Point on the map: Miory – land under white wings. Report by the newspaper "SB".
Guardian of Yelnya
Foreign guests are not surprised by industry; they like our pristine nature. For its sake, they are willing to spend huge amounts of money. The Miory region is home to the Yelnya raised bog, which is the largest even by European standards. It feeds the local residents year after year: only cranberries worth several million dollars a year are exported from here. It also feeds the budget of the Miory region. Another achievement is a grant of one million euros from the European Union within the framework of another UNDP project.
For Kasi Kazachenok, a kindergarten teacher in Miory, this swamp is, however, a source not of income, but of energy. "Here I pick cranberries, here I look for horns, here I fish, here I participate in driven hunts with a rifle," she shows her photos. We talk with her, listenwe have a whole lecture on the benefits of the "lungs of Europe" and we understand: the guardian of Yelnya was not called that for nothing.
— And who will guard it, besides me? — she asks again. — I live near the swamp. If it catches fire, I will be the first to see it, report it, and run to extinguish it myself. How many times has this happened. You walk through the forest (and I go hunting, and fishing, and gather mushrooms with a flashlight, I notice everything), you look — a branch is broken, and you understand: "Ah, so people went for berries ahead of time." You approach, you ask — they are still green... I row a boat on the lake — I throw nets ashore. This is all for the soul.
Kasya Kazachenok admits: she knows every hummock in Yelnya. Especially in the Mokh swamp.
— There are only five thousand hectares there — very little. Yelnya is five times larger. The first time they led me there. The second time I went myself. Intuition helps not to get lost. The main landmark is to know where to go home.
The landscape in Yelnya, she says, is different from landscape to landscape. At the same time, Kasya Iosifovna is skeptical about the numerous tourists who turn off the official ecological trail: there's nothing to walk on my swamp, she laughs. "One person will pass — there will be a path," she reasons. — Twenty — it's already a whole road."
I honestly admit to my interlocutor: the image of a huntress with the profession of a kindergarten teacher somehow doesn't fit. Kasya Iosifovna has long been accustomed to such conversations. And for the umpteenth time, she explains: despite all the "trophies" she has obtained, she is not a warlike person, but a calm one. Otherwise, she wouldn't have worked in kindergarten.
— They tell me: you are a hunter, a fisherman, you changed your sex, in general. But this is all just passed down to me by inheritance. I grew up in nature from childhood. My grandfather was a hunter, my father, my husband, and I followed them. And who said that hunting is only for men? There are enough of them who are not interested in it. And you don't have to shoot. For me, for example, it's easier to be a beater. In Estonia, Latvia, there are women with guns.enough — and no one is surprised by this…
The Elder and the Waterfall
73-year-old Mikhail Sauty, the elder of the small village of Suromshchina, can be called the keeper of an unusual waterfall on the Vyata River without exaggeration. It's amazing: only 10 people now live in his once sizable village, it is located on the outskirts of the district — practically on the Belarusian-Latvian border, and it's never boring here. Tourists come to the beautiful natural landmark, the police drop by — is everything in order there? Border guards patrol the surroundings. The latter, by the way, have long understood that it is precisely the local activists who are the extra pair of eyes. Has a smuggler passed by? Have you seen a suspicious car? And they constantly come to him with such questions, the nimble old man says.
— And do violators run around? — I ask.
— Haven't seen any. If you guard every unfamiliar car, how can you tell: who came to the waterfall, and who came for another reason? And the border runs along the river, and for violators, this is still a barrier.
There are still plenty of border stories, however. The times when it was impossible to officially enter these lands without a special permit are long gone. But vigilance remains.
— My daughter, her husband, and my granddaughter came to me once, — Sauty recalls. — They live in Latvia. They parked their car near the house and went to the waterfall. And it wasn't even twenty minutes before they returned. A border guard intercepted them on the road. He asked who exactly they had come to visit… They answered. But they couldn't show their documents: they left them in the car.
