Viktor Kirillov, well, have the tears dried?...) And what about those hated hanging wires? Do the two haystacks remind you of anything?...)
Troitsky Andrey, The wires aren't very visible here, and there's only one haystack, but it looks like two buns divided in half by thongs, but I don't fantasize that far; I'm too old for such associations.
Sever Rus, no, it won't, they'll throw it in the hayloft, through those little doors... when they clear the boards...
Troitsky Andrey, heh heh... they won't throw it in. Because: - the approaches to the window are blocked, - these little windows are always open if they're ready for hay. Heh heh... I'm a professional mower and haymaker
Troitsky Andrey, heh heh... they won't throw it in. Because: - the approaches to the window are blocked, - these windows are always open when they're ready for hay. Heh heh... I'm a professional mower and haymaker.
North Rus, why the hell did they drag him into the yard then?..! Haymaker... sounds nice... there's no such constellation, by any chance...)
Troitsky Andrey, heh heh... they won't throw it in. Because: - the approaches to the window are blocked, - these windows are always open if they're ready for hay.
Heh heh... I'm a professional mower and haymaker
North Rus,
And is it true they say that in Paris, hay itself floats from the Champs-Élysées, ready to eat. Count, if you're thinking of buying hay, https://vk.com/video197426228_456243928
Northern Russia, why the hell did they drag him into the yard then?..! Haymaker... sounds nice... there's no such constellation, by any chance...)
Troitsky Andrey, and a stacker... no, a creator of stacks and haystacks, also haystacks, and a dryer, this is a very important component of turning grass into hay. What a mess, I remember myself with a rake from the age of 5. All through childhood and adolescence, then got a happy marriage, and plus with my mother-in-law. In total, three haymakings a year for 14 years (there was a long teaching leave, always in the summer), a total of 23 years in the business, not counting childhood, which began at the age of 5. In total, from the late 70s to 2009. I demand a constellation...
Troitsky Andrey, and a stacker... no, a creator of haystacks and stacks, and also haystacks. Some kind of freak, I remember myself with a rake from the age of 5. All through childhood and adolescence, then got married happily, and plus one with my mother-in-law. So, three haymakings a year for 14 years (I had a long teaching vacation, always in the summer). A total of 23 years in the business, not counting childhood, I remember myself with a rake from the age of 5. So, from the late 70s to 2009. I demand a constellation...
Severe Rus, you can consider a constellation option - a five-year-old rake-carrier... I recommend thinking a little more before registering...)
North Rus, you could consider the constellation option - a five-year-old rake-bearer... I recommend giving it some thought before registering...)
Troitsky Andrey, but I'll tell everyone, Kirillov and the Vakhtangs, and other slackers, so they don't think they got their zhireks for nothing, but they've never seen life, only able to be aesthetically pleasing. Not at all. Besides haymaking duties and other accompanying terrible work, even when I was in school, 9th or 10th grade, as I remember, even after the cow had already been sold, they continued to make hay. It cost 5 rubles per pood in the 80s. If the standing crop was 4, if there was a crop failure and by spring - 6. But on average, 5. So, as a schoolboy, I would come to the estate during spring break and sell this hay. Some on tractors, others on sleds; the snow was still thick in March. And for some, old horseless women, I hauled them on my back to various streets and to the neighboring village, several kilometers. So, along with the customers, we hauled them several times a day, through fields and fields, the blue tractor coming to you... Usually, the horseless ones charged 5 poods (about 100 pounds). At least, two trips home. And, Troitsky, there's still some to throw in the window. ) On the way back, these old women threw me whatever they could: some nuts, some candy—those stone icicles you'd get at the store—some sunflower seeds. Good heavens.
Troitsky Andrey, I'll tell everyone, Kirillov and the Vakhtangs, and other slackers, so they don't think that the fatties got it for nothing, but they've never seen life, and can only be aesthetically pleasing. Not at all. Besides the duties of haymaking and other accompanying terrible work, even when I was in school, 9th and 10th grade, as I remember, even after the cow had been sold, we continued to make hay. It cost 5 rubles per pood in the 80s. If the standing crop was 4, if there was a crop failure and by spring, 6. But on average, 5. So, as a schoolboy, I'd come to the estate during spring break and sell this hay. Some people got it on tractors, some on sleds; in March, the snow was still thick. And for some, old hags without horses, I'd haul it myself to various streets and to the neighboring village, ours was several kilometers away. So, together with the customers, we hauled several "approaches" a day, through fields and fields, the blue tractor is coming to you... Usually, the horseless ones charged 5 poods. Minimum, two trips home. And... Troitsky, there's still some to throw in the window. )
Northern Russia, well! Now to the constellation, I need to whip up a meme-moiré... about five hundred or so pages...)
Northern Russia, well! Now it's time for the constellation, I need to whip up a meme-moiré... about... five hundred or so pages...)
Troitsky Andrey, no, that's the same "let's talk" under the corresponding photo. That time, the 80s, is remembered not only for the hard work, but also... Anyway, in our hut, where I rented that samovar, we'd come across some old books, some Chinese boxes, well, my house is from the late 19th century, all sorts of past. I especially remember a tattered book, "History of the Russian State," or something like that. I read it all the years, during all my holidays, ever since I learned to read. After the army, I couldn't find it anymore, who knows where. But at school, I'd sometimes joke around and answer questions about it, tell stories. They gave me a 3) there's no point in making things up, because...
