The fifth exhibition Moscow garden show - 5 showed zest for garden and home


From 15 to 18 March in the capital's exhibition center "Crocus-Expo" was held the fifth international exhibition "House and Garden. Moscow garden show ". In 2012, the stands of 90 participating companies from Russia, Great Britain, Germany, Italy, USA, Finland and Sweden were located on an area of ​​4500 square meters.

The main thematic sections of the exhibition were: landscape design, garden furniture, aqua design, flowers and decor, garden equipment, grills and barbecues. There were, as always, a lot of visitors (both professionals and amateurs). This is partly explained by the fact that the exhibition is interesting in itself, and partly by the fact that in parallel with it in the neighboring halls the exhibitions “Wooden House”, “Salon of Fireplaces”, “Aqua salon: Welness & SPA” are traditionally held, and all four events can be visited with one general ticket.

Professionals had the opportunity to become participants in the next conference "Fashion Trends in Landscape Design". This time the famous English landscape architect and journalist Andy Stejen conducted traditional master classes within the framework of the conference.

As always, the most striking event of the exhibition was the annual competition “Landscape Fashion. A garden for a star. This time, landscape designers and architects dedicated their exhibition gardens to such famous personalities as Yuri Antonov, Povilas Vanagas, Marina Golub, Larisa Dolina, Daria Dontsova, Margarita Drobyazko. The Grand Prix of the competition was awarded to the garden "Everything is in your hands", created by representatives of the Yaroslavl Association of Landscape Specialists and dedicated to the actress Marina Golub. It was simultaneously a resting place, a stage and a podium, on which were placed cubic flowerpots with plants, a mini-pond, a spectacular tree and a resting two-dimensional lady made of transparent, glass-like plastic.

The choice of the English guest Andy Stegen fell on the "Thirst" garden, made by Natalia Kaminskaya and dedicated to the figure skater Margarita Drobyazko. It was based on a combination of cold concrete walls, on which two icebergs with a vast plane of water are drawn and highlighted by light. And in it the author placed numerous indoor plants. In the center of the garden there was a platform with two folding wooden chairs installed on it.

The first place in the "Leisure Garden" nomination was taken by the work "Chill-out for two", dedicated to figure skaters Margarita Drobyazko and Povilas Vanagas. It arose thanks to the imagination of the employees of the Royal Gardens company. The basis of this garden is a snow-white openwork wooden rounded gazebo with red seats and blue cushions, resulting in a patriotic tricolor. The biofireplace located in the center of the gazebo, as well as luminous white balls and fluttering artificial tongues of flame placed along the periphery, gave a special charm to the work.

In the "Garden-Garden" nomination, the first place was awarded to the creative project "Garden Jazz", made by employees of the "Green Hand" company and dedicated to the singer Larisa Dolina. It was designed in black and white with a splash of green and a small amount of other colors and was built on the contrast of brutal and not at all "garden" water pipes and delicate representatives of flora. Together they formed a harmonious visual melody from the notes "written" on the wall, piano keys and organ pipes.

The first place in the Art Object nomination was taken by the Good Evening Garden of the Ecoterra Design Landscape Bureau, dedicated to Povilas Vanagas and Margarita Drobyazko. The composition of this garden, which was based on a table surrounded by seats and flat artificial, but very realistic trees, sent visitors back to the traditional landscapes of Latvia.

From the rest of the works submitted for the competition, I would like to highlight the project by Olga Rybkina, “Green Garden”, dedicated to the writer Daria Dontsova, which was decided in the spirit of minimalism; the project "Geometry of Dance", presented by the landscape studio "Kust & Liszt" and dedicated to the athlete Margarita Drobyazko, in which a blue cube rotates at one of the corners around its axis against the background of a panorama of a large city and green balls on a boom, as well as a project of a vintage garden from the company "Garden Representation", in which a partially collapsed purple wall, a bench, mirrored surfaces, a variety of junipers, roses and an aged path create a sense of scenography and artistry.

Alexey Antsiferov, candidate of agricultural sciences
Photo by the author


We equip a recreation area in the form of a gazebo with a barbecue

We have already talked about how to make a gazebo with a barbecue with our own hands, now we will take a closer look at the options for decorating it.

As you already understood, the main advantage of a gazebo with a barbecue is the barbecue oven itself, on which during your rest you can easily fry kebabs or cook a rich fish soup, such a rest will not only be rich, but also memorable.

It is recommended to install the barbecue oven in the back wall of the gazebo, so that the preparation of dinner does not interfere with the guests to move freely to the garden and back. The material for the barbecue oven will be natural stone or refractory brick, depending on which design you prefer.

Do not forget to also decorate the gazebo with climbing plants and small architectural forms of the corresponding garden style.