In any case, general attention is good, we reason with the elder. After all, residents of many settlements are deprived of it. Especially in these northwestern regions, where every village is practically a farmstead. "To live normally is to see people and communicate with them. We are also friendly with our neighbors: one for all, if necessary, we will come and help," he teaches us,who have become tired of constant communication and wish to merge with nature, grandfather Sauty. He manages to do it himself. Tourists will not let you lie.
— They will clarify the road and ask for water to drink, — he adds. — I will help better than any navigator. There are enough vacationers with cars, and young people on bicycles too. It seems that half of Belarus has already visited our Suromshchina.
— Then you should conduct excursions here. You see, there would be even more communication, and you tell stories interestingly.
— And why? Everything is posted on the internet...
Source of strength for the chief physician
Vladimir Pashkovich from the agro-town of Yavno has several roles: the chief physician of the local hospital, an active participant in the local folk ensemble "Yazynka", a psalm-reader in the local church, a cook whose house offers bread of his own baking, a glass or two of raugenia, and a plate of delicious dumplings. We spoke with him, however, primarily about medicine (the Yavno district hospital, by the way, was recognized as the best based on the results of the republican review for 2015, and Pashkovich himself was awarded the medal "For Labor Merits"). And in the context of love for his small homeland.
They say about him: he could have left his agro-town for a promotion more than once or twice, they even offered him a position in Minsk. But no, he stayed.
— Perhaps the fact that I got married very early, at 21, played a role, — says the interlocutor. — My father had already died by then, and my mother was a Group II disabled person. And my wife's mother also had health problems, so we needed to be close to our parents. Although they offered us an apartment in Vitebsk. I worked first in the Gluboksky district, then we moved here. And then... I am sure that a person can achieve something only if he does not jump from place to place. I look at those who come to us for distribution and always say: one who immediately declares that he will work for two years and leave will not bring anything good to the industry.and will not work conscientiously. This is how it turns out in the end.
However, sitting in one place is not about Vladimir Petrovich. Excursions, exhibitions, concerts, performances.
— Not as often as I would like, though. I simply don't have time to go on vacation. Look: we live in a village, who will entertain us if not ourselves? Therefore, at first, I participated in all local events to make it interesting for my family — I have a wife and a child, he has already completed five courses at the Vitebsk Medical University. And then I realized: if I can do all this, why not entertain other villagers?
The hospital, of course, is the primary concern. Proof of this is almost two and a half dozen professional diplomas on the wall. "But we don't work for awards, I certainly didn't promote myself, apparently, they just saw and paid attention," modestly says Dr. Pashkovich. Relations with patients? Wonderful. He admits he always smiles and jokes. You can't approach people in a bad mood. But when is there time to rest? How did you manage to avoid emotional burnout? After all, I think aloud, the work of a rural doctor is a round-the-clock job.
— I even celebrate holidays without alcohol. Because it is precisely the holidays that are, in essence, the hardest days for medics. How do you find time and energy for everything? This principle helps me: I rest on Sundays. If someone feels unwell, of course, I will come. But I won't mow hay or chop wood. In the morning I go to church, after that we can go to the lake or for mushrooms. I like to steam in the bathhouse. I observe fasts — perhaps this also gives strength. After all, a person can do as much as God allows him. So, I can.
The Family That Lit Up Disna
The Astukevich family's answer to those who consider Disna — the smallest town in Belarus and a kind of "bedroom community" of Novopolotsk — to be a settlement that is beautiful but depressed: before drawing such conclusions, take a look at one of the holidays held here. At the end of June, there was another one — City Day. Disna sings, dances, and celebrates with more vigor than anyone else. Whose merit is it? The locals will answer in unison: Alexey Astukevich, the 34-year-old director of the Disna City Centercultures.
We are walking along the bank of the Western Dvina River with him and his creative family. His wife Natalia, his son Daniil, and his daughter Masha are all "cultured people" as they say. "You haven't seen his father yet, he lives in Povyate," the guides prompt, thus preventing the first question: did genes play a role? Alexey confirms that he has indeed been drawn to all beautiful things since childhood:
— I've always heard songs and laughter in our house. My parents were also friends with people who were not indifferent to creativity. At the age of five, at a "corporate party" when my grandmother was retiring, I gave my first solo concert accompanied by a vocal-instrumental ensemble. I remember singing "Pink Roses."
