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Stories about animals n Sladova. Sladov's stories for extracurricular reading

Sladkov's stories about forest life. Stories about nature for junior schoolchildren. Stories for students primary classes. Extracurricular reading in grades 1-4. Educational stories about the natural world for schoolchildren.

Nikolay Sladkov. Sly dandelion

They say there is nothing more cunning than the fox and the beast. There may not be an animal, but a dandelion is more cunning than a fox! Looks like a simpleton. But in reality it’s on your own mind. Passion is cunning!

It's cold in the spring, hungry. All the flowers sit in the ground, waiting for their warm hour. And the dandelion has already bloomed! It shines like a clear sun. Since autumn he has stored food in the roots; outdid everyone. Insects rush to his flowers. That’s fine with him: let them pollinate.

The seeds will set, the dandelion will close the bud and, like a cradle with twins, quietly lower the bud down. After all, babies need peace and warmth: let them gain strength by lying quietly on the ground in a warm cradle.

And when the kids grow up, their flying wings grow - it’s time to hit the road, to new lands, to green distances. Now they need height, they need space and wind. And the dandelion again raises its stem, straightens it like an arrow, higher than any anemones, cat paws, woodlice and weeds. Scatter and sprout!

What about a fox: she has four legs, sharp teeth. And the foxes are only five heels old. She would try to raise a hundred children, when instead of legs there is only a root, and instead of teeth there is a stem and a leaf. Neither run away, nor hide, nor dodge. The bug is threatening too. So the dandelion is cunning, without leaving its place. And nothing - it flourishes.

Nikolay Sladkov. Forest hiding places

The forest is thick, green and full of rustles, squeaks, and songs.

But then the hunter entered it - and instantly everything hid and became wary. Like a wave from a stone thrown into the water, anxiety rolled from tree to tree. All for a bush, for a twig - and silence.

Now if you want to see, become invisible yourself; if you want to hear, become inaudible; If you want to understand, freeze.

I know it. I know that from all the forest hiding places quick eyes are watching me, wet noses are catching the streams of wind running from me. There are many animals and birds around. Try to find it!

I came here to see the Scops Owl - a tiny owl, similar to a starling.

All night long she, as if wound up, shouts her: “I’m sleeping! I'm sleeping! I'm sleeping! - as if a forest clock is ticking: “Tick! Teak! Teak! Teak!.."

By dawn the forest clock will begin: the Scops Owl will fall silent and hide. Yes, she hides so cleverly, as if she had never been in the forest.

Who hasn't heard the voice of the Scops Owl - the night hours - but what does it look like? I only knew her from the picture. And I wanted to see her alive so much that I wandered through the forest all day, examining every tree, every branch, looking into every bush. Tired. I'm hungry. But I never found her.

He sat down on an old stump. I'm silent, I'm sitting.

And lo and behold, out of nowhere - a snake! Gray. A flat head on a thin neck, like a bud on a stalk. She crawled out from somewhere and looked into my eyes, as if she was expecting something from me.

The snake is a creeper, it must know everything.

I tell her, like in a fairy tale:

- Snake, snake, tell me where the scops owl hid - the forest clock?

The snake teased me with its tongue and dashed into the grass!

And suddenly, as in a fairy tale, forest hiding places opened up before me.

The snake rustled for a long time in the grass, appeared again at another stump - and wiggled under its mossy roots. She dove, and a large green lizard with a blue head turned out from under them. It was as if someone had pushed her out of there. She rustled on a dry leaf and snuck into someone’s hole.

There is another hiding place in the hole. The owner there is a stupid-faced mouse-vole.

She was frightened by the blue-headed lizard, jumped out of the hole - from the darkness into the light - she rushed and rushed about - and walked under a lying log!

Another squeak and fuss rose under the deck. There was also a hiding place there. And all day long two animals slept in it - dormouse. Two animals that look like squirrels.