We bring to your attention several original photos of examples of decorating a gazebo with a barbecue with your own hands:


Ice and Snow Sculpture Festivals in Russian Regions

Have been abroad - it's time to go home. The tradition of ice sculpture competitions and festivals has taken root in our country as well. I had the first chance to see such miracles in the 90s of the last century in Khabarovsk, but now winter holidays are held in many regional centers - fortunately, most regions of our country are not offended by snow and ice.

Petrozavodsk, winter festival "Hyperborea"

Hyperborea is a country that, according to legends, was located somewhere on the Kola Peninsula. The Hyperboreans lived there - a happy people loved by Apollo. Scientists are equipping expeditions in search of evidence of the existence of an ancient highly developed civilization on these lands - akin to the search for the legendary Atlantis. Well, in Petrozavodsk since 2001, the winter festival "Hyperborea" has been held, an extensive program of which includes, among other things, an international competition of snow and ice sculptures.


Petrozavodsk, February 20, 2016. Craftsmen create snow sculptures. Photo from the site iStock.com/Zabavna

And there is also a winter carnival, a variety of competitions (including winter fishing), extreme lovers can swim in the ice hole, children will surely enjoy the snowman show - in a word, no one will be bored! You can read more about all the events and the festival itself on the official website of the project.

Yekaterinburg, International Ice Sculpture Festival "Europe-Asia"

On New Year's Eve, a real winter fairy tale begins in the center of Yekaterinburg. Here for many years the Ice City has been welcoming guests with winter fun, attractions and a large exposition of sculptures - works by participants in the Europe-Asia International Ice Sculpture Festival.


Yekaterinburg, January 2, 2015. Ice Arch on 1905 Square. Photo from iStock.com/-lvinst-

Teams from different cities present their works for the competition, among the participants there are also world, European and Russian ice art champions. A report from the 2016 festival will help you to plunge into the atmosphere of the holiday, to admire the amazingly beautiful compositions - be sure to take a look! Photos of the entries can be viewed here.


Yekaterinburg, January 2, 2015. Ice sculptures on the 1905 Square. Photo from iStock.com/-lvinst-

By the way, this is not the only event in Yekaterinburg where you can see ice sculptures. In early January, on the territory of the Church on the Blood International Ice Sculpture Festival "Star of Bethlehem"... So the New Year and Christmas in this Ural city are really fabulous!

Perm, Russian Cup in snow and ice sculpture "Winter Opening Day"

And in Perm, for several years now, an open Cup of Russia in snow and ice sculpture has been held, in which not only Russian, but also foreign teams participate. The works of the participants can be seen on the esplanade in the city center.


Perm, February 6, 2016. Ice New Year's town. Photo from the site iStock.com/Onishenko-Galina

The works created by the contestants in the "Snow" and "Ice" nominations are first evaluated by a professional jury, and then access to the exposition is open to everyone. Photos of the works performed by the contestants in January of the outgoing year can be viewed here.


Perm, February 6, 2016. Works of the participants of the "Winter Opening Day". Photo from the site iStock.com/Onishenko-Galina

In general, this publication could become endless - after all, wonderful contests, festivals, exhibitions of ice and snow sculptures take place in winter, probably wherever weather conditions permit. Such events are held in Moscow and St. Petersburg, Novosibirsk and Khabarovsk, Kostroma and many other cities. The scope of the article will not allow to tell about everyone - but there are comments!

Tell us about the ice fairy tale that you saw, share photos, invite us to a holiday in your city! By the way, we already have a whole photo gallery of such subjects - see the photos of ice sculptures on the website of 7 summer cottages


The decor of my garden, or when my husband has golden hands

When my dream came true - a beautiful courtyard and a beautiful garden ... I wanted more!

Everything was wonderful - a coniferous corner, roses, lilacs, flower beds ... but the garden looked boring. Here's what you can do - we are always missing something! And there was not enough zest - garden residents, figurines, some houses.


Coniferous corner in front of the house


Garden at home

And we decided to decorate our garden with different crafts. And again, all hope is on her husband and his golden hands!

The first thing I wanted was a mill. And the husband made a mill. Beautiful. She immediately blended into our garden ... as if she was standing there))


Mill

Then it was the turn of the lighthouse. Look, is he really wonderful ?! And also very harmoniously blended into our garden.


Lighthouse


Lighthouse


Lighthouse

Then came the turn of flowerpots and flowerpots)) My husband embodied one of my ideas after another.

A flowerpot made of plywood and the remains of a block of house.


Flowerpot

Original pots made of larch stumps.


Larch stump planter


A planter for flowers from a larch stump is ready

Since I read a lot about garden design, I found an arch on the Internet and, of course, was on fire to have one on my site. Well, as you guessed, she went to her husband. And now I have three arches on the site!


