Mama's Home Remedies: Discover Time-Tested Secrets of Good Health and the Pleasures of Natural Livin by Svetlana Konnikova (series like harry potter txt) 📗

On the first day of fal some years ago, this autumn-artist had used already al of her unique palette of colors: green and yel ow, gold, orange, and burgundy. I came to the smal pictorial vil age in Moldova, in the southeastern part of Europe, on assignment from a newspaper for young readers. This vil age was wel known, thanks to an old gigantic oak tree that lived high upon a hil . On the world map this small country looks curiously like a bunch of grapes and is situated on the major European crossroads. For many centuries Moldova attracted numerous invaders: Scythians, Hottentots, Huns, Golden Horde of Tatars, and Mongolians. From the twelfth century this grape country was a part of the Great Roman, Ottoman, Russian tsar’s, and Soviet empires, and Romania.

I stood near the Herculean oak on a hil . In the heat of the summer he covered the vil age and its inhabitants in shaded coolness, taking them under his wide and branching crown. Even travelers passing by would stop near the old oak to rest. In the fal the land near the oak was covered with a blanket of his lacy, colored patterned leaves. In the winter the oak stood and met with great joy the rare and timid sunbeams which sometimes appeared in the heavy, gray sky. Fall came to the village with September and the first toll of the school bell. The day was warm, dry, and sunny, and after lessons a group of seventh graders took a walk in the forest that was bedecked in full crimson-gold attire. Autumn, the great artist that she is, generously spent all her rich and beautiful colors to adorn the trees. She covered maples and lindens with gold brocade. The birches she painted with ochre, but the leaves of the aspens she rouged with red. Pine and fir trees were renewed with rich dark-green color. Dialogue with the Trees of Strength and Everlasting Life @ 249

Autumn swept the fields and meadows and left them standing in a burnt sienna, waiting for winter. She gathered sweet-scented bales of hay in the meadows and stacked them like the towers of an ancient castle. Fall took good care of the Herculean oak standing alone on the hill for more than 200 years. She dressed the giant tree in copper-forged armor, and he looked like a king’s knight.

Andrew, one of the seventh graders, walked together with his classmates in the forest, and they came across the oak. The tree allowed a light breeze to ruffle slowly the smaller branches along its strong arms.

“Oak branches are so strong,” Andrew thought. “I can make a good stick from one.” He bent one of the branches and a crackle sounded so sorrowfully that the astonished boy stopped. Immediately another boy’s voice rang out,

“All come here! Look at this daredevil!” Boys and girls came running to the outcry of the red-headed boy. They cried with indignation, “Did you plant this tree? Who gave you the right to hurt our favorite oak?”

Andrew realized that his schoolmates were not joking with him and that they were not going to forgive him the damage he had done to the tree. He began to run to save himself from being beaten by the children, but the children caught him and under their tough escort he was taken to a house. Their knock on the door brought outside a tall, gray-haired man dressed in a business suit. It appeared as if he was dressed for an important meeting. His jacket was adorned with many medals honoring his achievements in World War II. When the boy saw them, he became ashamed of what he did. He began to mumble, trying to justify himself, “I just wanted to make a stick for our game gorodky or I thought I could make a tool to shoot the crows.”

“Don’t listen to him, Uncle Basil!” the boys

and girls said. “He is a real forest’s hooligan.”

Uncle Basil turned to Andrew and asked

in a quiet voice, “Well, what do you think,

boy? Are you a hooligan? I cannot believe that

you could be so cruel to a tree, especially our

oak.” He continued, “Unfortunately I don’t

have time now to discuss this, but please come

tomorrow to our club.”

He addressed the other students, “You,

boys and girls, come on time. Don’t be late.”

250 ^ Mama’s Home Remedies

“Uncle Basil, we’ll go with you to the village hall,” said the students and they did. It looked as if they had forgotten all about Andrew. He trailed them slowly. They stopped near the village hall where Uncle Basil was. Andrew looked around while the group made final plans to meet tomorrow at the club. Near the road, not far away he noticed two rowan trees, trampled down. These young trees, glistening with red berries, were broken in half. Andrew realized that they would not grow anymore—they would not produce oxygen or delight people’s eyes.

Andrew approached Uncle Basil and silently showed him what had happened to the rowan trees. Uncle Basil shrugged his shoulders and said sadly,

“During World War II when our Army passed through the territory of fascist Germany, we didn’t crush with our tanks and military cars any of the trees and other foliage. We passed near them, but we did everything possible to keep them safe