A few kilometers from Laskovo I noticed a huge anthill by the road. The anthill was huge, apparently it was cared for and protected. And in general, people in this region seemed to me kinder and simpler than in other places. This applied even to such a seemingly small thing as caring for our traveling brother. I lost count of the parking lots for rest, comfortable and beautiful. It was felt that the forest was well-groomed with love. But I was struck by something else at that moment. Thousands, hundreds of thousands of ants in an endless, non-stop stream, scurried in a solid red mass. Only now did I fully understand what a wonderful comparison - a crowded city with an anthill - was once invented.

An hour later I met completely different ants - large, black, with huge jaws. It was my first stop in the Meshchera forest. I settle in a Christmas tree, in addition to the already traditional things, I get a mosquito repellent. If this bastard bothered me so much in the steppe, then what would they do to me here, in the great forest? However, a minute passes, then two, and the mosquitoes are not heard or seen. Here I only pay attention to the fact that there is sand and moss under my feet. The air is surprisingly dry and clean. The road was far away, so only occasionally the faint noise of passing cars could be heard. Ants did not take long to appear. They showed interest not in me, but in the contents of the backpack. It remained to rejoice at my foresight: all the products were wrapped in cellophane. Leaving the ants alone, I lie down for a little nap. The path ahead was not close, and therefore I decided to just take a little nap, and then move on. It seemed to me that I slept quite slightly. True, for some reason it became somehow darker in the forest. Is it really going to rain? I look at my watch and calm down. The most impudent ant, apparently desperate to get to the food, got to my forehead. As I gently pick him up with my hands, he desperately begins to flap his jaws. A formidable man! All I have to do is leave some bread for my black friends and move on. I look at my watch again... They are still the same at fifteen to five. Stand! And no rain is expected, just the sun is already setting. I almost ran to the nearest village, where I found out that it was already ten o'clock. It turns out that I slept for more than six hours! Fatigue, fresh spruce air, the absence of mosquitoes did their job. And everything would be fine, but the village of Kriushi, where I am going to spend the night, is still eight kilometers away. And in the villages, they go to bed early. Kind people in Kielce offered me to stay. But then tomorrow I will have to walk almost forty kilometers to Klepiki. There is another reason to go to Kriushi. Yesterday, just before Poshchupov, the driver of a passing Volga offered me a ride. I saw him again when I was returning from the bath. It turned out that Vasily Andreevich, that was the name of the owner of the car, had a summer cottage in Poshchupovo. He proudly pointed to the ready-made foundation, a shed in which the tool could be stored. When he found out where I was going tomorrow, he somehow very unexpectedly perked up. It was then that I found out that his father, a former forester, Andrei Timofeyevich, lived in Kriushi.

"You will definitely come to him," Vasily Andreevich told me. - We recently buried his mother, he is very sad. And I still have no time to come to the old man with this construction. And say hello from me. Dark. I walked very fast. According to my calculations, Kriushi should begin nearby, but where is it: a road, a road, and an endless forest all around. The most interesting thing is that somewhere to the side I heard the crowing of roosters, the barking of dogs, the mooing of cows. I try to follow the sounds, but the forest greets me with a dark impassable wall. A ghost village? A sand path went a little to the right of the big one. Owls fly overhead, a little more and the darkness will hide the path from me. Suddenly the forest parted, and I came to the shore of a very picturesque lake. On the shore there is a wooden table. Three guys at a table set with appetizers - sausage, fresh cucumbers, potatoes. Two bottles of vodka. One is already empty. The guys explained everything to me. Kriushi are indeed on the road, but on the old one. Now they have laid a ring road, and you walked along it for four kilometers. And the forester Trofimitch really lives here, and lives nearby. You didn't reach his house about a hundred meters. It is best to return to the road you walked. The third house is on the edge. That's what panic means. I return to the road. And indeed, she was turning sharply to the outskirts of the village. It was no longer difficult to find the forester's house.