Arch without paint


Arch 1


Arch 2 and my roses

Well, as it should be in a real garden - we "settled" pets in it!


Our new garden dwellers

Now our garden has acquired its own style. Here's one. Our ... And now I feel comfortable and joyful in it!


Garden perennial bush flowers: where is it better to plant

Decisions when flowers are planted exclusively in flower beds have long been in the past. It is now very popular to place cultures in different areas in order to create original compositions. Perennial bush flowers for the garden are an excellent solution for planting along garden paths, they are used to form a hedge to hide the yard from prying eyes.

Great mixes come from garden benches and bush flowers to create vibrant relaxation alleys. There is also a place for perennial shrubs on flower beds.


With your own hands - How to do it yourself

Garden before redesign

The site of an unusual triangular shape, although caressed by the sun, does not cause a desire to spend leisure time here. The bare wall to the left, the lawn without a twist and the old terrace - everything looks extremely dull.

To begin with, the designers started upgrading the fence. The high massive wall on the left was planked and draped with bamboo bushes of the new variety ‘Aureocaulis’ (can be replaced with a trellis entwined with a spreading liana, for example, maiden grapes or hops). The wooden fence on the opposite side of the house also remained in its place, except that now it is entwined with eastern clematis with yellow flowers, which are replaced in autumn by lovely fluffy dry inflorescences.

The plant pots in the right corner do not improve the position either.

Instead of the old terrace, the area of ​​which was significantly reduced by the bamboo planting, the designers erected a new one - a round one. This "maneuver" made it possible to balance the irregular triangular shape of the site. The main resting place in the garden is now played by a wooden platform on a small elevation.

It is bordered by a curb of light-colored paving stones, which is in harmony with the gravel garden and the garden path. In addition, an additional resting place has appeared. It is located diagonally from the circular terrace. There is plenty of room for a bench and a couple of plants in plain gray pots.

The feeling of three-dimensionality created by bamboo and clematis is enhanced by the decorative 'Evereste' apple tree growing in the middle of the lawn, as well as by the white-flowered lawn at the main resting place. This shrub, surrounded by shade-tolerant herbaceous perennials with yellow, blue and white flowers, dominates the main flower garden, which has a wave shape that smoothly bends around a round platform and stretches further along the entire bamboo fence.

In the far corner of the garden, the designers have hidden another highlight - a gravel island with a mini-fountain. The second small resting place is also buried in greenery - another eastern clematis winds along the wall, and next to the chaise longue three tub plants are pleasing to the eye.

Flowers of smilacin racemose, smelling like lilies of the valley, appear in early summer. The plant, reaching a height of 60-80 cm, prefers partial shade or shade and humus-rich soil.

The gravel flower garden looks most impressive in June, during the flowering of Siberian iris, as well as in August, when pink fluffy inflorescences of hasmantium broadleaf, or wild oats, appear. Over time, the panicles of this ornamental grass turn to copper shades, and the green leaves turn golden yellow.


Online reading of the book The Secret Garden Chapter IV. MARTHA

In the morning Mary was awakened by the steps. Opening her eyes, she saw a young maid. The girl bent over the rug in front of the fireplace and noisily shoveled the ash. Mary watched her for a while, then looked around the room. The room seemed to her unusual and gloomy. Tapestries with scenes of forest hunting hung on the walls. There, under the shade of the trees, stood men in hunting suits, horses, dogs, and beautifully dressed ladies. The castle towers were visible in the distance. Mary looked at the hunting scenes for so long that in the end it seemed to her that she herself was standing in this forest with smart ladies and men. When the tapestries bored her, Mary looked out the window, which overlooked the wasteland. There really was not a single tree, and the grass and low bushes swayed in the wind like the sea.

- What is it there? - pointing to the window with her finger, she asked the servant.

- This is it? - Swallowing sounds in a Yorkshire manner, she responded.

- Well, yes, over there, outside the window, - specified Mary.

“This wasteland,” the girl replied. - Like?

- Not! - Mary answered confidently. - She's some kind of disgusting!

“You’re just not used to it yet,” the girl said with such a strong accent that Mary winced. - Oh, excuse me! - the servant caught himself. “How many times has Mrs. Madlock warned me to watch as I speak. Otherwise, Mrs Madlock insists, no one can understand you, Martha.

And, diligently pronouncing the words, Martha repeated:

- This is due to the fact that you are not used to it yet. At first, the wasteland seems to everyone too naked and uncomfortable. But as you look closely, you will definitely like it.

- Do you like it yourself? - Mary looked at her probingly.

