Objective of the lesson:
1.Introduce students to the work of K.G. Paustovsky “My House”. Learn to express and defend your point of view, your judgments about the work.
2. Develop educational and reading skills: learn to hear the author’s tone, correctly name the work (the author’s last name and title, theme, genre), identify the author’s point of view and the author’s role, learn to find epithets and personifications in the text, work on the expressiveness of reading. 3. Cultivate a caring attitude towards everything around you.
Equipment: portrait of K.G. Paustovsky, physical map of Russia, illustrations with landscapes of the Meshcherskaya side, books by K.G. Paustovsky, cards with key words, illustrations for vocabulary work, audio recording, herbarium.
Lesson progress
I.Organization of the class for the lesson.
II.Updating knowledge. Setting the lesson goal.
Today we will read a story by a writer already known to you. Every meeting with the works of this author helps you become real readers: sensitive, attentive, observant. We will read the work, conduct a dialogue with the author, and observe the peculiarities of the author’s writing style.
Look at the portrait. What is the name of this writer?
Name the years of his life.
What did K.G. write about? Paustovsky?
What works of Paustovsky did we read this year?
Today we will get acquainted with another work by Konstantin Georgievich. It's called “My Home”.
III. Studying new material.
1. Preparation for the perception of the work.
Open your textbook and try to guess, by looking at the illustration and based on the title of the work, who or what it is about.
What do you think is the meaning of these two words “My home”?
What exactly about the house?
Can you tell if this house is old?
Why are cats shown in the illustration?
Why is this work studied in the “Autumn” section?
Let's listen to a poem about this wonderful time that will be read to us by... (one student reads a poem about autumn by heart).
Nature is often spoken about in poetry. Because poems appeal to people’s feelings, they more easily evoke certain experiences and moods. Although you can write about the beauty of nature, about the feelings it evokes, in prose. Paustovsky has a work about this. It is called “Meshchera side”. This work consists of parts. Each part has its own name. “My House” is one of the parts of this work.
But before you start working on the work, I think you will be interested to know what the Meshcherskaya side is and where it is located.
Meshcherskaya side or Meshchera is a place near Moscow itself.
Look at the map, who can show where Moscow is?
What is this city for Russia?
If I mentally connect with a line Moscow, Vladimir, Ryazan along the Oka, Klyazma, Moskva Rivers, the Kolp and Sudogda rivers, then the resulting imaginary triangle with the tip at Moscow is the famous Meshchera.
What color is this place marked on the map?
Almost entirely this place on the map is filled with the green color of forests, dotted with dashes of lowlands. In a triangle surrounded by rivers, rests, so to speak, a bowl, or rather, a huge flat-bottomed dish of earth with a dense clay bottom. It is believed that there was once a sea here. Then the lakes crowded one after another, and as they got older they turned into swamps. And now the region is a swampy lowland with pine forests on sandy hillocks. The abundance of water is the main sign of Meshchera. Even in dry times, the region is in many places accessible only to pedestrians. During high water, Meshchera (especially its Ryazan part) literally turns into a sea. In the nature of this region, everything is simple, even, perhaps, modest. But if you look closely, you can see a whole poetic world with fogs, flowers, mushrooms, forests; filled with the voices of birds, inhabited by different animals.
But let’s return to Paustovsky’s work called “Meshcherskaya Side” (display of Paustovsky’s book).
Tell me, judging by its volume, what genre can this work be classified into?
It is difficult to determine the genre of this work. On the one hand, judging by the volume, we can assume that this is a story, but on the other hand, there is no common traditional plot. But “Meshcherskaya Side” is not a collection of stories, since a story is a separate, small work. In this work, all parts, despite the lack of plot, seem to be intertwined with each other. Because in all these parts Paustovsky tells us some geographical information about the Meshchera side. But he does this not in dry geographical language, but in artistic language. Paustovsky himself defined the genre of this work as “geographical”.
2. Vocabulary work.
Kukan is a device for hanging caught fish. Take a rope, the wire at the bottom of which is attached to a transverse stick so that the fish does not fall off. Hanging is done by threading it through the gills (showing an illustration of a coucan).
Outskirts - a fence around the village or only when leaving it.
A gazebo is a covered, lightweight building in the garden for relaxation (show illustration).
3.Primary reading.