Northern Russia, well... the stars showered down like a meteor shower, and disappeared beyond the permafrost...
Troitsky Andrey, There were also "manuscripts" on literature. When in 9th grade I voiced a version of Leo Tolstoy's works, and all this Tolstoyanism, in particular, only God knows what saved me. In the still life "Samovar" there are books, except for the church bulletin from 1847 on PP. Still unedited editions. A treasure trove, heh heh
Troitsky Andrey, There were also "manuscripts" on literature. When in 9th grade I voiced a version of Leo Tolstoy's works, and all this Tolstoyan stuff in particular, only God knows what saved me. In the still life, "Samovar," there are books, in addition to the church bulletin from 1847 on the PP. There are publications sent later. A treasure trove, heh heh.
Northern Russia, at midnight, open it to page 12, read from the 12th line down... so be it...)
Troitsky Andrey, well, how... My house is from 1887... ugh. Icons... I don't know, there are just boards there, And the village has been known since 1693
Northern Russia, everything will become clear in half an hour... just open where necessary...)
Northern Russia, Is it true they say that in Paris, hay floats right up from the Champs-Élysées, ready to eat? Count, if you're thinking of buying hay, https://vk.com/video197426228_456243928
Viktor Kirillov, I'll tell you this story, sir, before I leave for the estate. In 1982, or maybe '83, I don't know. Every day, I, the youngest or so, a schoolboy, spent the entire summer raising and watering—every day, taking a bull to the meadow. I cherished and pampered him all summer. Autumn arrived, November. One day, my father brought a backpack and dumped the meat on the balcony. I understood everything.
Viktor Kirillov, I'll tell you this story, sir, before I leave for the estate. In 1982, or maybe '83, I don't know. Every day, I, the youngest or so, a schoolboy, spent the entire summer raising and watering—every day I took a bull to the meadow. I pampered and cherished him all summer. Autumn came, November. One day, my father brought a backpack and dumped the meat on the balcony. I understood everything.
Severe Rus, Have you been a vegetarian since then, or have you found a suitable excuse? A friend is known in food?
Severe Rus, My older brother and I used to hold our pig by its hind legs and stretch it with a rope, while our father slaughtered it in front of us. That also had an impact on our children's psyche. We weren't rich, we couldn't afford a special pig slaughterer, so we did everything ourselves.
Sever Rus, My older brother and I held our pig by its hind legs and stretched it with a rope, while our father cut it up in front of us. This also had an impact on our children's psyche. We weren't rich, we couldn't afford a special pig butcher, so we did everything ourselves.
Viktor Kirillov, my grandfather used a German bayonet as a pig-chopper. But the local police officer got wind of it and took the trophy away. And we won the medals ourselves.
Viktor Kirillov, Grandpa used a German bayonet as a pig-cracker. But the local police officer got wind of it and took the trophy. And we earned the medals ourselves.
Prete Rosso, In this case, it's not so much the length of the blade that determines success as knowledge of pig anatomy. To get a pork knuckle without sadism, you need to know where its heart is.
And what about those hated hanging wires?
Do you associate two haystacks with anything?...)
The wires aren't very visible here, and there's only one haystack, but it looks like two buns divided in half by thongs, but I don't fantasize that far; I'm too old for such associations.
- the approaches to the window are blocked,
- these little windows are always open if they're ready for hay.
Heh heh... I'm a professional mower and haymaker
And is it true they say that in Paris, hay itself floats from the Champs-Élysées, ready to eat.
Count, if you're thinking of buying hay, https://vk.com/video197426228_456243928
So, as a schoolboy, I would come to the estate during spring break and sell this hay. Some on tractors, others on sleds; the snow was still thick in March. And for some, old horseless women, I hauled them on my back to various streets and to the neighboring village, several kilometers. So, along with the customers, we hauled them several times a day, through fields and fields, the blue tractor coming to you... Usually, the horseless ones charged 5 poods (about 100 pounds). At least, two trips home. And, Troitsky, there's still some to throw in the window. )
On the way back, these old women threw me whatever they could: some nuts, some candy—those stone icicles you'd get at the store—some sunflower seeds. Good heavens.
And the village has been known since 1693
In 1982, or maybe '83, I don't know. Every day, I, the youngest or so, a schoolboy, spent the entire summer raising and watering—every day, taking a bull to the meadow. I cherished and pampered him all summer. Autumn arrived, November. One day, my father brought a backpack and dumped the meat on the balcony. I understood everything.
Have you been a vegetarian since then, or have you found a suitable excuse? A friend is known in food?
My older brother and I used to hold our pig by its hind legs and stretch it with a rope, while our father slaughtered it in front of us. That also had an impact on our children's psyche. We weren't rich, we couldn't afford a special pig slaughterer, so we did everything ourselves.
In this case, it's not so much the length of the blade that determines success as knowledge of pig anatomy. To get a pork knuckle without sadism, you need to know where its heart is.