“Yes,” Martha said, polishing the grate of the fireplace to a shine. - I love these places. And it is not at all naked and not disgusting.And in the spring, as the heather and gorse with broom begin to bloom, the wasteland becomes a marriageable bride. Such a honey aroma is worth it! And so much air! The bees are buzzing, the larks are flooding! Well, music, and more! Yes, pay me a thousand pounds, I will never go to live far from the wasteland!

With every word this maid surprised Mary more and more. In India, servants behaved very differently. They were obedient and obsequious. Every now and then they made respectful obeisances to their owners, calling them "gracious masters" and "defenders of the poor." It never occurred to them to address the owners as if they were equals. Whenever something was required of the servants in India, they were simply ordered. Saying "please" or "thank you" to them was also not accepted. Angry with Aya, Mary would slap her in the face, and this was considered in the order of things.

And now, looking closely at Martha, Mary suddenly realized that she would never have dared to hit this girl. Martha's plump face radiated cordiality. And her eyes were very kind. But it was felt that she was completely confident in herself and in no way could silently bear the insult.

- You are not such a servant, - Mary said thoughtfully.

- Yes, I myself know! Martha laughed cheerfully. “If Misselthwaite had been a mistress, as in other houses of the same kind, I would never have been taken here even as a junior maid. Unless in the dishwashers, and even then hardly. I'm too simple-minded. And I speak Yorkshire, and not as is customary with the gentlemen. But this house, although very chic, is a little different here. There is no mistress at all, and it is as if there is no owner. The whole house is in the care of Mr. Pitcher and Mrs. Madlock. And Mr. Craven either does not live here at all, or lives, but does not even want to listen to anything like household chores and order. Mrs. Madlock, out of the kindness of her heart, gave me a job here. But she also told me: "I could never have taken you here, Martha, if everything was here, as in normal rich houses."

- Now, what, will you be my servant? The girl inquired with purely colonial arrogance.

“I work for Mrs. Madlock,” Martha said confidently, and went back to work on the grate. “And Mrs Madlock works for Mr. Craven,” she continued. “So I’m not your maid, but just a maid in this house. But if you need it, I will help you with something. But you probably won't need my help too much.

- How is it not too necessary? - Mary was indignant. - Who will dress me?

Martha dropped the rag from her hands and, without getting up from her knees, gazed at the girl in amazement.

- Can't you get dressed yourself?

- Of course not! - Mary answered angrily. - What else, dress yourself! I had Aya for that!

“That means we’ll have to learn now,” the maid was not in the least intimidated. “In my opinion, it’s just about time. And your age is right to get used to taking care of yourself. My mother always says: “I am really surprised, Martha, how it is that in rich families not all children grow up to be fools! Because they are dressed, and washed, and walked almost on a leash, like puppies. " So my mother says, and it seems to me that she is right.

The maid's words seemed to the girl the height of insolence, and she indignantly exclaimed:

- We speak differently in India!

“Yes, I can see from you that it’s different,” Marta didn’t feel shy this time either. - True, in your India there are too many blacks, and very few real whites. As I heard that a girl was coming to us from India, I imagined that you are also black.

Mary rose abruptly from her pillows in indignation.

- How dare you! She choked with rage. - How could you only think that I am a local! You are the daughter of a pig!

- Who are you hinting at? Martha asked menacingly. - I do not advise you to be so entered. And you don’t have to let a little lady like you use your tongue. And against black I have nothing bad. In different books there it is written about them that they are some kind of religious passion. And they also write there that the black one is the same ordinary person and even a brother to each of us. And I have never seen a single black person. So I was delighted. I think, "This girl from India will be my first black person in the world!" Here I am this morning, when I came to light the fireplace, and quietly crept to your bed, unfolded the blanket and began to look. But there, instead of the black girl, was just you, ”the maid waved her hand in disappointment. - And I did not see anything interesting. What good is it that you are from India, if your face and everything is different, like everyone else's, only much yellower!

- How dare you think that I look like the locals! - the girl got even more angry. - Locals are not people at all! They are just servants to do everything and bow down. You don't know anything about India! And in general you do not know about anything!

Martha listened, not taking her amazement from Mary, and this completely unsettled the girl. How different everything was here from the world she was used to! Mary suddenly felt very sorry for herself, and, throwing herself face down on the bed, she roared.

Martha bent over the bed and gently ran her hand through the girl's hair.

“Don’t, don’t cry,” she said soothingly. “I really don’t know much about this India of yours. Excuse me, Miss Mary.

This gentle speech with Yorkshire intonations had the most beneficial effect on Mary. She sobbed less and less, and finally fell silent.

“Now get up,” Martha said when the girl had completely calmed down. “Mrs. Madlock told me to serve you breakfast and everything in the next room. It's like a nursery there, and so is the dining room. Come on, come on, get out of bed. So be it, I'll help you get dressed. Especially if the button is on the back and what other difficulties.