Reading the work (read by the teacher and students who read well).
So who is hiding behind the word “I”?
4.Work with the text after reading.
Let's read the work again. Try to see everything that the author wanted to tell us about.
As the conversation progresses, we will draw up a diagram that will be useful to us at the end of the lesson.
a) Reading and analysis of the first paragraph of the first part.
So, what kind of writer's house is it?
What does a hut “sheathed with planks” mean?
Where is it? How is it separated from the garden?
What is a stockade?
What is a picket fence for village cats?
Replace the word trap with a synonym.
How do you understand the expression “cats of all stripes”?
-“They are putting the house under siege” - how is that?
b ) Reading and analysis of the second paragraph of the first part.
Why did cats wait until evening?
What does the expression “make swift and deft strokes” mean?
Find the phraseological phrase in the very last sentence on this page.
Why are cats annoying?
What does it mean to be taken by surprise?
Do cats often make their raids?
c) Reading and analysis of the third and fourth paragraphs of the first part.
Why does autumn fill the house with leaves?
Imagine how beautiful this garden is in autumn. Autumn is a beautiful time of year. Look what beautiful scenery can be seen in the fall in the Meshcherskaya side.
What are the similarities in the behavior of cats and tits?
How would you title this part?
d) Reading the first paragraph of the second part.
What favorite part of the house did Paustovsky tell about?
What feeling does a writer have in the morning? Why?
What does “the sun is shining” mean?
What colors would you use to color the leaves wrapping around the gazebo? (herbarium display - grapes)
Who else visits the writer in the morning?
What occupies them? How to understand “deadly occupies”?
e) Reading and analysis of the second and third paragraphs of the second part.
What does a writer do on quiet autumn nights?
Let's try to see, hear, feel what we just read about.
A conversation is held during which the children talk about what they would see, feel, hear if they were actually in the place in the garden described in the work.
Now close your eyes and try to imagine everything we just talked about. Music will help you with this.
f) Reading and analysis of the fourth paragraph of the second part.
About what natural phenomenon this paragraph says. (show illustration)
Can the fog rustle?
Who creates this rustling noise?
g) Reading and analysis of the fifth and sixth paragraphs of the second part.
-What is this “chain dog”?
Why did he react so calmly to his owner’s departure?
Does a dog love his owner?
h) Reading and analysis of the seventh paragraph of the second part.
Why does the narrator call the day “desert”?
Why is he happy?
You know, guys, Paustovsky discovered Meshchera by accident. One day he was buying tea in a store, which they wrapped for him in a piece of a geographical map. The map was shabby and old. On it one could see forests, villages, and threads of rivers. Paustovsky looked at the map and thought that he simply had to see everything with his own eyes. That same summer he left for Meshchera. He wandered between the lakes, inhaled the smell of pine trees, and fell asleep in a haystack. He wrote about the most ordinary porridge, the smell of freshly baked bread, and fishing. I wrote and felt completely happy. Paustovsky did not live in Meshchera permanently, he lived in Moscow. But as soon as the first opportunity arose, he dropped everything and returned to Meshchera. He loved this region and managed to talk about it subtly and poetically.
Now look at the diagram that we got and tell me, what do you think Paustovsky meant by the words “my house”? Is it just an old hut?
IV. Lesson summary.
We got acquainted with the work of K.G. Paustovsky “My House”. Do you agree that you can write about the beauty of nature, about the feelings it evokes, not only in poetry, but also in prose?
V.Homework.
Prepare an expressive reading of the passage you like and illustrate it.
OLD PEOPLE
Talkative old people live in the meadows - in dugouts and huts. These are either watchmen at collective farm gardens, or ferrymen, or basket makers. Basket workers set up huts near the coastal willow thickets.
Acquaintance with these old people usually begins during a thunderstorm or rain, when they have to sit in huts until the thunderstorm falls across the Oka River or into the forests and a rainbow overturns over the meadows.
Acquaintance always takes place according to a once and for all established custom. First we light a cigarette, then there is a polite and cunning conversation aimed at finding out who we are, after which there are a few vague words about the weather (“the rains are coming” or, conversely, “it will finally wash the grass, otherwise everything is dry and dry"). And only after this the conversation can freely move on to any topic.
