The drawing got home like an ant. We read the fairy tale “How an ant hurried home. Like an ant hurrying home

Good afternoon, dear readers, guests and friends. Last week Dasha expressed a desire to study the life of ants. The task, to be honest, was very unexpected, especially since we were going to leave for the dacha the next day and I only had one day to prepare. I was prepared :) We arrived at the dacha and heavy rains began, which ruined all my plans. Therefore, we had to look for a way out of the situation. I decided to play out at home with Dasha a fairy tale about an Ant who was hurrying home, but it turned out that I did not have such a book (although I was sure of the opposite). Dasha looked at me and said: “Well, there is no book and there is no need. We'll do it ourselves. Sit down! Therefore, all day today we have been slowly making our own book about the ant.

So, we folded 7 A4 sheets along the floors and connected them with a stapler. I wrote text on each page of the book (I shortened the text, leaving only important information). And then, together with Dasha, we created illustrations.

Dasha drew the illustration for the first page of the book herself. She drew a birch tree with my hint on how best to do it, drew an anthill and cut green pieces of colored paper and glued them like leaves. I drew the ant.

We made the illustration for the second sheet together. I cut out circles for the caterpillar from colored paper, and Dasha glued them on herself and drew the grass sky. I got the ant again.

The illustration with the spider is entirely her work!

Next, she asked to draw the outlines of the characters, and she would color them. That's exactly what I did. I drew a “coloring book”, and Dasha gave her colors.

She only wanted to draw the penultimate picture with an anthill at sunset and ants around. I gladly conceded this to her :)

And today we managed to make a real anthill!

Our game “Who travels how?” continues. In this lesson, we read the fairy tale story of Vitaly Valentinovich Bianki about the Ant and his return home, and got acquainted with the expressive illustrations of Lev Alekseevich Tokmakov.

The ant says to the Land Surveyor:
- Surveyor, Surveyor, carry me home. My legs hurt.
- Aren’t you going to bite?
- I won’t bite.
- Well, sit down, I'll give you a ride.
The ant climbed onto the Land Surveyor's back. He bent in an arch, put his hind legs to his front, and his tail to his head. Then he suddenly stood up to his full height and lay down on the ground with a stick. He measured on the ground how tall he was, and again hunched himself into an arch. So he went, and so he went to measure the land. The ant flies to the ground, then to the sky, then upside down, then up.
- I can’t take it anymore! - shouts. - Stop! Otherwise I'll bite you!
The Surveyor stopped and stretched out along the ground. The ant of tears,
I could barely catch my breath.
He looked around and saw: a meadow ahead, mown grass lying in the meadow. And the Haymaker Spider walks across the meadow: his legs are like stilts, his head swings between his legs.
- Spider, and Spider, take me home! My legs hurt.
- Well, sit down, I’ll give you a ride.
The Ant had to climb up the spider's leg to the knee, and from the knee down to the Spider's back: the Haymaker's knees stick out higher than his back.
The Spider began to rearrange his stilts - one leg here, the other there; all eight legs, like knitting needles, flashed in Ant’s eyes. But the Spider does not walk quickly, his belly scratches along the ground. Ant is tired of this kind of riding. He almost bit the Spider. Yes, here, fortunately, they came out on a smooth path.
The Spider stopped.

Get down,” he says. - Here is the Ground Beetle running, she is faster than me. Ant's tears.
- Zhuzhelka, Zhuzhelka, carry me home! My legs hurt.
- Sit down, I'll give you a ride.
As soon as the Ant managed to climb onto the Ground Beetle's back, she started running! Her legs are straight, like a horse's.
A six-legged horse runs, runs, does not shake, as if flying through the air.
We quickly reached a potato field.
“Now get down,” says Ground Beetle. - It’s not with my feet to jump over potato beds. Take another horse.
I had to get down.
Potato tops for Ant are a dense forest. Here, even with healthy legs, you can run all day. And the sun is already low.
Suddenly Ant hears someone squeaking:
“Come on, Ant, climb on my back and let’s jump.” The Ant turned around - the Flea Bug was standing next to him, a little
visible from the ground.
- Yes, you are small! You can't lift me up.
- And you’re big! Climb, I say.
Somehow the Ant fit on Flea's back. I just installed the legs.
- Did you get in?
- Well, I got in.
- And you got in, so hold on.
The flea picked up his thick hind legs - and they were like collapsible springs - and click! - straightened them. Look, he's already sitting in the garden. Click! -- another. Click! -- on third.
So the whole garden was peeled off right up to the fence.