When Mary finally got up, Martha opened the wardrobe. But she took out of him completely different clothes in which the girl arrived from India.

- Not mine, - Mary concluded gloomily. - I had everything black.

But, looking at the white thick wool coat and the light dress, she added:

“It’s in it that you’ll walk,” Martha made clear. “Mr Craven told Mrs Madlock to buy you some new clothes in London. “I cannot,” he says, “allow this child to wander in black, like a lost soul. It's too gloomy here anyway. So, please, Mrs. Madlock, buy something lighter for the child. " And my mother, as I told her about this master's order, immediately said: “I know what Mr. Craven was thinking about. Passion itself does not favor black. " And my mother understands very much about such matters.

- And I hate black things! Mary Lennox shook her head.

What followed was equally instructive for the maid and for Mary. Martha often buttoned up her younger brothers and sisters. But none of them acted as indifferently as Mary did. She froze in place, as if her arms and legs were not moving at all.

As soon as Marta finished with the dress, Mary stretched out her leg as if nothing had happened.

“You don’t know how to put on shoes yourself?” - the girl was amazed.

- I always had Aya shoes on. This is such a custom, - explained Mary.

Mary Lennox learned to refer to "custom" from the Hindu servants. If they were ordered to do something that their ancestors did not do, they objected: "There is no such custom!" Hearing this, the owner, if he was at least a little familiar with the local customs, immediately resigned himself, for there was no point in insisting anyway. Dressing the daughter of the Sahibs from head to toe was “a custom,” and Mary now simply did not understand why Martha was so surprised. However, if this girl were a truly experienced maid from a good house, she would have reacted more calmly to everything. After all, in England, servants combed the hair of the owners' children, unbuttoned and buttoned their boots, or picked up things scattered on the floor behind them.

But Martha did not know all these subtleties. She grew up in a Yorkshire village with a whole brood of sisters and brothers who, from childhood, not only did everything themselves, but also looked after the younger ones. None of them even thought that someone should serve them. That is why, even before Martha took Mary to breakfast, she clearly understood that at the Misselthwaite Manor she would have to get used to completely different "customs."

“You ought to visit my house,” Marta explained to her. “There are twelve of us, and papa only brings sixteen shillings a week. Here is my mother and turns every day so that there is enough porridge for everyone. Well, brothers and sisters all day long roam the wasteland. Mother says that the air feeds them there, and they become healthy, sort of like ponies from good grass. And our Diken, he is already twelve, and he even has his own pony in the wasteland.

- Where did he get it? - the girl got interested.

- In the wasteland. This pony was then a very small colt and walked with his mother. And Dicken began to feed the baby with a crust of bread, and then with grass, which is sweeter. Well, the pony became attached to him. Now he even allows Dicken to ride him. Diken is kind. In general, all animals love him.

Mary Lennox has long dreamed of having an animal of her own. But she hadn’t succeeded yet, so Diken aroused her more and more curiosity. She was much less interested in the second room. Martha for some reason called this room "nursery", but Mary found it simply boring. The walls were hung with time-darkened paintings in gold frames, the oak furniture was heavy and not pleasing to the eye. True, a rich breakfast was smoking on the table, but Mary always had a bad appetite. Glancing with disgust at the plate of porridge, she said:

- Would you like porridge? Martha couldn't believe her ears.

- Just try how delicious it is. If you don’t like it like that, pour molasses or sprinkle it with sugar.

- I won't have any porridge! - the girl frowned in disgust.

- Oh! - grabbed Martha's head. “I just can't watch good food go to waste. If my brothers and sisters were at this table, there would be nothing left in five minutes.

- And why is that? - Mary asked arrogantly.

“Because they almost never get their stomachs full,” the maid explained. - They are always hungry with us, cleaner than young hawks or foxes.

- Hungry? - asked the girl with such a look as if it was about something completely unthinkable. - This has never happened to me.

“Then it’s good for you to try,” Martha responded indignantly. - When I look at everyone around the table, who only stare at good meat and chew without appetite, I’m just ready to burst patience. If now everything from here would fly into the stomachs of Dicken, Phil, Jane and the rest of my brothers and sisters, they would be glad!

“Take it and take it to them, I won't eat anyway,” Mary suggested.

- Well, I do not! The servant said firmly. - We never take someone else. And I don't have a free day today. I only have a day off once a month. That's when I go home and do all the housework myself so that my mother can rest at least a day in a hundred years.

Mary drank tea and, lazily biting the toasted bread several times, said that there would be no more breakfast.

“Then dress warmly and run outside to play,” Martha replied. - You look, breathe in the air and work up an appetite for dinner.