The door was opened by a short elderly man. He did not listen to me, immediately grabbed my hand and said in a tone that brooked no objections: "Why talk on the porch? I have guests. You probably came to visit too. Come in." Yes, the feast was in full swing in the room. With difficulty I explain the purpose of my late visit, I say hello. I get acquainted with those present. Actually. I exaggerated a little: the holiday was over, the guests were finishing their tea and getting ready to rest. They were the children of Andrei Trofimitch. They greeted me as warmly and cordially as their father. And at night, when the Big Dipper lit up its stars over the forest, Andrey Trofimovich drew me into the garden, to a bench, where we had a leisurely conversation. I didn't want to sleep at all. The old man slept little, and after the death of his wife, he was generally tormented by insomnia, but I slept well today. "What a day I have today, what a day I have today. What happiness," he repeated, stroking a cute shaggy dog. "And tomorrow she and I will be alone again. My children will leave, you will leave." I learned a lot that night. And first of all, he learned that a kind, sweet man Andrey Trofimitch lived in a lost Meshchera village. In simple words, he told me about his life, almost all spent in Meshchera. He was only absent for the war.

- Vasily is from my first wife. And these four whom you saw, they are not my relatives. I got together with their mother after the war. What a woman! She didn't want to break up the family, but it just happened: I came to her once and said: don't drive me away. And I have never abandoned my own children. And they are all dear to me... I buried her recently completely. I was sick for a long time. She was silently ill, as if she was shy. And why should I live without her? Believe me, we have never quarreled with her in forty years. If I get mad, I scream, he will look at me in such a way that I feel ashamed of myself. Yes. I don't want to live. Every time I see her in my dreams, I beg you: take me to you, mother..." Andrey Trofimitch began to cry.

His daughter came out on the porch.

"Dad, why don't you let a man sleep?" The old man fussed.

"What is it, me?" He shook off. He looked at his watch. "I've been chatting for more than two hours." I started talking to you completely.

"Well, what are you talking about!

"Do I really have a good house?" And I have good children! If you are in our area, at least alone, even with friends, come to visit. I will always be happy. We went to the house. The Big Dipper was descending behind the forest.

July 14. Rivets.

Andrey Trofimovich's daughters collected brakes for my road. The whole large family, led by the owner of the house, went out to see off the night guest. Several times I turn around, there are fewer and fewer figures of people. And soon the wall of the approaching forest hides from me not only them, but also the village. I look at the mighty green heroes in a completely different way. Their noise does not seem so cheerful to me. Apparently. Meshchera will become another victim of the "creative" activity of man. The old forester told me how the swamps in the Meshchera forests were drained, how first the mosquitoes disappeared, then the birds, and how the animals left. Sand is advancing on the forests, trees have stopped growing.The bitterness was in the words of Andrey Trofimovich:

"You say how wonderful it is here. There is no doubt that it is wonderful. But we, those who were born in these forests, remember what Meshchera was like before the drainage. And now... As if you were attending a funeral. What will we leave to our children? He waved his hand hopelessly and added, like a nail in a coffin: "They killed Meshchera. Near the village of Malinovka there was a tall structure, which apparently served forestry workers to monitor the forest. Climbing to the very top, I once again remembered the words of Andrei Trofimovich. I remembered when my breath was taken away by what I saw. Malinovka lay like ant buildings below, and the Forest stood majestically and calmly all around, wherever the eye could see. That's right, with a capital letter. This dark green sea was stunning from horizon to horizon. Is it possible that all this will perish? Will he perish from human stupidity, greed, insatiability? A huge cloud was coming from the north. Probably, there will be rain with a thunderstorm. But no matter how much it goes, it will definitely pass. The sky will be blue again. And will the thunderstorm that has risen over this green ocean with a huge invisible front pass Meshchera? Will it pass?

I am trying to see Spas-Klepiki in the east. But they are not visible. Well, I'll have to walk today. However, the road in this forest region is not at all a burden. And the eyes never cease to be surprised. Take, for example, local villages. I have already written that the people here are friendly. But kind, sympathetic people were met all along the way. But the cows in the local villages are simply extraordinary. Cows walk through the forest like moose, nibbling grass, shepherds are not visible. Or they will go out onto the road and cross it, calmly, with a sense of self-dignity, and again disappear into the thicket of the forest. Probably, in India there are the same people. However, the closer I got to Klepiki, the fewer cows I saw wandering in the forest. But flocks of tourists began to come across more and more often. Surroundings of the Pra River