Harvesting Bashny.Net

Today we remember the phenomenon in the Soviet Union under the name of "potato". "The collective farm" or "potato" - is organized forced labor for harvesting urban residents, namely students, students and employees of public institutions. Do you remember your trips to harvest?




In the early morning drive up to the door of the institute convoy of buses with flags. Several departments at full strength back and loaded with songs and jokes were going a hundred miles to the distant field, where through the nettles and swans were white matte elastic cylinder zucchini.

Spahr sun popped grasshoppers, gleaming dew on wet grass and ascended flowed fragrant fumes. From a group of barns on the horizon separated the dark point of the truck; then plunging into the ravine, the flashing glasses on the next hill slope, with a growl, she drove to the colorful, almost resort crowd of townspeople.



From the cockpit foreman jumped in boots and papers; authorized by the Institute to enter into negotiations; Finally at his command all somehow understood chain and, stumbling and fumbling in the grass, began an offensive in the forest.



Women rummaged in the weeds canvas gloves, men picked zucchini cut and carried them to the road, where several people were loading bags and tying ropes, strained threw into the truck. From retreating chain pulled victims: who lost in the weeds knife who cut himself, who fell into the nettles nose.



Drivers who smoked in a circle at the bus ohlopyvali horseflies. Mountain bags in the back of gradually increasing. Separate figures have waved to the edge. Foreman by signing the paper and stamped out his cigarette, climbed back into the cab, and the truck roared removed.



We walked along the trampled down field to buses weary figure, sometimes bending over missed zucchini. Groups perched on the sidelines, where cleaner, munching sandwiches, drinking tea from a thermos. The weather began to deteriorate in the meantime, drivers are impatient, and finally the whole column is embarking on the return journey.



However, the vast majority of collective work was carried out on a rotational basis.
Every Moscow organization was attached to a particular farm, which is often located in the same direction from the town, which was heavy and the organization itself.



To enter into contracts for the provision of mentoring, based on which the company was obliged to expel Moscow to work a certain number of employees for a certain period, and the farm provided them with housing, food, transportation, and, like a vegetable-based, pay-per workday.



The first shipment was sent in early June to harvest hay, and after their comrades, one after another, worked on the farm until mid-November, the end of cleaning potatoes and sprinkled with snow already in full; Thus, the total yield of just six months.

Management of the Institute for razverstyvala service departments in proportion to their population; there swearing, but had nowhere to go. Usually a man drove off shifts fifteen to twenty, and the farm, on the basis of the planned works, stipulated the proportion of men and women. Change left for ten days to work on the weekend; Sunday of every three is charged on the day off on Saturday for some reason two weekdays equated to work in his place.



If vegetable base called all employees equally disgusted, then a trip to the farm regarded very differently. Some equated it to natural disasters and barely held her tears. Others, however, were pleased that it is possible for a long time to break out of the family, to throw hateful drawings, work with your hands in the open air, sunbathing during the day and in the evening to drink and build cupids. Therefore, there were always regulars collective farm, which even had to hold that they are not forgotten completely his profession.



In any case, no one remained in two shifts in a row. But despite the presence of enthusiasts, other employees (excluding the most important, oldest and sickest) annually luminary at least one long trip. These absences, superimposed on the holiday season, so bled design organizations in the summer, that the work there is lukewarm.

Sometimes, as in the case of databases, management hired ghost workers, who stuck out on the farm full time. However, there the authorities they do not complain because they are quickly drawn into unrestrained local booze, and nothing would do.



At the appointed morning, a group of employees, dressed in an old jacket, faded jeans and boots, backpacks and bags at the door of the institute shifted. Some gathered in a circle, talking animatedly, and then leaning back in the gusts of laughter; others wandered around sadly.

Employees of different departments acquainted with each other. Men and women gazed appreciatively each other, trying to figure the odds. Pulls a battered old keyway; The senior echoes gathered on the list, and finally touched the bus in the direction of the native collective farm.



Each farm consisted of a whole conglomerate of various lands randomly outstretched over vast areas. It consisted of a dozen villages, a lot of fields, farms, warehouses, machine and tractor stations (MTS), subsidiary sawmills, mowing, toy power station on the dam, and God knows what else. In fact, it was his little state, which ruled unchallenged chairman, nests in the central manor.

