It was a fun summer. If the first month of the holiday was no different from the previous summer vacation, I was in the city , the next two months were the most memorable for me , I went to my aunt in the village. That is , with conducted days in the village , I relate the most interesting events and thrills of my summer.
In the village the time goes slowly and hesitantly , not at all , as in the big cities. It seems that a month has passed , and in fact took place just one week . Usually in the morning I'm helping my aunt in the kitchen garden , although it begins before my morning . Our village is far from the village and the water from the tap unprecedented luxury, so I'm taking two old iron bucket , and go through the three houses to the well. Well water is incredibly clear and very cold . Sometimes we have to do something around the house, but as soon as the first opportunity , I peremahival over the fence and ran to his friends.
In the village of my good friends. Together, we spend almost all the time. In the hottest days we can sit for hours on the river bank . We swim , frolic and see off the barges passing glances . Somehow I got from my aunt for the fact that I missed lunch , and actually I was not hungry . The fact that my friend Pasha brought from Uncle Sergei whole package of potatoes and we bake it right into the fire. What fun it is to flip from one to the other hand a hot potato , and then crush and eat a piece , clearing it from the salty ash . Agree , this is not a plate of prepared soup. But how much of romance and happiness conducted as if in a different world , summer days !
In the evening I was sitting at home in this wooden hut. Usually after dinner to her aunt came girlfriends , they have long sat at a large round table in the center of the room and drank tea. I was nearby, climbing on a big stone oven, and either treated books, brought from the city, or did anything like my aunt used to say , " beat the thumbs ." Though actually I kept a diary , and like Robinson Crusoe on his desert island, making notes , counting the days until the time when I was taken into the city .
Sometimes, I find myself thinking that the village is far from the city island , where life is subordinate to another rhythm. Maybe because there are close to nature, or maybe just a city so far detached from this quiet life in the pursuit of technological progress. Anyway , I'm a city person and my place there, in a never-ending stream of information , but each time leaving this quiet island of tranquility, I will remember how spent the summer and miss my village .