Dormouses jumped out from under the log and were stunned with fear. Ruffed tails. They climbed up the trunk. They clicked, but suddenly they became scared again, and they rushed even higher up the trunk with a screw.

And higher up in the trunk there is a hollow.

The little sleepyheads wanted to enter it - and bumped heads at the entrance. They squeaked in pain, both rushed again at once - and then they fell into the hollow together.

And from there - poof! - little hollow devil! The ears on the top of the head are like horns. The eyes are round and yellow. He sat down on a branch, with his back to me, and turned his head so that he was looking straight at me.

Of course, this is not a devil, but a Scops Owl - night hours!

I didn’t have time to blink, she - one! - willow foliage. And there was a fuss and a squeaking sound: someone was also hiding.

So from hollow to hollow, from hole to hole, from log to log, from bush to bush, from crevice to crevice, the forest small fry shy away in fear, revealing to me their secret hiding places. From tree to tree, from bush to bush, like a wave from a stone, anxiety rolls through the forest. And everyone hides: hop-hop behind a bush, behind a twig - and silence.

If you want to see, become invisible. If you want to hear, become inaudible. If you want to find out, hide.

Nikolai Sladkov. Mysterious beast

A cat catches mice, a seagull eats fish, a flycatcher eats flies. Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are.

- Guess who am I? I eat bugs and ants!

I thought and said firmly:

- I didn’t guess! I also eat wasps and bumblebees!

- Yeah! You're a buzzard!

- Don't be a buzzard! I also eat caterpillars and larvae.

— Blackbirds love caterpillars and larvae.

- And I’m not a blackbird! I also gnaw on the antlers shed by moose.

“Then you must be a wood mouse.”

- And not a mouse at all. Sometimes I even eat mice myself!

- Mice? Then, of course, you are a cat.

- Either a mouse or a cat! And you didn't guess right at all.

- Show yourself! - I shouted. And he began to peer into the dark spruce, where the voice was heard.

- I’ll show myself. Just admit yourself defeated.

- It's early! - I answered.

— Sometimes I eat lizards. And occasionally fish.

- Maybe you are a heron?

- Not a heron. I catch chicks and steal eggs from bird nests.

- It looks like you are a marten.

- Don't tell me about the marten. The marten is my old enemy. And I also eat kidneys, nuts, seeds of fir trees and pine trees, berries and mushrooms.

I got angry and shouted:

- Most likely, you are a pig! You eat everything. You are a feral pig who stupidly climbed onto the tree!

The branches swayed, parted, and I saw... a squirrel!

- Remember! - she said. — Cats eat not only mice, seagulls catch not only fish, flycatchers swallow not only flies. And squirrels gnaw not only nuts.

Nikolay Sladkov. Forest time

Forest time is not rushed...

Blue rays broke through the cracks of the green ceiling. They create purple halos on the dark ground. These are sunbeams.

One bunny lies next to me, he slightly moves his ears. There is a quiet matte glow above him. There is darkness all around, and where the bunny is, every spruce needle on the ground is visible, every vein on a fallen leaf. Under the bunny is a gray log with black cracks. And on the log there is a snake. It was as if someone had squeezed thick brown paint out of a thick tube without sparing it; the paint lay down in tight curls and froze. On top is a tiny head with clenched lips and two prickly sparkles - eyes.

Everything here below is motionless and quiet. It seems that time has stopped.

And above, above the green forest ceiling, blue waves of wind roll; there is the sky, clouds, sun. The sun slowly floats to the west, and the sunbeam creeps across the earth to the east. I see this by how the leaves and specks that look closer sink into the shadows and how new blades of grass and sticks protrude from the other side of the shadow.

The ray of the sun is like the hand of a forest clock, and the earth with sticks and specks is the forest dial.

But why doesn’t the snake sink into the shadows, how is it that it is always in the center of the shining oval?