Most of all, old people love to talk about unusual things: about the new Moscow Sea, “water gliders” (gliders) on the Oka, French food (“they cook fish soup from frogs and slurp it with silver spoons”), badger races and a collective farmer from near Pronsk, who, They say he earned so many workdays that he bought a car with music with them.
Most often I met with a grumpy old man who was a basket-maker. He lived in a hut on Muzga. His name was Stepan, and his nickname was “Beard on the Poles.”
Grandfather was thin, thin-legged, like an old horse. He spoke indistinctly, his beard stuck into his mouth; the wind ruffled my grandfather's shaggy face.
Once I spent the night in Stepan’s hut. I arrived late. It was a gray, warm twilight, with hesitant rain falling. He rustled through the bushes, died down, then started making noise again, as if he was playing hide and seek with us.
This rain is fussing about like a child,” said Stepan. “It’s just a child—it moves here, then there, or even hides, listening to our conversation.”
A girl of about twelve, light-eyed, quiet, and frightened, was sitting by the fire. She spoke only in a whisper.
Look, the fool from Zaborye has gotten lost! - the grandfather said affectionately. “I searched and searched for the heifer in the meadows and finally found it until dark.” She ran to her grandfather for fire. What are you going to do with her?
Stepan pulled out a yellow cucumber from his pocket and gave it to the girl:
Eat, don't hesitate.
The girl took the cucumber, nodded her head, but did not eat it.
Grandfather put the pot on the fire and began to cook the stew.
“Here, my dears,” said the grandfather, lighting a cigarette, “you wander, as if hired, through the meadows, through the lakes, but you have no idea that there were all these meadows, and lakes, and monastery forests. From the Oka itself to Pra, almost a hundred miles, the entire forest was monastic. And now it’s a people’s forest, now it’s a labor forest.
Why were they given such forests, grandfather? - asked the girl.
And the dog knows why! The foolish women said - for holiness. They atone for our sins before the Mother of God. What are our sins? We hardly had any sins. Eh, darkness, darkness!
Grandfather sighed.
I also went to churches, it was a sin,” the grandfather muttered embarrassedly. “But what’s the point!” Lapti was disfigured for nothing.
Grandfather paused and crumbled some black bread into the stew.
“Our life was bad,” he said, lamenting. “Neither the men nor the women were happy enough.” The man would go back and forth - the man, at the very least, would get drunk on vodka, but the woman would completely disappear. Her boys were neither drunk nor well-fed. All her life she trampled around the stove with her hands, until the worms appeared in her eyes. Don't laugh, stop it! I said the right thing about worms. Those worms in the women's eyes started from the fire.
Horrible! - the girl sighed quietly.
“Don’t be scared,” said the grandfather. “You won’t get worms.” Now the girls have found their happiness. People used to think that happiness lives on warm waters, in blue seas, but in reality it turned out that it lives here, in a shard.” Grandfather tapped his forehead with a clumsy finger. “Here, for example, is Manka Malyavina.” She was a vocal girl, that's all. In the old days, she would have cried out her voice overnight, but now look what happened. Every day, Malyavin has a pure holiday: the accordion plays, pies are baked. Why? Because, my dears, how can he, Vaska Malyavin, not have fun living when Manka sends him, the old devil, two hundred rubles every month!
Where? - asked the girl.
From Moscow. She sings in the theater. Those who have heard it say it is heavenly singing. All the people are crying their eyes out. This is what it’s becoming now, a woman’s lot. She came last summer, Manka. So how will you know? A thin girl brought me a gift. She sang in the reading room. I’m used to everything, but I’ll tell you straight: it grabbed me by the heart, but I don’t understand why. Where, I think, was such power given to a person? And how did it disappear from us, men, from our stupidity for thousands of years! Now you'll trample on the ground, you'll listen here, you'll look there, and it seems like it's too early to die - you just can't choose the time to die, my dear.
Grandfather took the stew off the fire and reached into the hut for spoons.
We should live and live, Yegorych,” he said from the hut. “We were born a little too early.” You guessed wrong.
The girl looked into the fire with bright, sparkling eyes and thought about something of her own.
