Zoom out Alexander Simdyanov Каштан Восточного синдрома

Z1By that time, my dear mother had bought a small house in the village of the Pskov province for the summer holidays and asked me to arrange it for a more comfortable stay. Hatenko and Bitjukov also volunteered to help me in arrangement of the house and the three of us went by Pepelats to the village to plant in the kitchen-garden different seeds of squash, pumpkins, cucumbers, tomatoes and other horticultural wonders which we had previously seen only in the store. The House in the village was a ruin with a huge Russian stove in the middle. Tired of the way, the three of us went to sleep on this stove, but we were not given a long sleep. From early in the morning the curious local residents began to come to visit us with some goodies in order to see what "the long-haired, which strum the guitar on the telly" represent in reality. Zoom In fact, the time spent in the village was like a peaceful sleep. After a stormy city, full of electricity and information, it was strange to feel alone with nature. Sounds appeared from silence, and instantly went into silence. The weather was beautiful and having stuck hastily the brought seeds into the ground, we strolled around the outskirts of the village. Bitjukov found a long nice stick with some exotic bend at the end and during our strolls he usually walked with it, as Moses in the desert of Egypt. However, during the walks along the countryside, this thing was really useful for checking the path, because it was easy to fall into some filthy pit. While walking once in a central "park" of the village along the alley with countless pits, in which an elephant could drown, among the ruins of the church, the skeletons of looted tractors and a rickety barn with the sign "Mail", we saw the strange prickly cones on the ground. After asking the locals, we learned that these things, like a little mace, were called chestnuts. Very intrigued by this find, we decided not to stop at planting tomatoes and cucumbers, and each of us picked up one of chestnuts in order to plant them near the house. In a few years one little sprout sprouted of these three cones. Later, I dug it out and transported from the village to Petersburg. Now this chestnut tree is twenty years old and I call it - "chestnut of Vostochny Syndrome"..

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