My little story. Creative work Story “Russia begins from our small homeland. Essay My town is my small homeland
Essay
"My small Motherland»
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the picture in your ABC book
From good and faithful comrades,
Living in the neighboring yard
Or maybe it's starting
From the song that our mother sang to us
Since in any test
No one can take it away from us...
(Words by M. Matusovsky)
But in fact, where does the Motherland begin?
You can ask your acquaintances or friends and you will hear many different answers. Someone will say that this is the place where you were born and raised, someone will add that this is the place where you learned the delights of friendship and loyalty, culture and moral values, the beauty of the native land. And someone may object by saying that the Motherland is where you feel happy.
And everyone will be right, because, having collected all the answers together, they will name what the Motherland begins for every person - his small homeland.
Small homeland - everyone has their own, but everyone cherishes it equally. And how can you not value what gave you yourself, the way you are? After all, it was your small homeland, with its nature and cultural values, that had a huge influence on the development of you as an individual, as a person.
Remember, wasn’t it here that you first appreciated the beauty of Russian nature, be it sprawling forests or endless steppes? Is this where I realized the beauty of interpersonal relationships? Isn’t it here that you read your first book, which allowed you to comprehend the endless world of literature? Wasn’t it from your grandmother’s songs and fairy tales that you learned about Russian culture, the Russian soul?
Of course, it was she who played one of the most important roles in your life - your small homeland.
She had a huge impact on your inner world. Your small homeland gave you everything that you now have, and although you may be indignant, saying that you achieved everything yourself, you still cannot deny that you yourself are the creation of your small homeland.
Anyone understands that a person without a homeland is nothing. After all, yours motherland, undoubtedly, a part of your soul, your world, and you are obliged to take care and love it, to honor everything that it gave you free of charge. My small homeland is the village of Novaya Bryansk, here I was born and live. Everything here is dear to me, these are the forests, the mountains, the river. This is my school, my street, home... This is all that I am proud of, what I miss when I am somewhere outside of it.
We, in the village, have our own holidays and traditions. This is all very cool. And the most important wealth of my small homeland is my family, my family. If you look at my pedigree, you will see that my roots come from this village. My ancestors were family. They started our family. They were born, raised and created their family right here, in this village. We, the younger generation, need to know where your roots come from. I want time to stop, but it moves mercilessly forward. We grow and mature, but we will never forget our small homeland. We will love and honor her always!
Kuznetsova Daria, 11th grade student
MBOU "Novobryansk secondary school"
I am absolutely sure that a person can be truly, completely happy only in his homeland, in the land where he was born and raised, where his family and friends live.
After all, what is most precious to a person? Of course, these are parents, children, family. But this reverent love, the feeling of sincere affection for them is expressed in the word “small homeland”. At all times, honest and noble people were ready to give their lives for their homeland. Because the knowledge that the fate of your homeland depends on your actions can make even the most insecure and timid person brave, daring and decisive.
The feeling of love for our native land is not even established in childhood - it is given to us from birth, absorbed with mother’s milk. If we sincerely love our small homeland, then it answers us in kind: our native places instill joy and peace in our souls, give confidence, and inspire us to do great things. M.V. Lomonosov wrote:
Love strengthens the fatherland
Sons of Russian spirit and hand;
Everyone wants to shed all the blood,
The sound invigorates the menacing sound.
In your native land, everything seems more beautiful and cleaner. It is our native nature that gives us the brightest feelings, allows us to deeply inhale the aroma of gardens, fields, forests dear to us since childhood; admire the floods of rivers, which nowhere else can be more transparent, deeper, wider; enjoy the unique blue and purity of the skies. The sun at home is the brightest, the snow in winter is the most dazzling white, the spring rain is the warmest. And it seems that only in your native land can you see a multi-colored rainbow.
But a person who is callous in soul and indifferent to the people around him cannot experience deep love for his small homeland. To love your country means to love its people, and moreover, to love all of humanity. Many great people, true sons of their fatherland, dedicated their lives to the people. Thus, the poet Musa Jalil wrote in his lines:
I took an oath: to devote my life to the people,
To your country - the fatherland of all fatherlands.
If people in all countries could sincerely love all humanity, there would be no wars, peace would be established on earth forever, every country would become happier. And in the creation of this happiness, the participation of every person would be felt.