The ant asks:
-Can you go over the fence?
- I can’t cross the fence: it’s very high. You ask the Grasshopper: he can.
- Grasshopper, Grasshopper, carry me home! My legs hurt.
- Sit on the scruff of the neck.
The Ant sat on the Grasshopper's neck.
The grasshopper folded its long hind legs in half, then straightened them all at once and jumped high into the air, like a flea. But then, with a crash, the wings unfolded behind his back, carried the Grasshopper over the fence and quietly lowered him to the ground.
-- Stop! - said the Grasshopper. - We've arrived.
The ant looks ahead, and there is a river: if you swim along it for a year, you won’t be able to cross it.
And the sun is even lower.
Grasshopper says:
“I can’t even jump over the river.” It's very wide. Wait a minute, I’ll call Water Strider: there will be a carrier for you.
It crackled in its own way, and lo and behold, a boat on legs was running through the water. She ran up. No, not a boat, but a Water Strider-Bug.
- Water meter, Water meter, carry me home! My legs hurt.
- Okay, sit down, I’ll move you.
Ant sat down. The water meter jumped and walked on the water as if it were dry land. And the sun is very low.
- Dear, quick! - asks Ant. “They won’t let me go home.”
“It could be better,” says Water Meter.
Yes, how he will let it go! He pushes off, pushes off with his legs and rolls and glides through the water as if on ice. I quickly found myself on the other side.
-Can’t you do it on the ground? - asks Ant.
“It’s hard for me on the ground; my legs don’t slide.” And look: there’s a forest ahead. Look for another horse.
Ant looked forward and saw: there was a tall forest above the river, up to the sky. And the sun had already disappeared behind him. No, Ant won't get home!
“Look,” says the Water Meter, “here the horse is crawling for you.”
The Ant sees: the May Khrushchev is crawling past - heavy
beetle, clumsy beetle. Can you ride far on such a horse? Still, I listened to the Water Meter.
- Khrushchev, Khrushchev, carry me home. My legs hurt.
-- And where did you live?
- In an anthill behind the forest.
- Far away... Well, what should we do with you? Sit down, I'll take you there.
Ant climbed up the hard side of the bug.
- Sat down, or what?
- Sat down.
-Where did you sit?
-- On the back.
- Oh, stupid! Get on your head.
The Ant climbed onto the Beetle's head. And it’s good that he didn’t stay on his back: the Beetle broke his back in two, raising two rigid wings. The Beetle's wings are like two inverted troughs, and from under them other wings climb out and unfold: thin, transparent, wider and longer than the top ones.
The Beetle began to puff and pout: “Ugh, uh, uh!” It's like the engine is starting.
“Uncle,” asks Ant, “quickly!” Darling, live up!
The Beetle doesn’t answer, he just puffs:
“Ugh, uh, uh!”
Suddenly the thin wings fluttered and began to work. “Zhzhzh! Knock-knock-knock!..” - Khrushch rose into the air. Like a cork, the wind threw him upward - above the forest.
The ant from above sees: the sun has already touched the ground with its edge.
As Khrushch rushed off, it even took Ant’s breath away.
“Zhzhzh! Knock-Knock!" - the Beetle rushes, drilling the air like a bullet.
The forest flashed beneath him and disappeared.
And here is the familiar birch tree, and the anthill under it.
Just above the top of the birch the Beetle turned off the engine and - plop! - sat down on a branch.
- Uncle, dear! - Ant begged. - How am I supposed to go down? My legs hurt, I’ll break my neck.
The beetle folded its thin wings along its back. Covered the top with hard troughs. The tips of the thin wings were carefully placed under the troughs.
He thought and said:
“I don’t know how you can get down.” I won’t fly into an anthill: you ants bite too painfully. Get there yourself as best you can.
Ant looked down, and there, right under the birch tree, was his home.
I looked at the sun: the sun had already sunk waist-deep into the ground.
He looked around him: twigs and leaves, leaves and twigs.
You can't get Ant home, even if you throw yourself upside down! Suddenly he sees: the Leafworm Caterpillar is sitting on a leaf nearby, pulling a silk thread out of itself, pulling it, and winding it on a twig.
- Caterpillar, Caterpillar, take me home! I have one last minute left - they won’t let me go home to spend the night.
- Leave me alone! You see, I’m doing the job: I’m spinning yarn.
- Everyone felt sorry for me, no one drove me away, you are the first!
Ant couldn’t resist, he rushed at her and bit her!
Out of fright, the Caterpillar tucked its legs and somersaulted off the leaf - and flew down.
And the Ant is hanging on it - he grabbed it tightly. Only they didn’t fall for long: something was on top of them—a jerk!
And they both swayed on a silk thread: the thread was wound on a twig.
The Ant is swinging on the Leafwheel, like on a swing. And the thread keeps getting longer, longer, longer: it unwinds from Leafroller’s abdomen, stretches, and doesn’t break. The Ant and the Leafworm are falling lower, lower, lower.
And below, in the anthill, the ants are busy, hurrying, closing the entrances and exits.
Everything was closed - one, last, entrance remained. The ant somersaults from the caterpillar - and goes home!
Then the sun went down.