Forest time trembled and stopped. I intensely peer into the twists of the elastic snake’s body: they are moving! They move slightly noticeably, towards each other; I notice this by the jagged stripe on the snake's back. The snake’s body pulsates slightly: it expands and then collapses. The snake moves invisibly exactly as much as the sunspot moves, and therefore is constantly in its center. Her body is like living mercury.

The sun is moving in the sky, tiny spots of the sun are moving throughout the vast forest land. And along with them sleepy snakes move in all the forests. They move slowly, imperceptibly, just as lazy forest time moves slowly and imperceptibly. They move as if in a dream...

Nikolai Sladkov. On an unknown path

I had to walk on different paths: bear, boar, wolf. I walked along rabbit paths and even bird paths. But this was the first time I had walked such a path. This path was cleared and trampled by ants.

On animal trails I unraveled animal secrets. Will I see anything on this trail?

I did not walk along the path itself, but nearby. The path is too narrow - like a ribbon. But for the ants it was, of course, not a ribbon, but a wide highway. And many, many Muravyov ran along the highway. They dragged flies, mosquitoes, horseflies. The transparent wings of the insects glittered. It seemed as if a trickle of water was pouring between the blades of grass along the slope.

I walk along the ant trail and count my steps: sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty-five steps... Wow! These are my big ones, but how many ants are there?! Only at the seventieth step did the trickle disappear under the stone. Serious trail.

I sat down on a stone to rest. I sit and watch the living vein beat under my feet. The wind blows - ripples along a living stream. The sun will shine and the stream will sparkle.

Suddenly, it was as if a wave rushed along the ant road. The snake swerved along it and - dive! - under the stone on which I was sitting. I even pulled my leg back - it was probably a harmful viper. Well, rightly so - now the ants will neutralize it.

I knew that ants boldly attack snakes. They will stick around the snake and all that will remain is scales and bones. I even decided to take the skeleton of this snake and show it to the guys.

I'm sitting, waiting. A living stream beats and beats underfoot. Well, now it's time! I carefully lift the stone so as not to damage the snake skeleton. There is a snake under the stone. But not dead, but alive and not at all like a skeleton! On the contrary, she became even thicker! The snake, which was supposed to be eaten by the ants, calmly and slowly ate the Ants itself. She pressed them with her muzzle and pulled them into her mouth with her tongue. This snake was not a viper. I have never seen such snakes before. The scales are like sandpaper, fine, the top and bottom are the same. Looks more like a worm than a snake.

An amazing snake: it raised its blunt tail up, moved it from side to side, like its head, and suddenly crawled forward with its tail! But the eyes are not visible. Either a snake with two heads, or without a head at all! And it eats something - ants!

The skeleton didn't come out, so I took the snake. At home I looked at it in detail and determined the name. I found her eyes: small, about the size of a pinhead, under the scales. That’s why they call it the blind snake. She lives in burrows underground. She doesn't need eyes there. But crawling either with your head or your tail forward is convenient. And she can dig the ground.

This is the unprecedented beast that the unknown path led me to.

What can I say! Every path leads somewhere. Just don’t be lazy to go.

Before you plunge into the fascinating world of forest nature, we will tell you about the author of these works.

Biography of Nikolai Sladkov

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born in 1920 in Moscow, but his whole life was spent in Leningrad and Tsarskoe Selo, famous for its magnificent parks. Here Nikolai discovered the beautiful and unique life of nature, which became the main theme of his work.

While still a schoolboy, he began to keep a diary, where he wrote down his impressions and observations. In addition, he began studying in the youth group at the Leningrad Zoological Institute. Here he met the famous naturalist writer Vitaly Bianchi, who called this circle the “Columbus Club.” In the summer, the children came to Bianki in the Novgorod region to study the secrets of the forest and comprehend nature. Bianchi's books had a great influence on Nikolai, correspondence began between them, and it was Sladkov who considered him his teacher. Subsequently, Bianchi became a true friend of Sladkov.