Any intelligent and grateful person is deeply aware of his blood connection with his ancestors, and therefore his connection with the fatherland. Just as the fates of fathers and mothers echo in our souls, just as we cannot be indifferent to the grief of our relatives, so a real person cannot be indifferent to the fate of his country, to his small homeland. After all, he feels like a part of her, feels all her hardships and victories,
He experiences her joys and sorrows with her. And he tries to do everything in his power for her prosperity.
Wherever we are, wherever fate takes us, our thoughts again and again return to our small homeland, we joyfully accept any good news from our native places, and are saddened by its failures. And it doesn’t matter what we do, what profession we choose as our life’s work.
MY SMALL HOMELAND
The power is visible in all of you,
And strength with beauty.
No wonder you were named
Great and holy.
S. D. Drozhzhin
Nothing on earth can be closer, sweeter than a small homeland. Every person has his own homeland. For some it is a big city, for others it is a small village, but all people love it equally. Some leave for other cities and countries, but nothing can replace it.
The homeland does not have to be big. This could be any corner of your city or village. I have my favorite place. This is grandma's house in the village. There is nothing more beautiful than this corner of Russia. Every holiday I try to visit my grandmother, especially in the summer. I like to lie on the green grass, basking in the sun on the bank of the river. Birds are chirping nearby, and it seems that time stands still. Life freezes and you forget about all your problems. Beautiful evening! The weather is fine, the sun sets and the moon appears in the sky. Silence, only the grasshoppers chirping. You look at the sky, and the stars seem so close that if you stretch out your hands, you can touch them. Grandmother says: this is because the river is close.
It’s also great in the countryside in winter. You sit at home near the stove. It’s warm, but there are snowdrifts outside the window... it’s even difficult to open the door to the street. The snow shimmers in the sun like a mountain of diamonds. You go outside - it’s cold, the frost just creeps through. You reach the barn, and the animals are drawn to you, as if saying that they also need affection.
I really love my grandmother's livestock, I especially like the rabbits. Rabbits are small, gentle creatures. When you take them in your arms, their noses begin to move so funny, this indicates that they are sniffing your scent. I also love my grandmother's horses. In the village there is a black horse named Gypsy. Gypsy is a very arrogant, zealous horse. I rode it several times. Horses are very smart creatures. When I look into their eyes, we communicate mentally.
Oh, how I love this heavenly place. How can I not be proud of my homeland? She takes me into her arms, is always affectionate with me, friendly. I can breathe so well when visiting her. We leave, we die, but our homeland always lives. Others come, and she becomes dear to them, lives in every drop of dew in the morning, in a quiet willow by the river, in wide, free fields.
Oh, how sweet the snow-white fragile water lilies are to me. When I feel bad and want to forget, I always go to this place near the river. It seems to me that nature listens and understands me. She's a good listener. She will only understand and will not criticize.
There is a majestic forest across the road across the river. When evening comes, the forest is covered in pink. There is a feeling that I have already seen all this somewhere, I have felt this pleasant smell to my soul, but I just don’t remember where. I want time to stop, but it moves mercilessly forward. We grow and mature, but we will never forget our small homeland. We will love and honor her until last days own life.
Plan
1.The village is my small homeland
2.My village and seasons
Small Motherland is the most the best place on the ground! My Motherland is Russia. But the place where I was born and still live (my small Motherland) is my native village. It may be very small, but I love it. My parents and sisters live here, as well as my grandparents. When I come to visit, my beloved granny always greets me with pies, the taste and smell of which I will remember for the rest of my life. And I bring my grandparents, with whom we often go fishing, postcards that I make during labor lessons at school.
I like my home village at any time of the year. In the summer, when my holidays come, we go to the nearest forest. It is very green there and there are a lot of mushrooms and berries. Usually we collect a full basket, and mother or grandmother cooks from them delicious dishes. In autumn and winter in the evenings we sit and drink tea, while bad weather rages outside the window. But we are not cold at all, because when the whole family is together, the soul is in the same place. Well, in the spring, my home village is transformed - the first flowers bloom, the grass turns emerald, the birds sing beautifully, and the mood is very good. I love my small homeland very much. When I grow up, I will have to go to the city, because I want to go to college, which we don’t have in our village. But I will come to the village very often and visit my relatives. And when I graduate from university, I will definitely return to my native land, because my small Motherland is the best place on earth!
Essay My Small Motherland 7th grade
Plan:
1.Memories of the small Motherland.
2. My village today.
3. My small Motherland is my pride!
I live and study at school in the capital of Russia, Moscow. It is very noisy and fun here, there is always a lot of entertainment, but every evening, before going to bed, I remember my small Motherland - my native village. Its small houses, a beautiful lake, a huge forest. Just recently I had a vacation, and I was able to visit the village where I spent my childhood.
