Spring
Long ago, everything in Russia began in the spring. Even the New Year. The Christian church calendar peacefully co-existed with omens of the Pagan calendar; nearly every day had its own proverb:
March 6 - "Saint Timothy sends strong wind."
March 12 - "Saint Prokop stuck in the snow."
March 13 - "Saint Vasily when icicles start to drip."
March 14 - "Saint Evdokia wets the skirt."
They said if Saint Evdokia gave the chicken water to drink, Saint Nicolas (May 22) would feed the cow. Omens born from many centuries of contact with nature are always well defined and devoid of mysticism. For example, save time sowing the peas if the swallows have arrived.
There are unclear boundaries between the four seasons in the North of Russia. But there is such a difference between winter and summer here.
The Spring took place in the year between the first drops of icicles and the first thunder.
March 17 - "Saint Gerasim – who welcomes the rooks."
March 30 - "Saint Alexis sends water from the hills."
April 4 – "Saint Vasily - the Sunshine.
April 9 - "Saint Matryona sets ice-crust,"
April 14 - "Saint Mary - lights up snow, plays ravines,"
April 28 - "Saint Martin-fox-runner",
April 29 - "Saint Irina crashes the river-banks."
In peasant labour, there were no breaks after the Shrovetide. One thing follows from another, only manage to turn around. That may be why they say all year round. Yet the spring brings people its own unique joys. In the field, in the woods, on the threshing floor, in the house, in the stables - everywhere there is every day something new, inherent only to spring alone and forgotten during the year. And how nice to meet good old acquaintances! Here, the lightest thawed water came to the bathhouse – it was time to pull out the wooden boat and warm up the smelling thick resin. At the same time, you waterproof the leather boots with the resin and put away the heavy felt boots you were tired of wearing during the winter. Just flew in a first rook and then, from day to day awaited the arrival of the starlings. You cannot get away with that; you have to put up the birdhouses - a joy for children. And then suddenly thaws out a mitten lost in the garden during winter... And you would remember a December winter road taken to get logs for a new bathhouse.
By the way, take your time thinking about what happened. It happened, but now it has passed. While the road is still OK, it is necessary to remove the remaining hay from the woods and bring in the pine needles as the litter for cattle and firewood; along the path, collect traps on the skis by large and small trails.
And the horse, snorting, trots from the village in the morning. There are half a dozen vertices on a cart so as not to drag them separately later. (Any day now, pike spawning can start; you need to make holes in the lake and put in traps.) There is a cart with hay or fir needles back in the village. While the horse rests and crunches green hay until the sun does not melt the blue crust, you have to go into the thicket to look out and mark the trees for cutting to make sap. Also, you need to get a pine resin, which a grandmother asked for to make a potion.
The wife hinted that bringing home pine twigs for the broom would be nice. A helpful thing indeed. How long would it take? A task that takes a minute, but it feels good to recall; also, you can build the wigwam on the way: the grouses just started to court... Another chore is to chop birch twigs for the threshing floor brooms. Only later, when the horse trots toward the house and the tugs start making crackling sounds, you can nap on a cart or sing a song about Ivan-steward...
In the spring, women bleach canvas on the ice crust. The food and seed potatoes are pulled out of the cellars and sorted out; at the same time, kids are treated to juicy rutabagas and carrots, just like from the garden bed.
Every fur coat and clothing is aired, hanging in the sun's heat because the moth fears the sun. The girls continued to spin flax at the evening gatherings, and the men and boys focused on carpentry. The household equipment—harnesses, carts, and harrows—was being repaired. People weaved ropes and pushed down snow from the roofs.
Thousands of eternal omens are set in motion, and people wonder what kind of spring will be and what to expect from the summer.
Many cows have already calved by this time. Other households are waiting for this event from hour to hour. The hostess gets up even at night and walks into the pen to check on a cow. Children cannot stand waiting; they are already fed up without milk. And suddenly, one morning, behind the stove, there is something clacking with the trotters. Big eyes, wet lips. Silk fur. The family walks, in turn, one by one. On the first day, milk, or rather colostrum, is only for the calf, and then if the Lent is over, it is slurped by all. The peasant families did not drink milk as it is nowadays; it was gulped with spoons, a piece of bread, jelly, oatmeal, or berries.
The cattle are happy, just like humans, after a long winter standing in a stuffy, dark pen. They ask for the air, in the sunshine. And when the cows are briefly released into the yard, some jump up joyfully.