When did the Great Patriotic War, Nikolai volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. In the same specialty he worked in Peaceful time.

Sladkov wrote his first book, “Silver Tail,” in 1953 (and there are more than 60 of them in total). Together with Vitaly Bianchi, he prepared the radio program “News from the Forest” and answered numerous letters from listeners. Traveled a lot, visited India and Africa. As in childhood, he recorded his impressions in notebooks, which later became the source of the plots of his books.

In 2010, Sladkov would have turned 90 years old.

Nikolay Sladkov. How crossbills made squirrels jump in the snow

Squirrels don't really like to jump on the ground. If you leave a trace, the hunter and his dog will find you! It's much safer in the trees. From a trunk to a twig, from a twig to a branch. From birch to pine, from pine to Christmas tree.

They'll gnaw buds there, cones there. That's how they live.

A hunter walks with a dog through the forest, looking at his feet. There are no squirrel tracks in the snow! But you won’t see any traces on spruce paws! There are only cones and crossbills on the spruce paws.

These crossbills are beautiful! Males are purple, females are yellow-green. And great masters peel the cones! The crossbill will tear off a cone with its beak, press it with its paw, and use its crooked nose to bend back the scales and remove the seeds. He will bend back the scale, bend the second one and throw the cone. There are a lot of cones, why feel sorry for them! The crossbills fly away - a whole pile of cones remains under the tree. Hunters call such cones crossbill carrion.

Time passes. Crossbills tear everything down and rip cones off the trees. There are very few cones on the fir trees in the forest. The squirrels are hungry. Whether you like it or not, you have to go down to the ground and walk downstairs, digging out crossbill carrion from under the snow.

A squirrel walks below and leaves a trail. There's a dog on the trail. The hunter is after the dog.

“Thanks to the crossbills,” says the hunter, “they let the squirrel down!”

By spring, the last seeds will spill out of all the cones on the spruce trees. Squirrels now have only one salvation - carrion. All seeds in the carrion are intact. Throughout the hungry spring, squirrels pick up and peel crossbill carrion. Now I would like to say thank you to the crossbills, but the squirrels don’t say anything. They cannot forget how the crossbills made them jump in the snow in winter!

Nikolay Sladkov. How the bear was turned over

The birds and animals have suffered through a hard winter. Every day there is a snowstorm, every night there is frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in his den. He probably forgot that it was time for him to turn over to the other side.

There is a forest sign: when the Bear turns over on its other side, the sun will turn towards summer.

The birds and animals have run out of patience.

Let's go wake up the Bear:

- Hey, Bear, it's time! Everyone is tired of winter!

We miss the sun. Roll over, roll over, maybe you'll get bed sores?

The bear didn’t answer at all: he didn’t move, he didn’t move. Know he's snoring.

- Eh, I should hit him in the back of the head! - exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I suppose he would move right away!

“No,” Moose mumbled, “you have to be respectful and respectful with him.” Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg you - turn over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not sweet. We, elk, are standing in the aspen forest, like cows in a stall - we cannot take a step to the side. There's a lot of snow in the forest! It's a disaster if the wolves sniff us out.

The bear moved his ear and grumbled through his teeth:

- What do I care about you moose! Deep snow is only good for me: it’s warm and I can sleep peacefully.

Here the White Partridge began to lament:

- Aren’t you ashamed, Bear? The snow covered all the berries, all the bushes with buds - what do you want us to peck? Well, why should you turn over on the other side and hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!

And the Bear has his:

- It’s even funny! You're tired of winter, but I'm turning over from side to side! Well, what do I care about buds and berries? I have a reserve of lard under my skin.

The squirrel endured and endured, but could not bear it:

- Oh, you shaggy mattress, he’s too lazy to turn over, you see! But you would jump on the branches with ice cream, and skin your paws until they bleed, like me!.. Turn over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!

- Four five six! - the Bear taunts. - I scared you! Well, shoot off! You're preventing me from sleeping.