What makes me especially happy: unlike other villages, my small Motherland is not dying out, but, on the contrary, is being transformed. And all thanks to the fact that hardworking people who love their native land live here. They are the wealth of the village. I am very grateful to them for not only preserving, but also enhancing the beauty of the village; for the fact that I have the opportunity to return again to the walls of my native school and remember how as children we gnawed at the granite of science here, raced along the corridors, fell in love and rushed to grow up. And each of my visits to my small homeland is an opportunity to return, at least for a short while, to the country called “Childhood.” Here I am again running barefoot through the dewy grass to meet the June dawn, but my sled is rushing at full speed along the snowy slope, and my grandmother is still worried that I might catch a cold!
Yes, it was a good time, fabulous. This, unfortunately, will not happen again. Years will pass, but I will return again and again to the village of my childhood. It is more valuable to me than any large and comfortable city. After all, the small Motherland for me is not just a phrase, but a region with which my best memories, most pleasant meetings and days are associated. I wish with all my heart that my native village becomes more beautiful and richer every year. I am proud of my small Motherland!
Essay My Small Motherland 11th grade
Plan:
1. “Where does the Motherland begin?”
2.The village is my small homeland:
A) a description of the atmosphere that the native village “breathes”;
b) the nature of the native village;
3. Small Motherland is forever!
“Where does the Motherland begin?
From the picture in your ABC book,
From good and faithful comrades,
Living in the neighboring yard."
There is probably no person who does not know these lines from the song. But everyone has their own answer to the question of where the Motherland begins. Some people prefer to consider the place where they live in their native land to be their homeland. this moment. But someone like me, for example, will never forget the land on which he was born and raised, the place about which they say “my little Motherland.” For me, this is my home village.
The village of my childhood is a completely small, but cozy and picturesque settlement. There may be no large enterprises, plants or factories here, but the nature here is very picturesque. There is a special air here that you can breathe easily and freely. Or maybe it’s because this is my small homeland?! And I’m simply not able to objectively describe the atmosphere that this village breathes?! But here’s what we can say for sure: this is that small piece of land where a person can take a break from the hustle and bustle big city, communicate with nature, heal body and soul. My home village is very beautiful in all seasons. In winter, it is covered with fluffy silver snow and resembles a fairy-tale valley. In spring and summer the village is all in bloom and greenery, and in the fall it dresses in golden decoration.
Now, unfortunately, I am less and less able to visit my small homeland; I live and study at a school in a big city, where I am overwhelmed by business and worries, and where sometimes I feel very lonely. But still, whenever possible, I try to come to my native village. Small Motherland is forever!
Story
“Russia begins with a small homeland”
"Small Motherland, small Motherland,
Our spring and love,
The bitterness of rowan and the sweetness of currants,
Autumn's frowning brow...
No matter how much reading has been completed
Years, kilometers and lines,
Our little Motherland is always with us
Our blessed source"
K. Zubareva
I was born and live in Russia. This is my homeland.But there is also such a thing as a small homeland, that is, the place that you love most, which you consider native. For me and my parents, the “small” homeland is Sokolskaya land, namely the village. Mamontovo. This is the place where I spent my childhood. This is family, relatives and friends. This is mom, who is the most precious person in the world. These are mother's hands - the embodiment of tenderness. These are toys, fairy tales, the street, the forest, clouds in the sky and much, much more, which form my first idea of the Motherland, of the world in which we live. I love my village and consider it one of the most beautiful corners of our Motherland. Most recently, the collective farm “Verny Put” operated on the territory of the village, but now it has fallen into disrepair. There is no work, young people are leaving. The village has become a village for pensioners. Now there is a school in the village, but if it is closed, several more families will be forced to leave the village. It is difficult to talk about the fate of my village. In the recent past, one could be proud of his successes and deeds. But today everything is different. Only one thing remained unchanged: people and nature devoted to their native land. Although here and there you can see stumps sticking out in the clearing, which were once tall birch trees.
Old houses spoil the view. Many have already been erased from the face of our village.
I love my village, it is very beautiful with the forests surrounding it. The beautiful birch tree is especially good and luxurious. Light emanates from her, she smells like the Motherland. The dear land shines with all its might for me and my fellow villagers, it shines with its love. My village is connected with nature by a strong connection. And this invisible chain has already held my little heart together and infused its breath into it. I listen to the voice of my native land, I remember it, I feel it.