Mary went to the window. There were many big trees, paths and flower beds in the garden, but since it was winter, everything looked rather dull.

“It’s very necessary to go outside on such a bad day,” the girl stubbornly said.

“But then you’ll sit at home all day,” Martha began to persuade. “I don’t think you’ll have much fun here.”

Mary looked around. There was really nothing to do in these two boring rooms.

“Okay, I'll go and see your garden,” she nodded. - Who will go for a walk with me?

- What? Martha stared at her in bewilderment.

- Well, who is obliged to walk with me? - Mary repeated the question.

- No one! The servant clarified. - We have a walk here themselves, like all normal people. Of course, with brothers and sisters, you could go out with them. But you don't have them. And our Diken, for example, already loves to wander completely alone in the wasteland. Because, it is true, he managed to make friends with the pony, because no one bothered him. And there are also sheep and birds, which recognize him and eat right from his hands, and Diken keeps telling me how great it is, they say. He, a kind soul, even though there is not a lot of food in the house, will always stock up at least a little bread or crackers for all his favorites from the wasteland.

Hearing about Dicken again, Mary hurried out into the street. Of course, she understood that, most likely, she would not meet a single wild pony or a single sheep in the gardens. But, probably, there will be birds, and the birds here are different than in India, and it is rather funny to see them closer.

Martha helped her put on high boots made of thick leather, a coat, a hat, and accompanied her to the garden.

- If you go through that gate, - the girl pointed her finger in the direction of the hedge, - you will just find yourself in the gardens. When it's summer, there are just a lot of flowers growing there, but now you can hardly find anything from the blooming one, because in winter we have a bad situation with it. But look anyway.

Martha fell silent and shifted from one foot to the other for a minute, indecisively.

- Well, perhaps, I'll tell you all the same! She finally blurted out. “One of these gardens is locked. For ten whole years not a foot has set foot there.

- Why, Martha? - Mary could not keep her usual indifference. A closed garden was added to the hundred closed doors, and this naturally aroused her curiosity.

“It's all because of Mrs. Craven,” Martha sighed. “It was her garden. And as she died, poor thing, Mr. Craven ordered the door to be locked, and the key ordered to be buried in the ground. Oh! - Hearing the sharp ringing of the bell, she caught herself. “Mrs. Madlock is calling me. Well, I ran.

The girl disappeared into the house, and Mary wandered along the path to the gate, made in the hedge. Now she could only think of the mysterious garden, which no one had visited for ten years. Despite the winter season, bare trees and withered grass under her feet, the locked garden seemed to Mary full of flowers. And the fruit trees are probably all in bloom there. And among the green foliage, wonderful birds are sitting and singing. You just need to find the gate from which the key was buried! As soon as Mary succeeds, she will find a way to get inside.

Passing the gate, the girl found herself in a huge garden with wide lawns and winding paths, on either side of which stretched bushes. There were a lot of flower beds and some bizarre clipped plants around. And in the very center of the garden there was a pond with an old fountain made of gray stone, but even here everything was dull and empty like winter. The foliage from the bushes and trees flew around for a long time, the fountain did not work, and even the most seedy flower was not left in the flower beds. But this garden was not locked either. Where did the miracles come from? There was no point in staying here any longer, and Mary continued on.

The path led her to a wall thickly covered with ivy, in the center of which was a green door. Mary did not yet know that in England behind such doors there is usually a garden and a kitchen garden. The girl pushed the door lightly. It immediately opened, and Mary sighed in disappointment. She came to the wrong place again.

But she nevertheless became curious about what was behind the green door, and she entered. The garden and kitchen garden were fenced on all sides by a high stone wall. There was another door in the wall opposite the one Mary had just walked through. Behind it was another garden, and then another. All of them were surrounded by stone fences, and it seemed to Mary that she was walking through some strange rooms without ceilings. Fruit trees here were planted close to the walls for easier harvesting. Winter vegetables grew in the beds. Glazed greenhouses towered over some of the landings. Having passed the last garden-room, Mary rested against a blank wall.

- Boring and completely ugly, - she grumbled quietly and went back.

When she entered the second garden, an elderly man with a shovel over his shoulder appeared from the door opposite.Seeing Mary, he was at first taken aback with surprise, then not too cordially greeted her with a wave of his hand. Mary looked at him attentively. The elderly man's face was sullen and bilious. However, Mary, as usual, did not show any visible pleasure from this meeting.

- Where did I go? She inquired grimly.

- Didn't you see the gardens, or what? The old man responded in exactly the same tone.

- And then what? - showed Mary with her finger at the door in the opposite wall.

- And there is a vegetable garden. And behind him, ”the gardener said abruptly. - And after the orchard.