The small house where I live in Meshchera deserves a description. This is a former bathhouse, a log hut covered with gray planks. The house is located in a dense garden, but for some reason it is fenced off from the garden by a high palisade. This stockade is a trap for village cats who love fish. Every time I return from fishing, cats of all stripes - red, black, gray and white with tan - lay siege to the house. They scurry around, sit on the fence, on roofs, on old apple trees, howl at each other and wait for the evening. They all stare at the kukan with fish - it is suspended from the branch of an old apple tree in such a way that it is almost impossible to get it.
In the evening, the cats carefully climb over the palisade and gather under the kukan. They rise on their hind legs, and make swift and deft swings with their front legs, trying to catch the kukan. From a distance it looks like the cats are playing volleyball. Then some impudent cat jumps up, grabs the fish with a death grip, hangs on it, swings and tries to tear the fish off. The rest of the cats hit each other's whiskered faces out of frustration. It ends with me leaving the bathhouse with a lantern. The cats, taken by surprise, rush to the stockade, but do not have time to climb over it, but squeeze between the stakes and get stuck. Then they flatten their ears, close their eyes and begin to scream desperately, begging for mercy.
In autumn, the whole house is covered with leaves, and in two small rooms it becomes light, like in a flying garden.
The stoves are crackling, there is a smell of apples and cleanly washed floors. The tits sit on the branches, pour glass balls into their throats, ring, crackle and look at the windowsill, where there is a slice of black bread.
I rarely spend the night in the house. I spend most nights at the lakes, and when I stay at home I sleep in an old gazebo at the bottom of the garden. It is overgrown with wild grapes. In the mornings the sun hits it through the purple, lilac, green and lemon foliage, and it always seems to me that I wake up inside a lit tree. The sparrows look into the gazebo with surprise. They are deadly busy for hours. They tick on a round table dug into the ground. The sparrows approach them, listen to the ticking with one ear or the other, and then peck the clock hard at the dial.
It’s especially good in the gazebo on quiet autumn nights, when the slow, sheer rain is making a low noise in the garden.
The cool air barely moves the candle tongue. Angular shadows from grape leaves lie on the ceiling of the gazebo. A moth, looking like a lump of gray raw silk, lands on an open book and leaves the finest shiny dust on the page.
It smells like rain - a gentle and at the same time pungent smell of moisture, damp garden paths.
At dawn I wake up. The fog rustles in the garden. Leaves are falling in the fog. I pull a bucket of water out of the well. A frog jumps out of the bucket. I douse myself with well water and listen to the shepherd’s horn - he is still singing far away, right at the outskirts.
I go to the empty bathhouse and boil tea. A cricket starts its song on the stove. He sings very loudly and does not pay attention to my steps or the clinking of cups.
It's getting light. I take the oars and go to the river. The chained dog Divny is sleeping at the gate. He hits the ground with his tail, but does not raise his head. Marvelous has long been accustomed to my leaving at dawn. He just yawns after me and sighs noisily.
I'm sailing in the fog. The East is turning pink. The smell of smoke from rural stoves can no longer be heard. All that remains is the silence of the water, thickets, and centuries-old willows.
Ahead is a deserted September day. Ahead - lost in this huge world of fragrant foliage, grass, autumn withering, calm waters, clouds, low sky. And I always feel this lostness as happiness.
UNSELFISHNESS
You can write a lot more about the Meshchera region. You can write that this region is very rich in forests and peat, hay and potatoes, milk and berries. But I don't write about it on purpose. Should we really love our land just because it is rich, that it produces abundant harvests and that its natural forces can be used for our well-being!
This is not the only reason we love our native places. We also love them because, even if they are not rich, they are beautiful to us. I love the Meshchera region because it is beautiful, although all its charm is not revealed immediately, but very slowly, gradually.
At first glance, this is a quiet and unwise land under a dim sky. But the more you get to know it, the more, almost to the point of pain in your heart, you begin to love this ordinary land. And if I have to defend my country, then somewhere in the depths of my heart I will know that I am also defending this piece of land, which taught me to see and understand beauty, no matter how inconspicuous in appearance it may be - this thoughtful forest land, love for who will never be forgotten, just as first love is never forgotten.
Literary reading. 3rd grade.
Topic: K. Paustovsky “My Home”.
Target: continue acquaintance with the work of K. Paustovsky,
to develop the ability to determine the genre and theme of a work, learn to analyze the text and draw up a plan.