The animals tucked their tails, the birds hung their noses, and began to disperse. And then the Mouse suddenly stuck out of the snow and squeaked:

- They’re so big, but you’re scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, the bobtail, like that? He doesn’t understand either for good or for bad. You have to deal with him like us, like a mouse. If you ask me, I’ll turn it over in an instant!

- Are you a Bear?! - the animals gasped.

- With one left paw! - the Mouse boasts.

The Mouse darted into the den - let's tickle the Bear. Runs all over it, scratches it with its claws, bites it with its teeth. The Bear twitched, squealed like a pig, and kicked his legs.

- Oh, I can’t! - howls. - Oh, I’ll roll over, just don’t tickle me! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!

And the steam from the den is like smoke from a chimney.

The mouse stuck out and squeaked:

— He turned over like a little darling! They would have told me a long time ago.

Well, as soon as the Bear turned over on the other side, the sun immediately turned to summer.

Every day the sun is higher, every day spring is closer. Every day is brighter and more fun in the forest!

Nikolai Sladkov. How long is the hare

How long is the hare? Well, this is for whom? The beast is small for a human - about the size of a birch log. But for a fox, a hare is two kilometers long? Because for the fox, the hare begins not when she grabs him, but when she smells the scent. A short trail - two or three jumps - and the hare is small.

And if the hare managed to follow and loop, then it becomes longer than the longest animal on earth. It’s not easy for such a big guy to hide in the forest.

This makes the hare very sad: live in eternal fear, don’t gain extra fat.

And so the hare tries with all his might to become shorter. It drowns its footprint in the swamp, tears its footprint in two - it keeps shortening itself. All he can think about is how to run away from his trail, hide, how to break it, shorten it or drown it.

The hare's dream is to finally become himself, the size of a birch log.

The life of a hare is special. Rain and snowstorms are little joy for everyone, but they are good for the hare: they wash away and cover the trail. And it’s worse when the weather is calm and warm: the trail is hot, the smell lasts a long time. No matter what thicket you get into, there is no peace: maybe the fox is two kilometers behind - now it’s already holding you by the tail!

So it’s hard to say how long the hare is. Which is more cunning - shorter, stupid - longer. In calm weather, the smart one stretches out, in a snowstorm and downpour, the stupid one shortens.

Every day, the length of the hare is different.

And very rarely, when he is really lucky, there is a hare of the same length - as long as a birch log - as a person knows him.

Everyone with a nose knows about this better eyes works. The wolves know. Foxes know. You should know too.

Nikolai Sladkov. Bureau of Forest Services

Cold February arrived in the forest. He made snowdrifts on the bushes and covered the trees with frost. And although the sun is shining, it is not warming.

Ferret says:

- Save yourself as best you can!

And Magpie chirps:

-Everyone for himself again? Alone again? No, so that we can work together against a common misfortune! And that’s what everyone says about us, that we only peck and squabble in the forest. It's even a shame...

Here the Hare got involved:

- That's right, the Magpie is chirping. There is safety in numbers. I propose to create a Bureau of Forest Services. For example, I can help partridges. Every day I tear the snow on the winter fields to the ground, let them peck the seeds and greens there after me - I don’t mind. Write me, Soroka, to the Bureau as number one!

- There is still a smart head in our forest! - Soroka was happy. - Who is next?

- We're next! - the crossbills shouted. “We peel the cones on the trees and drop half of the cones whole.” Use it, voles and mice, don’t mind!

“The hare is a digger, crossbills are throwers,” wrote Magpie.

- Who is next?

“Sign us up,” the beavers grumbled from their hut. “We piled so many aspen trees in the fall—there’s enough for everyone.” Come to us, moose, roe deer, hares, gnaw on the juicy aspen bark and branches!

And it went, and it went!

Woodpeckers offer their hollows for the night, crows invite them to carrion, crows promise to show them their dumps. Soroka barely has time to write down.