- Can I go there? The girl asked.

“Go if you want,” the man replied and turned away.

Mary walked down the path and opened another green door. Behind her were the same greenhouses and beds as where she had been before meeting the gardener. There was also a green door in the wall of this garden. Mary pushed her. The door did not move. "Locked!" - flashed through the girl's head. To finally be convinced of this, she pressed harder on the handle. The door creaked open. Failure again! In front of Mary there was another garden with a vegetable garden. And again there are four stone walls. Only there were no more doors in any of them. But then Mary remembered that the wall did not end at the entrance. It means that there is something else behind the garden in which she now stands.

Mary raised her head. On the other side above the wall could be seen the crowns of trees. On one of them was a bird with a bright red breast. Mary had never seen such birds, and she really liked her. The bird, in turn, looked very attentively at Mary and suddenly began to sing merrily, as if calling the girl to follow her. Mary suddenly smiled. After all, she, like others, needed love and friends. And since she came here, she felt especially lonely. Everything here was still strange and incomprehensible. And the house, and the wasteland, and the uncomfortable winter garden. She stood and listened to the bird until it flew away. And then Mary Lennox, who had never loved anyone, suddenly thought to herself how good it would be to see this bird again. Then her thoughts turned back to the abandoned garden. What does it look like after all? And how can you get into it? Mary simply did not understand this Mr. Archibald Craven. Why would he need to bury the key? If he adored his wife so much, then why does he now hate her garden?

“Never mind, I'll ask him myself as soon as I see it,” Mary decided. But she immediately remembered that she had never been liked by anyone in her life. And she didn't like anyone either. And with an uncle, they most likely will not immediately fall in love with each other. And he won't talk to her. And she is with him - too. And, of course, she will not ask him about the Mysterious Garden, and he will not answer anything.

Mary glanced again at the tree where the bird had recently sat. “So she probably lives in the Mysterious Garden! - suddenly it dawned on her. "The garden is fenced in, and you can't enter from anywhere." Mary walked back thoughtfully. She really needed an old gardener. When she reached the first vegetable garden, she saw him again. The gardener was busy digging up the earth. Mary approached and silently watched him. He immediately noticed the girl, but showed no joy. His face remained sullen even at work.

- And I went through all the other gardens, - Mary was the first to break the silence.

- So what? The gardener responded indifferently.

“And I saw an orchard,” the girl continued.

“It’s like there’s no dog at the door either,” he said gloomily. - So there was no one to bite you.

- Only from there you can't go to another garden, - the girl shook her head.

The gardener suddenly stopped digging and, straightening up, gazed gloomily at Mary.

- In what other garden? He snapped.

- Well, there is also a garden on the other side, - his interlocutor was not frightened. - And there is no door. I saw trees over the fence. And a bird with a red breast sang there too.

As soon as she said that, the old man broke into a smile. As if some magician, passing by, blew the gloom off him. And Mary for the first time in her life thought that people look much nicer when they smile.

The old man turned towards the orchard and whistled almost as beautifully as a red-breasted bird. Mary looked at him with surprise. She did not even think that such beautiful sounds live in this rude gardener! A moment later, she was even more surprised. A shadow flickered over her head, and the red-breasted bird sank at the very feet of the old gardener.

- Did you see it? - the gardener winked cheerfully at Mary. - I came. Where have you been, vagrant? - he bent down to the bird. - This year I have not met you yet. No way, already courting your girlfriend? You, I see, I’m young and early.

His feathered interlocutor tilted his tiny head to one side and glanced so expressively now at him, now at Mary that he seemed to understand every word. In any case, in the gardener's company he felt quite well and did not seem to be in the least afraid.

As soon as the gardener was silent, the bird jumped on the loosened earth and began to peck out grains and insects with incredible speed. Mary watched her, and a completely new feeling took over her more and more. She did not yet know that she was imbued with tenderness for this cheerful bird with a tiny plump body, graceful beak and such fragile legs that it was simply not clear how one could jump on them so dexterously.

- Does she always arrive when you whistle? - asked the gardener Mary.

- Always! - He shook his head with pride. - We have known each other since he first started flying. He then flew out of his native nest in another garden, fluttered over our wall, but there was not enough strength to fly back. So he lived with us for several days. It was then that we became friends. And as he flew back, his brood was no longer there. Apparently, he felt lonely there in the empty nest, and he returned to me.

- Why do you call the bird "he" all the time? - Mary did not understand.

- Because it's a male. And his breed is a robin. And the name is Robin. Robins are the friendliest of all birds. See how curious he is? - the gardener turned to the bird, which again looked at him attentively - he bites, bites, and he always listens to me. Knows what they say about him. In general, robins become attached to humans no worse than dogs. If, of course, you know how to handle them.