Strengthen the ability to conduct a dialogue with the author. Divide parts of the story into pictures.
Learn to see the unusual in ordinary phenomena and objects. Understand the beauty of speech in a work, find it in the text means of expression language.
Work on reading expressiveness.
Technology:p productive reading.
Lesson formats: individual, group, collective ways of organizing students’ cognitive activity.
Planned results:
Cognitive UUD
1. Convert information from one form to another: retell small texts in detail.
2. Draw conclusions as a result of the joint work of the class and the teacher.
3. Focus on the spread of the textbook.
4. Find answers to questions in the text and illustrations.
Regulatory UUD
1. Determine and formulate the purpose of the activity in the lesson with the help of the teacher.
2. Talk through the sequence of actions in the lesson.
3. Learn to express your assumptions based on working with textbook illustrations.
4. Learn to work according to the plan proposed by the teacher.
Communicative UUD
1. We develop the ability to listen and understand the speech of others.
3. Express your thoughts orally and in writing.
4. Ability to work in pairs and in groups.
1. We develop the ability to show our attitude towards the characters and express emotions.
2. Evaluate actions in accordance with a specific situation.
3. We form motivation for learning and purposeful cognitive activity.
Progress of the lesson.
Today we continue to get acquainted with the works in the section “Dead time of leaf fall”
SLIDE 1.
We already know that many people love autumn.
Poets, writers, and artists loved autumn.
Look at the painting by Vasily Polenov “ Golden autumn" Is the beauty of nature in the picture consistent with the poems about autumn that we read in the last lesson?
The musical setting for this picture is music by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky from the album “Seasons. November". What mood does the painting and music evoke in you?
What means and techniques does the composer use?
What visual media does the artist use?
Checking homework.
Some of you tried yourself at home as an artist and drew illustrations for poems. Let's see what they came up with.
Many of you have learned your favorite poems about autumn. Justify your choice and read the verse.
What means artistic image does the poet use?
Guys, why do they so often talk about nature in poetry? Try to answer this question.
Introduction to the topic of the lesson .
Nastya, the heroine of our textbook, asked the same question to her dad. Read what dad answered? Reading the author's text on page 178.
Where else can you find a description of nature, according to Nastya’s dad?
Do you agree with his answer?
What's it called? What book is this work from? To which literary genre does this work relate to? What do we know about the story?
SLIDE 2
Working with text before reading.
This is not the first work by K. Paustovsky, which we get acquainted with in class. What do we know about K. Paustovsky, the writer?(Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky, known to many readers. In his works, he heartily and simply, with great warmth, depicted our native nature, our people and our history. His works are autobiographical, the story is told from the author’s point of view. K. Paustovsky is a talented writer, a real artist words. Remember how beautifully, like a poet, K. Paustovsky described the residents of the old house, with what subtle humor he spoke about the thief cat, how he helped us discover the beautiful and amazing in the simple and ordinary. His work reveals the relationship between man and nature. Paustovsky traveled a lot around the country. He died in 1968. He was buried in the cemetery in Tarusa, near a country road, under green oak. Adults and children come to his grave, everyone who loved his works. There are always fresh flowers on his grave.)
The section from which we are reading is dedicated to autumn. How could the story “My House” be included in this section?
(Apparently, K. Paustovsky talks about a house in autumn, and includes in the story autumn landscapes etc.)
-Look at the illustration for this story and guess who will be the hero of this work? (house and cats)
-Soon we will read this story and find out how right you are. There are words and expressions in the story that you may have difficulty understanding.
SLIDE 3
Former bathhouse
Sheathed with plank-
Palisade
Trap-
They put the house under siege -
Kukan with fish-
Death grip-
Taken by surprise -
Flying Garden-
Is it possible now to add anything about the content of the story?
Before we get acquainted with the text, let's read what the authors of the textbook call us to do. From 178.
Working with text while reading.
Primary reading and title of the 1st part of the story.
Commented reading, dialogue with the author .
The small house where I live in Meshchera deserves a description. (I wonder why? We ask a question, but it does not require an answer.)