The Wolf also trotted out at the noise. He straightened his ears, looked up with his eyes and said:

- Sign me up for the Bureau too!

The magpie almost fell from the tree:

- Are you, Volka, at the Service Bureau? What do you want to do in it?

“I will serve as a watchman,” answers the Wolf.

-Who can you guard?

- I can guard everyone! Hares, moose and roe deer near the aspen trees, partridges in the greens, beavers in the huts. I'm an experienced watchman. He guarded the sheep in the sheepfold, the chickens in the chicken coop...

- You are a robber from a forest road, not a watchman! - Magpie shouted. - Move on, you rascal! We know you. It’s me, Soroka, who will guard everyone in the forest from you: when I see you, I’ll raise a cry! I will write down not you, but myself as a watchman in the Bureau: “Magpie is a watchman.” Am I worse than others, or what?

This is how bird-animals live in the forest. It happens, of course, that they live in such a way that only fluff and feathers fly. But it happens, and they help each other out. Anything can happen in the forest.

Nikolay Sladkov. Resort "Icicle"

Magpie sat on a snow-covered tree and cried:

- All migratory birds They flew away for the winter, I’m alone, sedentary, enduring frosts and blizzards. Neither eat well, nor drink deliciously, nor sleep sweetly. And in the winter, they say, it’s a resort... Palm trees, bananas, hot!

- It depends on what wintering place you are in, Soroka!

- Which one, which one - the ordinary one!

- There are no ordinary winterings, Soroka. There are hot winterings - in India, in Africa, in South America, and there are cold ones - like in yours middle lane. For example, we came to you from the North for a winter holiday. I am the White Owl, they are the Waxwing and the Bullfinch, the Bunting and the White Partridge.

- Why did you have to fly from winter to winter? - Soroka is surprised. - You have snow in the tundra - and we have snow, you have frost - and we have frost. What kind of resort is this?

But Waxwing does not agree:

“You have less snow, milder frosts, and milder blizzards.” But the main thing is the rowan! Rowan is more valuable to us than any palm tree or banana.

And the white partridge does not agree:

“I’ll eat some delicious willow buds and bury my head in the snow.” Nourishing, soft, not windy - why not a resort?

And the white Owl does not agree:

“Everything is hidden in the tundra now, and you have both mice and hares.” Happy life!

And all the other winterers nod their heads and agree.

- It turns out that I shouldn’t cry, but have fun! “It turns out I’ve been living at a resort all winter, but I don’t even know it,” Soroka is surprised. - Well, miracles!

- That's right, Soroka! - everyone shouts. “Don’t regret the hot winters; you won’t be able to fly that far on your scanty wings anyway.” Live better with us!

It's quiet in the forest again. The magpie calmed down.

The arriving winter resort residents started eating. Well, as for those in hot winter quarters, I haven’t heard from them yet. Until spring.

Nikolai Sladkov. Forest werewolves

Miraculous things happen in the forest unnoticed, without prying eyes.

Today: I was waiting for a woodcock at dawn. Dawn was cold, quiet, clean. Tall spruce trees rose at the edge of the forest, like black fortress towers. And in the lowlands, over the streams and river, fog hung. The willows sank into it like dark underwater stones.

I watched the drowned willows for a long time.

It all seemed like something was bound to happen there!

But nothing happened; The fog from the streams slowly flowed down to the river.

“It’s strange,” I thought, “the fog doesn’t rise, as always, but flows down...”

But then a woodcock was heard. Black bird flapping its wings like bat, stretched across the green sky. I threw up my photo gun and forgot about the fog.

And when I came to my senses, the fog had already turned into frost! Covered the clearing with white. I didn't notice how it happened. Woodcock averted his eyes!

The woodcocks have finished pulling. The sun appeared. And all the forest inhabitants were so happy about him, as if they had not seen him for a long time. And I stared at the sun: it’s interesting to watch how a new day is born.

