had been combed with a comb. I thought: this is why real spring smells like earth! Because the earth has not yet dressed... It just woke up and combed its hair.

Suddenly, far away, on the edge of the black fields, something turned white. It was as if a cloud had descended to the ground.

We drove closer, and I saw that these were birches. There are many of them, and they grow together, in a wide circle. It was as if they were going to lead a round dance.

Well, do you see? - Mom asks. What?

Yes, our village. There he is, on the hill... It glows from afar!

That made me funny!

I’m looking and looking for my village, but it’s hidden behind the birches.

Around the villages the fields are still bare. And one field looks like it’s been filled with green paint. So bright, so cheerful, so festive!

Mom said:

This bread grows.

Green sprouts, identical, like siblings, stick out in bushes and bushes. When did they have time to grow up?

Mom explains: this is winter bread. It was sown before winter, last fall.

Before the cold weather, the grains managed to hatch, germinate and raise bushes of tender green leaves above the ground.

Then they were covered with snow. And they fell asleep for the time being. Blizzards whistled over the field, frost chilled the ground.

But the bread endured.

He felt cold under the snow and in the dark. And for a long, long time the winter did not end...

But he endured the bread and waited for spring. And as soon as she arrived, he immediately came to life and immediately began to grow. Didn't miss the first warmth, didn't hesitate.

He reaches out to the sun and tries!

People are walking along a cheerful green field, they look around and smile:

How good the bread is!

The collective farm foreman met with my grandmother:

I wanted to consult, Anna Stepanovna. Isn't it time to sow early beets?

“I’ll tell you in the evening,” the grandmother answers. - I haven’t gone to the forest yet, I don’t know.

“I see,” says the foreman.

But I don’t understand anything. Not a bit... Why go into the forest to learn about beets? And who should I ask?

Ask the trees,” explains the grandmother. - Ask about flowers, herbs... They will tell you whether spring is early or late. A sign will be given when to sow beets and cucumbers.

What is this sign?

Yes, they are different, signs. “Here,” says the grandmother, “we will sow beets when the aspen blooms on the edges.” This is the best time. And why? Yes, because every vegetable has its time... Beets like soil that is not too cold and not too hot. And such land happens just on those days when the aspen blooms... The aspen will hang catkins, and this is a sign to us, gardeners: “Sow early beets!”