It's winter now. With her charms she stirred up nature and made it freeze. There is a mysterious silence all around. Place your palm on the trunk of a clean, tall birch tree, and you will feel how white fire will pierce you with thorns, snow crystals hidden on the bark. And the aspens breathe witchcraft power.
All reservoirs and puddles were covered with a shiny crust of ice. It's fun for the village kids - there is somewhere to go ice skating. Daylight hours are shorter in winter. Before you have time to look back, it becomes dark. That’s when it’s interesting to watch the village as its small huts are illuminated by the stars.
We are looking forward to the end of winter. January can be distinguished by the pre-spring cries of crows and the fights of sparrows. In February, the first drop sings its song from the rooftops.
Little by little the snow light will disappear into the sky and into the soil. The earth will sigh. When spring breaks out after a snowy winter, all the people in the village will become worried, and everyone will be faced with the question: how will this time of year go this year? And what is the air in spring! A rustic spring miracle is snowdrops. They are beautiful. They barely peek out, but they greet spring warmly.
Another miracle is birch sap, playing with the power of life. If you carefully cut a branch from a birch tree and make a “cleaner” for the pipe, then a drop of sap will collect in the cut place and sparkle in the sun like a diamond. You just need to heal the wound afterwards.
The weather in spring is different: warm during the day, but frost creeps in at night.
When the sun warms up, the water in the reservoirs melts, and the frogs come to life, you never cease to be amazed at the croaking of the fidgets. Summer is coming.
A herd of motley, black cows is grazing in a clearing, chewing juicy grass. Somewhere here my little cow is feasting on it. Oh, and the milk will be delicious in the evening! Grasshoppers chirp cheerfully in the grass.
By evening, the sunset promises something amazing. Pink elephants in the sky trumpeted the coming night. She will embrace all those sleeping with her canopy, their souls will fly on a date to the distant stars.
But soon, soon there will be confusion, soon there will be separation from summer, the autumn rain will rustle across the earth. Swallows will begin to move out of the barns.
The forest is full of sounds. The grasses are already drying out at this time of year. Hidden power lives in autumn. It multiplies and lives up natural wealth.
The air in autumn is special. You go out into the street and you won’t get enough air.
Autumn lay down like a yellow tigress, but soon it will groan and run away to its chambers. The first frost means winter is on its way.
One evening I admired how the disk of the moon was reflected in a puddle, and a birch branch moved along it; it seemed to me that I was in another world, a certain time ceased to exist for me. An unforgettable feeling!
Soon white fluffy snowflakes will begin to fly from the sky, birch logs will light up in the stove, the howl of the wind will again be heard from the brick “throat”, shaggy smoke will cover the short day. And it will be like this forever, even if I don’t exist.
You can talk about your native nature just as endlessly as you can about the people living in the countryside. They have different characters, different views on life. A lot of evil has appeared in our village. But kind and good people they are trying to expel him, disperse him. It's a pity that they don't always succeed.
From the threshold of my parents’ house, I have been walking along the studied path to school for nine years now. And there my teachers meet me. It’s difficult for them now to keep love for us children in their hearts; they have a lot of worries and troubles. But my mentors do not leave their posts; they move around with us in everyday life, trying to paint it with colorful paints.
Our rural children can turn into celebrities: dancers, singers, readers, actors, poets, artists. You know how great it turns out! Many of us participate in amateur art shows that take place at school and in the House of Culture.
And what wonderful old people we have in our village. In the evenings they sit on benches near the house. And they know everything about everyone, they give a forecast for everything: people, the weather, and the harvest. When they get tired of talking, they start singing old songs. And where did their old age go? Their eyes burned with fire, their legs began to dance. Well done!
I want to bow to people, who are becoming fewer and fewer every day. These are veterans of the Great Patriotic War. If they had not won, then we would not be alive today. I understand with my mind and heart that the fate of my village depends on me and subsequent generations. Personally, I will do everything possible for the good of my Motherland.
Beautiful, prosperous life for you, man, it will be dead if it is not inspired by the power of its native land. The greatest things begin from small things: a mighty river from a stream, a fruit-bearing tree from a sprout, a famous person from a foolish child.
A person has one homeland. Each of us cherishes that corner of the earth where we grew up and where we became human. Each of us remembers our small homeland. Probably this is where the Motherland begins.
And the doubt about where my big Motherland, Russia, begins, disappeared.