Within his texts, Bianchi exists in two guises - a storyteller and a naturalist. It seems that all his characters are endowed with human speech and “human understanding.” They get into arguments with each other, defend their point of view, turn to each other for help or threaten each other - that is, they behave like people. But at the same time, their life, their “fate” is predetermined by certain fatal circumstances, irrevocable natural laws. And Bianchi the naturalist with his “naturalistic optics” always outweighs Bianchi the storyteller here.

What is naturalistic optics? This is the view of a detached observer. There is very little goodness in nature, seen through the eyes of a naturalist, a naturalist. Everything there is in tension, in a constant “struggle for existence.” And this struggle does not necessarily end in favor of the main character. So the fly flew and flew, flew and flew, pestering everyone with questions. And as a result, she was slammed. Of course, the fly is not some special hero. But she didn’t cause any particular harm to anyone. The fly just had questions. An ordinary storyteller, with his attachments to the characters, would hardly so easily and simply swat a fly solely for the reason that someone was “tired” of it. The naturalist has no questions: flies very often end up this way. It's just a "fact of nature." The fact is recorded in the narrative: the fly got tired of it, and for this reason it was swatted away.

Or take the Biankovsky teremok. There was a large tree in the forest, and a hollow appeared in it. The hollow increased from year to year. Various animals used it as a home. And then the tree turned into a stump. The stump became rotten and eventually fell apart. Does the author feel sorry for the stump that was once a tree? Not at all. And the reader should not feel sorry. This is a natural pattern: tree - stump - dust. Life has its end. What is there to regret? A “real” storyteller would look for the symbolic meaning of what is happening and pile up metaphors. The naturalist is busy with a simple description: this is how everything really happens. There is no room for sentimentality here.

Almost all of Bianchi's texts are characterized by similar rigidity.

It is also felt in the fairy tale “Like an ant hurried home.” This, too, is a story told primarily by a naturalist. A fairly serious amount of cognitive material from the life of insects is implanted into it. It describes various creatures (which may well be “new” for an adult), their methods of movement, and even some features of “ant nature.” Everyone to whom the ant turns for help is slightly afraid of it, because they know that ants bite hard. And the ant, even at the moment when he is being helped, every now and then has a desire to bite his assistant - for example, because he moves slowly or irritates him with his way of moving. And in the end, he still bites the leaf roller caterpillar: and not just bites, but rushes at it and bites it. The text says: “... he rushed at her and bit her!” And this solves the matter: the leaf roller, out of fear and, apparently, out of pain, “helps” the ant descend to the ground.

That is, the ant cannot be perceived as an ordinary “sugared” fairy tale character. Nevertheless, the author clearly sympathizes with him - as a storyteller, and not as a naturalist. Allows himself some “tenderness”: it’s not the ant that calls him, but ant. He says he's hurt legs, not legs. My legs hurt. The ant is afraid of the unknown. The ant is afraid to stay at night outside its native anthill, that is, outside the house. This is clear to the reader. And the reader, at the author’s suggestion, feels sorry for the ant.