But then I remembered about the frost; lo and behold, he’s no longer in the clearing! White frost turned into a blue haze; it trembles and flows over the fluffy golden willows. I missed it again!

And he overlooked how day appeared in the forest.

It’s always like this in the forest: something will take your eyes off! And the most wonderful and amazing things will happen unnoticed, without prying eyes.

Description of the presentation by individual slides:

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BIOGRAPHY of Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov Prepared by primary school teacher GBOU secondary school No. 349 of the Krasnogvardeisky district of St. Petersburg Pechenkina Tamara Pavlovna

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Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born on January 5, 1920 in Moscow, but lived his entire life in Leningrad, in Tsarskoe Selo. Here, not far from his home, there were many old forest parks, where the future writer discovered a whole world, unusually rich in the secrets of nature. For days on end he disappeared into the most remote places of the surrounding parks, where he peered and listened to the life of the forest. Wandering among the old trees, since childhood he was imbued with the wisdom of nature and learned to recognize the voices of a variety of birds.

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The boy really wanted to know what the forest was talking to him about, he really wanted to understand its secrets. Kolya began to enthusiastically read a variety of books about nature, and wrote down his own observations in his diary, in the “Notebook of Observations,” which he began keeping in the second grade. Gradually, the place of short entries in the diary began to be supplemented by stories from the life of forest inhabitants. By that time, the forest had long become a real good friend for him.

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During the war, N. Sladkov volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. In peacetime, he retained the same specialty. In his youth he was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity. Instead, he began to engage in photo hunting and put forward the call “Don’t take a gun into the forest, take a photo gun into the forest.”

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The first stories were written by him in 1952, and in 1953 Nikolai Sladkov’s first book, “Silver Tail,” was published. “In nature there is the same harmony as in music, throw out a note and the melody is broken...” Nikolai Sladkov’s books - stories and tales about nature - are unusually harmonious, they very fully and accurately reflect the secrets of nature. In order to find yourself in a wild forest, it is not at all necessary to take a train ticket every time and go to distant lands - you can simply reach out to the bookshelf and take your favorite book by Nikolai Sladkov, sit comfortably in your favorite corner and be transported to the beautiful world of nature.. .

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Together with Vitaly Bianchi, his friend and like-minded person, Nikolai Sladkov prepared radio programs “News from the Forest” for many years and answered numerous letters from his listeners. In total, during his adventure-filled life, Nikolai Ivanovich wrote more than 60 books. Among the most famous are such publications as: For the book “Underwater Newspaper” Nikolai Ivanovich was awarded the State Prize named after N.K. Krupskaya.

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Such a gift is to talk about forest dwellers with sincere love and a warm smile, as well as the meticulousness of a professional zoologist - given to very few. And very few of them can become real writers - such as Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov, who unusually organically combined in his work the talent of an excellent storyteller and the truly boundless erudition of a scientist, managing to discover something of his own in nature, unknown to others, and tell his grateful people about it readers...

Slide 9

Slide description:

In one of his books, the writer wrote: “We have been peering intently at nature for a long time. Isn't it time to look inside yourself? How do the wary eyes of birds and animals, the eyes of fields and forests see us? Who are we - the rulers of the Earth? What do we want? And what are we doing? Sladkov's books allow us to look into ourselves. What can we do to make our planet more beautiful, so that animals and plants do not disappear from the face of the Earth, so that we can swim in rivers, so that birds sing in forests and cities, so that our children do not forget what it is like? pure water and the air filled with the aroma of grass and rain? “To take care of the earth, nature, you need to love it; to love it, you need to know it. Once you find out, it’s impossible not to love.” “I write about nature because I love it very much: for its beauty, for its mysteries, for its wisdom and diversity.” “Nature is a most fascinating book. Just start reading it, you won’t be able to stop.”

Before you plunge into the fascinating world of forest nature, we will tell you about the author of these works.