Meanwhile, it became pretty warm, and the roads were gone. The fields and meadows began to break free from snow. The old people are looking at the sky, listening to themselves: what kind of spring will be coming? A prolonged and cold one or a short and warm one? It is essential not to miss the planting season. Those peasants who parted with the three-field system and used the progressive crop rotation have already planted the clover in the fields covered with ice shards in the morning.
People come with a worry about watching the winter crops: did it get soaked? Did it survive the winter? But, as the saying goes, the mother-rye feeds all around. It feeds the cattle, the poultry, and the peasant family.
All this is OK, but when should we sow? Another hustler went to plow when the earth was still frozen. He is in high spirits and hurries horses needlessly. He planted the seeds in the cold soil - you'll see, in fall, his children would go begging for food. Another one needed to be prepared on time: not enough seeds, then the horse hurt the shoulder. This one will also rip a lousy harvest.
There are few such eccentrics in a good village...
Everything is ready, but when to start?
It is difficult to make out in jest or seriously, but people used to say this: "Go out into the field and sit on the ground with the bare ass. You will know if it's time to sow or wait for a little. "
But then, the most experienced, prudent farmer dragged the plow and harnessed the mare in the morning. And everybody rushed into the field as if by the command...
Tugs smelling of tar are creaking, and the plough is cracking small pebbles. Larks are singing their hearts out in the sky over the field. The plowmen whistle and give orders to the horses: "Straight! Straight!" Or, on the turn, "And what, have you forgotten during the winter where is right and left?"
And the horse, ashamed, wages its tail and turns whichever way it should be.
In general, there should be a complete mutual understanding between a plowman and a horse during the sowing time. If they started to brawl, nothing would work. A good farmer plows without a stick doesn't use foul language with the horse, and does not scold it. Instead, he interacts with the horse with kindness and persuasion and sometimes shames it like a person. A restive horse is not suitable for plowing.
A furrow follows you and goes, and the rooks immediately sit down, pecking with their beaks in the freshly ploughed soil.
This is the land that feeds and waters, clothes and caresses you. It brings joy with flowers, fans coolness, and drains your exhausted sweat. It will take you in, hug you, and give the rest forever when your last deadline comes. Meanwhile, the black furrow goes on and on like a strip. Layer by layer, it adds to the field. And your father, son, wife, or sister had already harnessed another horse to harrow, to level this spring soil.
A grandpa or a grandma has already poured white oats seeds into a large basket. Here, the eternal sower slowly walks along the strip, waving his hand from side to side. A step, the second step, and golden rain fly from a handful. Bouncing off the basket, grains fall on the fresh soil. The sower mutters to himself some kind of eternal spell, whether he is singing or praying.
Nearby, in the pine forest, children lit a fire. The girls pick up more snowdrops and sing the "Spring Song."
The soil dries up, and it is required to immediately harrow the seeds.
Usually, flax was sown after the oats, just one or two strips, then peas and barley.
There was such a sign: you need to stand under a birch tree and look at the sun. If you can look through the crown without blinking, it is useless to continue to sow. Seeds will be spoiled. If the foliage is not more than a penny in size and the sun easily breaks through it, then a day or two can still be used for sowing.
After the sowing, a bath is necessary. During this week, people and horses became exhausted: a man sweated out his fatigue in the bathhouse, and a horse rested.
And here comes up the first grass.
The event's first run of the cattle to the pasture is not insignificant. On this day, the shepherd is a king's king ...
The grass grows rapidly. Alive. If the day is warm in the forest, some stalks stretch an inch from the ground by the evening.
You'll see, it's time to plant vegetables in the gardens. People spit the seeds of vegetables into nurseries. A woman will take in the mouth-pre-soaked seeds of cabbage or rutabaga and spit them out with full force. Seeds are evenly scattered throughout the greenhouse. At night, the nursery is covered with linen bedding or even fur coats if the elderly predict frost and if the cat clings to the warm damper at the oven.
Putting a fence around a vegetable garden is also crucial; without the wall, the cattle will destroy everything during the summer. Good owners have juniper posts, aspen poles, and spruce fasteners; the fencing will never wear out. Unfortunately, a lazy one makes a fence from whatever he finds, so it is necessary to re-build the wall every spring.
Spring ends with the first warm rain and the first rolling thunder. While hearing the thunder, the girls have to do somersaults so they will not have lower back pain during harvest time. And have time to do it until the thunder has not subsided. However, they still do somersaults in a puddle or on the meadow, be it an everyday sarafan or a festive costume. Laughter, cheers and enthusiastic girlish shrieks do not calm down with the thunder.
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