And the old man looked at Robin with such pride and love, as if it were, at least, his son.

“He’s like that,” the gardener continued, laughing. - Likes to hear what people say about him. And poking around everywhere. I have never seen such a curious bird in my life. You start what landings to do, he instantly flies to have a look. He will go around everything, bite. I can bet he knows more about our farm than Mr. Craven. Because Mr. Craven doesn't care about anything. And Robin is kind of like our head gardener.

The "head gardener" immediately jumped for joy. From time to time he squinted a black, shiny eye at Mary, and the girl thought that he wanted to know as much as possible about her.

- And where did his brothers and sisters go? She asked.

- Who knows them? The gardener shrugged. - Birds don't have a habit of living with their parents. Grew up - and out of the nest. So they scatter in all directions. And this one turned out to be smarter than the others. Immediately realized that living with a friend is more fun.

Mary came very close to Robin and looked him straight in the eyes.

“You know, I'm completely lonely too,” she said.

The old gardener pushed his cap to the very back of his head, and Mary saw that he was completely bald.

- No, you are the same girl who was sent to the owner from India?

“Then you’re definitely lonely,” the old man agreed. “I'm afraid it won't be easy for you to deal with this.

He took a shovel and began digging up the dark, greasy earth again. The bird jumped after and pecked enthusiastically.

- What is your name? - asked Mary.

“Ben Weatherstaff,” the gardener said, stopping digging. - I, too, to confess to you, lonely, - he grinned sadly. - Unless this friend will arrive. And old Ben looked at Robin affectionately.

“And I have no friends at all,” the girl said very quietly. - And it never was. Even Aya didn't love me, and no one played with me.

The people of Yorkshire are famous for their directness. They tell the interlocutor as if in spirit everything that they think of him. Old Ben Weatherstaff was a true Yorkshire wasteland. And so he immediately stated:

- Well, you and I are alike! As if cut from one piece of fabric. And both are not very good-looking, right? As they say, it is sour in appearance and not sweet in the insides. And your temper is no better than mine.

This small but expressive speech sounded like a real revelation for Mary. No one had ever said anything like that to her. Her parents had no time, and the servants were afraid of her. They only bowed and indulged in all her whims. Mary never thought about her appearance at all. Does she really look as bad as old Ben? And if her disposition is no better ... As soon as Mary thought about it, she felt completely uncomfortable.

And then the song of the robin was heard behind her. The girl turned around. The bird sat on a branch of an apple tree and sang wonderful trills.

- Well, I saw what a fine fellow! Ben laughed delightedly.

- Who do you think he sings for? The girl asked with timid hope.

“For you, of course,” the gardener replied without a shadow of a doubt. - Of course, he wants to make an acquaintance with you. Looks like he liked you.

- Will you be friends with me? - coming close to the apple tree, Mary asked, and her voice trembled. - Really, will you?

None of Mary's former acquaintances would simply recognize her now. Where did her gloom and rudeness go? She spoke with a robin in such a gentle voice, which, it seems, could not have been imagined in this dry, unsociable girl. Even the gardener was surprised.

- Here you are, it turns out, what you can be! He scratched the back of his head. “You just spoke to Robin like our Dicken, when he starts a conversation with his animals from the wasteland. And I already thought there was nothing childish about you.

- Dicken? The girl asked with trepidation. - You know him?

- Who doesn't know him here! Replied the gardener. “Wherever you go, you can find him everywhere. Every berry and every flower is his friend. In my opinion, even larks do not hide their nests from him, and foxes call to look at their cubs.

Mary wanted to ask old Ben in more detail about Dicken, but at this time Robin stopped singing and fluttered off the branch. Mary watched him closely.

- Look, look, Mr. Weatherstaff! She shouted, noticing that the bird flew over the stone fence. - He returned again to where there is no passage.

“He lived there last year too,” the gardener replied calmly. - At first he was born in this garden, and now, you see, he chose a girlfriend among robins. There are just darkness of them between the bushes of roses.

- Rose bushes? - Mary got interested. - Are there roses there?

“We were ten years ago,” Ben Weatherstaff muttered, and went back to work.

- I would love to see them! - Mary said dreamily. - There must be a door leading there.

Old Ben drove the shovel into the ground up to the handle.

“Ten years ago there was a door, but now it’s not,” he replied reluctantly, and his face became gloomy again.

- No? - Mary did not believe. - How can it be?

- Maybe! Growled old Ben through clenched teeth. - And anyway, this garden is not your business. I advise you to remember well. Now go. I have no time to spend more time with you.

With difficulty, he pulled the shovel out of the ground, put it on his shoulder and, without saying another word, wandered off to the side.


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