This is a former bathhouse, a log hut covered with gray planks. The house is located in a dense garden, but for some reason it is fenced off from the garden by a high picket fence. This stockade is a trap for village cats who love fish.(Can you guess why?.) Every time I return from fishing, cats of all stripes - red, black, gray and white with tan - lay siege to the house. They scurry around, sit on the fence, on the roofs, on old apple trees, howl at each other and wait for the evening. (Why do cats wait for the evening?) They all look, without stopping, at the kukan with fish - it is suspended from the branch of an old apple tree with in such a way that it is almost impossible to get it. (Since “almost” means it’s still possible...)
In the evening, cats carefully climb over the palisade (Why careful?) and gather under the kukan. They rise on their hind legs and make swift and deft swings with their front legs, trying to catch the kukan. From a distance, it looks like the cats are playing volleyball. Then some impudent cat jumps up, grabs the fish with a death grip, hangs on it, swings and tries to tear the fish off.(Introduced?) The rest of the cats hit each other's whiskered faces out of frustration.(Why do cats hit each other?) It ends with me leaving the bathhouse with a lantern. The cats, taken by surprise, rush to the stockade, but do not have time to climb over it, but squeeze between the stakes and get stuck. Then they flatten their ears, close their eyes and begin to scream desperately, begging for mercy.(Can you imagine? A very bright picture!)
In autumn, the whole house is covered with leaves, and in two small rooms it becomes light, like in a flying garden. (Why does it become light in the house in the fall?? The leaves have fallen, the trees are bare, so it’s lighter.)
The stoves are crackling, there is a smell of apples and cleanly washed floors. Tits sit on branches, pour glass balls in their throats, ring, crackle and look at the windowsill, where there is a slice of black bread. (What smells did you smell in the autumn garden?
What sounds did you hear? Compare expressions:
The stoves are crackling and the tits are chattering (this only happens in autumn). Their singing is different.
Questions after reading part 1.
What do you think is the mood of the owner of the house in the autumn season? wooden hut?
How would you title the first part? Work in a notebook. Page 29, task 1.
(Desperate neighbors. Besieged hut)
Why does a small house in Meshchera deserve a description? Now can you answer this question?
Reading part 2.
Imagine autumn paintings, try to feel the author’s mood, the feeling of happiness alone with nature. Try to see ordinary miracles.
The teacher reads the entire 2nd part.
SLIDE 4
Now you yourself will re-read part 2 of the story and try to discuss in groups how many pictures this part can be divided into. For each picture that you get, try to give a title and highlight keywords.
Examination.
How many paintings did you get? (6)
Sound off the first picture. What keywords were emphasized? What did you title it? (a plan appears on the board)
Voice over picture 2; 3; 4; 5; 6.
Plan on the board.
According to this plan, we will now re-read part 2 of the story one more time in order to better understand with what help literary devices the author managed to show the beauty of the autumn nature surrounding his house.
1 picture. Description of a gazebo in the depths of the forest.
What favorite part of the house did K. Paustovsky tell about?
What feeling does a writer have in the morning?
What does it mean The sun is beating ?
Who else visits the writer in the morning?
Explain the expression "mortally occupied "(Very strongly, they are not even afraid of human presence.)
2 picture. Night autumn rain.
Find the epithets. (Sheer rain)
Explain this expression. (Goes absolutely straight)
What is this technique called?
Paustovsky often describes rain in his works, but each time in a new way.
What smells fill the autumn garden?
Picture 3. Foggy dawn and invigorating shower.
How does the writer describe the fog? Read it!
Can the fog rustle?
What technique does Paustovsky use? (personification)
Who did he see in the bucket?
What do villagers call the outskirts?
4 picture Cricket song
Compare the expressionsthe cricket sings And the horn sings
5 picture. Leaving at dawn.
Why do you think the dog has such an unusual nickname?
What can a dog's sigh tell you?
Explain the expression "The East is turning pink »
Scene 6 - Lost in a huge world.
Why does the narrator call the September daydeserted?
What do you think is the secret of this happiness amid the autumn withering?
(He communicates with nature, rests, observes, new thoughts are born to him).
You are absolutely right, and I would like to read the lines of K. Paustovsky, in which he talks about the feeling of autumn:
SLIDE 5
“There were many signs of autumn, but I tried to remember them. I knew one thing for sure - that I would never forget this autumn bitterness, miraculously connected with lightness of soul and simple and clear thoughts.
The more gloomy the clouds were, dragging wet, frayed hems along the ground, the colder the rains, the fresher it became in the heart, the easier, as if by themselves, the words fell on paper.”