Nikolai Litvinov read the story about the ant in his immortal voice and with immortal intonations in the program “Come, Fairy Tale” - the favorite radio program of all Soviet preschoolers of the sixties. And I remember precisely this childhood experience of mine - pity and anxiety for the little creature: he feels bad, scared - his heart just sank. And how does he have to get to the anthill before sunset!

And I also remember my love for ants (to a large extent abstract, of course). This feeling was the result of repeated listening to the fairy tale performed by Litvinov. Later, when I saw an anthill, I was always overcome with tenderness: you look at it and immediately remember how the ant hurried home.

True, I cannot say whether Litvinov read this tale in full or in an abbreviated form. Because I don’t remember at all the “naturalistic” details about the biting nature of the ant and about its “dealing with” the leaf roller. I remember that the end of the fairy tale was perceived by me as absolutely happy and unclouded by anything. Perhaps there were some cuts. And the ability of Soviet editors to forge children's happiness (even against the will of the author) is well known.

In the book, republished by the Melik-Pashayev publishing house, the position of the artist is also almost diametrically opposed to the position of the author: in the wonderful illustrations of Lev Tokmakov, “fairytale” receives an absolute advantage over the naturalistic texture of the text. Tokmakov has no hint of the “complex” character of the ant and its readiness for aggression. And this turns the story into “material for a preschooler”: we want to tell a small child something about life in nature, but, so to speak, at the “named” level, without focusing on any features that raise questions, shifting the narrative to the realm of “absolutely harmless.”

Performed by Lev Tokmakov, the story takes on the character of a fantastic, even phantasmagoric journey. First of all, thanks to the landscapes. Both the characters and especially the landscapes look absolutely magical (Bianca has no hint of any magic). And it seems to be drawn exactly what is said in the text: an ant is jumping on a ground beetle, a ground beetle is running along the road. The ground beetle has six legs. An ant sits on her back.

But the ground beetle's mustache looks like the reins of a fantastic horse, its legs end in graceful black hooves, and the ant is like a dashing rider-traveler. Wildflowers and bell flowers are fabulously disproportionate to the setting sun, reminiscent of a magic bun.

But the ant finds itself by the river. Isn’t such reddish-yellow quiet water, from which an impossible silence emanates, full of magic? And green spots of egg pods were still spread across the surface, and the flowers themselves were like lanterns that had captured a bit of the sunset...

How is the anthill presented from the inside, after sunset? We see many small beds, and on each of them an ant sleeps. Not an ant, but an ant covered with a blanket. Tiny colorful chamber pots are placed between the beds. Such an ant kindergarten...

On the back cover there is a close-up view of the main character: he sleeps sweetly on a bed with a pillow, under a blanket, by a window with blue curtains, and a moon looks into the window. And on the floor by the crib is a fallen book about this same ant. Looped round dance of illustrations.

Here is a happy ending, so happy: “I’m in the house!”

Marina Aromstam

Page 3 of 3

The ant from above sees: the sun has already touched the ground with its edge.
The way Khrushch ran off took Ant’s breath away.
“Zhzhzh! Knock-Knock!" - the Beetle rushes, drilling the air like a bullet.
The forest flashed beneath him and disappeared.
And here is the familiar birch tree, and the anthill under it.
Just above the top of the birch the Beetle turned off the engine and - plop! - sat down on a branch.
- Uncle, dear! - Ant begged. - How can I go down? My legs hurt, I’ll break my neck.
The beetle folded its thin wings along its back. Covered the top with hard troughs. The tips of the thin wings were carefully placed under the troughs.
He thought and said:
- I don’t know how you can get downstairs. I won’t fly into an anthill: you ants bite too painfully. Get there yourself as best you can.
Ant looked down, and there, right under the birch tree, was his home.
I looked at the sun: the sun had already sunk waist-deep into the ground.