The Astukevich family's philosophy: the most important thing is not the fullness of the pocket, but the state of the soul. I notice: singing for your own people, even with your father and son (and sometimes with your daughter), is one thing. Entertaining a whole city is another.
— It's impossible to ignite people alone, — Alexey confirms. — My family helps me. Natalia and I studied together: I was in the vocal department, she was in the choreography department. Therefore, we are like-minded. Both in family and at work. A huge plus for me, and for the city, is the creation of the male group "Dzisenchuki." There are nine of us — from 22 to 45 years old. We sing. And people really like it. However, some places are different from others. It's easier to work in Disna, for example, and harder in the villages. People here are more open and reveal themselves faster.
A day off in the cultural sphere is Monday. You can't relax on Saturdays and Sundays, you have to entertain everyone and everything. And who entertains the Astukevich family? Do they do it themselves?
— Rest, in any case, is a change of activity, — Alexey reasons. — So, just doing household chores is also good. And then, inadvertently, you start thinking about work.
The residents of Disna can rest assured. Despite offers, he is not leaving his small homelandAlexey is not going.
— I like Disna, — he says thoughtfully. — I feel at home here. Everyone knows me. There are friends here, a house built with my own hands, and all this beauty around. And why do I love my city the most? For the people.
A Dynasty with 247 Years of Experience
Agricultural region — agricultural records. Perhaps only in such places can a dynasty appear, whose total work experience in the industry is — how much would you guess? — 247 years! Although in a settlement with not many jobs, such a phenomenon, I am told, is not so unusual. There are only 13 representatives of the dynasty (two of them, alas, are no longer alive) — crop farmers, tractor drivers, a mechanic, a beekeeper's assistant... There are the most milkmaids — four at once. Even the current chief agronomist of OJSC "Uzmensky Krai", Alla Konakh, started with this profession.
Meet Alla Konakh, Tatyana Miklushonok, and Galina Tishalovich from the agro-town of Uzmeny — they are sisters. Akseniya Filippovna is their mother.
— We used to milk by hand, three times a day. Each had 12-13 cows, — recalls Akseniya Filippovna. — We shoveled manure ourselves, fed and watered them. We carried full buckets of water to the field. In any weather. And we had no days off or vacations. I was still a maiden, unmarried. So, you could say, I was lucky: all the household chores remained with my mother.
The daughters of Akseniya Konakh saw how hard this work was from childhood. They just didn't think about it: they were used to working. The secret of a good dynasty is interchangeability. The sisters talk about how they substituted for each other during maternity leave and on weekends. As needed, in general. Even though, for example, Tatyana Miklushonok's work record initially stated "postwoman".
— So what if it was hard? We were fine. You'd milk a cow, and then go dancing, or just for a walk. You'd come home tired, lie down on the bare floor, and soon it was morning. We couldn't oversleep the milking.— We were young, so everything seemed easy to us — says Akseniya Filippovna. — And my daughters went with me. They got used to it. They even liked it. Of course, one cow is not like another. Just like people. Some could kick with a hoof, and spill milk. When we switched to machines, it seemed to get easier. But you have to milk up to 50 cows. Feeding, however, is no longer necessary, and carrying milk cans is also not necessary — milk goes through the milk pipeline. However, manual milking is still sometimes necessary. Even though my hands don't get as tired as they used to.
A striking picture for a modern village — these women also keep cows at home. They claim it's a habit. How can it be, they say, in a household without a cow?
— You say it's easier to buy milk in the store? But your own is better. And what else is there to do in the village? Sit, lie down? We scold our mother: that's enough, we say, but at the same time we understand: a real milkmaid cannot live without a cow — says Alla Konakh.
— Is it a way to earn money?
— What are you talking about! We only get 40 kopecks per liter from a private individual. And look how much it costs in the store...