-What poetic lines do you think are very suitable for part 2 of the story “My House”
"It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty!...”
A. S. Pushkin
SLIDE 6
General conversation.
What do you think K. Paustovsky puts into the concept of “My Home”? What deserves description?
(This is a garden, and a well, and the Wonderful dog, and cats, and curious sparrows, and a gazebo overgrown with grapes, and the nature that he observed and understood... This is the world around him...)
Do you agree with Nastya’s dad’s statement that you can write about the beauty of nature and the feelings it evokes in prose?
Homework.
SLIDE 7
Those who love to draw will draw an illustration for the painting that particularly impressed you.
Choose musical accompaniment for this story.
Complete the task in the literary notebook under numbers 2 and 4 p. 29
Write down quotes that you especially liked on the AUTUMN page.
Detailed retelling of part 2 according to plan (6 people per fragment).
Expressive reading of a story.
The small house where I live in Meshchera deserves a description. This is a former bathhouse, a log hut covered with gray planks. The house is located in a dense garden, but for some reason it is fenced off from the garden by a high palisade. This stockade is a trap for village cats who love fish. Every time I return from fishing, cats of all stripes - red, black, gray and white with tan - lay siege to the house. They scurry around, sit on the fence, on roofs, on old apple trees, howl at each other and wait for the evening. They all look, without looking away, at the kukan with fish - it is suspended from the branch of an old apple tree in such a way that it is almost impossible to get it.
In the evening, the cats carefully climb over the palisade and gather under the kukan. They rise on their hind legs, and make swift and deft swings with their front legs, trying to catch the kukan. From a distance it looks like the cats are playing volleyball. Then some impudent cat jumps up, grabs the fish with a death grip, hangs on it, swings and tries to tear the fish off. The rest of the cats hit each other's whiskered faces out of frustration. It ends with me leaving the bathhouse with a lantern. The cats, taken by surprise, rush to the stockade, but do not have time to climb over it, but squeeze between the stakes and get stuck. Then they flatten their ears, close their eyes and begin to scream desperately, begging for mercy.
In autumn, the whole house is covered with leaves, and in two small rooms it becomes light, like in a flying garden.
The stoves are crackling, there is a smell of apples and cleanly washed floors. Tits sit on branches, pour glass balls in their throats, ring, crackle and look at the windowsill, where there is a slice of black bread.
I rarely spend the night in the house. I spend most nights at the lakes, and when I stay at home, I sleep in an old gazebo at the bottom of the garden. It is overgrown with wild grapes. In the mornings the sun hits it through the purple, lilac, green and lemon foliage, and it always seems to me that I wake up inside a lit tree. The sparrows look into the gazebo with surprise. They are deadly busy for hours. They tick on a round table dug into the ground. The sparrows approach them, listen to the ticking with one ear or the other, and then peck the clock hard at the dial.
It’s especially good in the gazebo on quiet autumn nights, when the slow, sheer rain is making a low noise in the garden.
The cool air barely moves the candle tongue. Angular shadows from grape leaves lie on the ceiling of the gazebo. A moth, looking like a lump of gray raw silk, lands on an open book and leaves the finest shiny dust on the page. It smells like rain - a gentle and at the same time pungent smell of moisture, damp garden paths.
At dawn I wake up. The fog rustles in the garden. Leaves are falling in the fog. I pull a bucket of water out of the well. A frog jumps out of the bucket. I douse myself with well water and listen to the shepherd’s horn - he is still singing far away, right on the outskirts.
I go to the empty bathhouse and boil tea. A cricket starts its song on the stove. He sings very loudly and does not pay attention to my steps or the clinking of cups.
It's getting light. I take the oars and go to the river. The chain dog Divny sleeps at the gate. He hits the ground with his tail, but does not raise his head. Marvelous has long been accustomed to my leaving at dawn. He just yawns after me and sighs noisily. I'm sailing in the fog. The East is turning pink. The smell of smoke from rural stoves can no longer be heard. All that remains is the silence of the water and the thickets of centuries-old willows.
Ahead is a deserted September day. Ahead - lost in this huge world of fragrant foliage, grass, autumn withering, calm waters, clouds, low sky. And I always feel this confusion as happiness.