He looked around him: twigs and leaves, leaves and twigs.
You can't get Ant home, even if you throw yourself upside down!
Suddenly he sees: the Leafroller Caterpillar is sitting on a leaf nearby, pulling a silk thread out of itself, pulling it and winding it on a twig.
- Caterpillar, Caterpillar, take me home! I have one last minute left - they won’t let me go home to spend the night.
- Leave me alone! You see, I’m doing the job: I’m spinning yarn.
- Everyone felt sorry for me, no one drove me away, you are the first!
Ant couldn't resist and rushed at her and bit her!
Out of fright, the Caterpillar tucked its legs and somersaulted off the leaf - and flew down.
And Ant is hanging on it - he grabbed it tightly. They only fell for a short time: something came from above them - jerk!
And they both swayed on a silk thread: the thread was wound on a twig.
The Ant is swinging on the Leaf Roller, like on a swing. And the thread gets longer, longer, longer: it unwinds from Leafroller’s abdomen, stretches, and does not break. The Ant and the Leafworm are falling lower, lower, lower.
And below, in the anthill, the ants are busy, hurrying, closing the entrances and exits.
Everything was closed - one, last, entrance remained. The ant somersaults from the caterpillar and goes home.
Then the sun went down.

Page 1 of 3

An ant climbed onto a birch tree. He climbed to the top, looked down, and there, on the ground, his native anthill was barely visible.
The ant sat on a leaf and thought:
“I’ll rest a little and then go down.” The ants are strict: only when the sun sets, everyone runs home. When the sun sets, the ants will close all the passages and exits and go to sleep. And whoever is late can at least spend the night on the street.
The sun was already descending towards the forest.
An ant sits on a piece of paper and thinks:
“It’s okay, I’ll hurry: we’ll go down quickly.”
But the leaf was bad: yellow, dry. The wind blew and tore it off the branch.
The leaf rushes through the forest, across the river, through the village.

An ant flies on a leaf, sways - almost alive from fear.
The wind carried the leaf to a meadow outside the village and dropped it there. The leaf fell on a stone, and the ant knocked off his legs.
He lies and thinks:
“My little head is missing. I can't get home now. The area is flat all around. If I were healthy, I would run straight away, but here’s the problem: my legs hurt. It’s a shame, even if you bite the ground.”
The Ant looks: the Land Surveyor Caterpillar lies nearby. Worm-worm, only in front there are legs and in the back there are legs.
The ant says to the Land Surveyor:
- Surveyor, Surveyor, carry me home. My legs hurt.
- Aren’t you going to bite?

- I won't bite.
- Well, sit down, I'll give you a ride.
The ant climbed onto the Land Surveyor's back. He bent in an arc, put his hind legs to his front ones, and his tail to his head. Then he suddenly stood up to his full height and lay down on the ground with a stick. He measured out on the ground how tall he was, and again hunched himself into an arch.
So he went, and so he went to measure the land. The ant flies to the ground, then to the sky, then upside down, then up.
- I can’t do it anymore! - shouts. - Stop! Otherwise I'll bite you!
The Surveyor stopped and stretched out along the ground. The ant got down and could barely catch his breath.
He looked around and saw: a meadow ahead, mown grass lying in the meadow. And the Haymaker Spider walks across the meadow: his legs are like stilts, his head swings between his legs.
- Spider, and Spider, take me home! My legs hurt.
- Well, sit down, I’ll give you a ride.

The Ant had to climb up the spider's leg to the knee, and from the knee down to the Spider's back: the Haymaker's knees stick out higher than his back.
The Spider began to rearrange his stilts - one leg here, the other there; all eight legs, like knitting needles, flashed in Ant’s eyes. But the Spider does not walk quickly, his belly scratches along the ground.
Ant is tired of this kind of riding. He almost bit the Spider. Yes, here, fortunately, they came out on a smooth path.
The Spider stopped.
“Get down,” he says. - Here the Ground Beetle is running, she is faster than me.
Ant's tears.
- Zhuzhelka, Zhuzhelka, carry me home! My legs hurt.
- Sit down, I'll give you a ride.

As soon as the Ant managed to climb onto the Ground Beetle's back, she started running! Her legs are straight, like a horse's.
The six-legged horse runs, runs, does not shake, as if flying through the air.
We quickly reached a potato field.
“Now get down,” says the Ground Beetle. - It’s not with my feet to jump on potato beds. Take another horse.
I had to get down.
Potato tops for Ant are a dense forest. Here, even with healthy legs, you can run all day. And the sun is already low.
Suddenly Ant hears someone squeaking:
- Come on, Ant, climb on my back and let’s jump.