Usually she chose the largest farm in the village, located near the railway convenient or highways. In the middle of the square brick building up the board; before him carefully among the weed beds stuck a monument to Lenin. Asphalt pavements quickly nipped in the mud on which slapped a drunken tractor boots and gently Semenov Moscow vacationers.



On all sides of the village flowed dusty country roads, as the distance were becoming visible in the grass barely ruts. Paul then ran down to the marshy hollows where mosquitoes and rang oduryayusche smelled meadowsweet, discontinue wedges survivor of a dark forest, creating overlapping of such, which could sort out some locals.

Visiting from Moscow, traveling about the lanes, I could not figure out whether he has seen this group of barns, or they just like. In this enchanted area we grew all kinds of fruits of the earth, of which we wanted to clean up.



Bus, dragging a trail of brown dust, is rolled on a quiet street near the abandoned village where the track was lost in the midst of fine curly grass. For rickety fences stormed untouched greenery, through which peeped the skeletons of huts with holes to sagging roof slopes and cross boarded-up windows.

Here and there on the benches resting dirty old man with a haggard, brown from the sun, wrinkled faces; on the soft grass with a cry rushed their grandchildren. Avenue of century-old oaks and a wide, overgrown with duckweed mosquito ponds on the other side of the village showed its noble origin. In the middle of the length of the street was white concrete cylinder well with curved rusty handle; beside him, the hubbub of a lively, crowded with departing employees the previous shift.



Behind the gate, no man in the bush of raspberries, gleaming glass veranda dedicated Muscovites home. Almost the entire length of it held roughly downed dining table, littered with piles of freshly laundered iron cookware army type. The table was surrounded by narrow "shatuchie" shops. In the corner was white institution donated a refrigerator, gas stove is perched in front.



In the center of the hut stood dormant Russian oven; from it in different directions diverge partitions, dividing the total amount of postorny several rooms. All the walls did not reach the ceiling than happy to enjoy the countless mice, flies and mosquitoes, constantly circulating around the room.

The rooms were army iron bed, covered with dusty blankets, broken chairs and tables. Instead, the door jambs with grimy curtains hung. It smelled of cigarette smoke, dirty laundry and some bureaucracy, as often happens in the lodge.



Women and men were placed in separate rooms, vending occupied beds and unpacked his things, went for a walk around the village. Chosen before leaving cook start making some simple soldier's lunch of fried potatoes with stewed meat.

He did not go to work all day and hosted in a hut with a replaceable assistant. Cooks often recorded the most loving employee and chose assistant at his discretion.



At about seven in the morning on the veranda raised metallic clatter of dishes. The duty assistant in soaking wet pants, cursing, dragged from the well two buckets full of splashing. The most vigorous already sitting on the bed, making possible more noise to wake the others.

Pained wincing from under the blanket crawled intellectual with a swollen eye from the night being bitten and scratched. Other prudently bandaging his head with a jacket and breathed nowhere. On the veranda puffed boiled shaving makers. From the porch in the fresh morning breeze crept half-naked figure with towels and lapped at the washstand. Cook rattled ladle of the pan: it's time for breakfast.



The steaming bowls pleasant tyurya with hunger; someone very dear pouring mugs very strong black tea. People greeted, sat down, coarsely chopped assorted slices of bread and concentration rang spoons. On the road, the bus already signaled yesterday. Everything takes place and went through fields and woods to where they waited for the foreman.



On the spacious sloping meadow breeze stirred the scattered ranks of golden hay drying. Slowly crawling machine picks up his fork and long pulls inward, and from the back door, like manure, spilling comically large, rectangular cross tied a twenty-briquettes.

Men broke up in pairs, walking trail and pull their socks up, threw them over the side crawling next to the truck; Some managed to did this fork alone. Upstairs on duty three sheets plastered with grass and trash man to take away the body of the briquettes. Barbed hay rot clog up your eyes, itchy nose, tickle in the throat, corroded sweaty skin. People prone to allergies, after a quarter of an hour finally broke down and did not appear more here.



Since mid-July has started cleaning grain. Now the main work is shifted to the current, where the dusty dump constantly unloaded threshed grain harvesters. The long ridge of corn stretched over the surface of the concrete pad between the two lines of covered pens. On one end of the ridge crept tarahtyaschy huge chest and vibrating all parts, slowly eating the grain.

Gold strip flowed inside up and down on the conveyor and finally spilled far sideways behind another forming parallel ridge refined grains, and in the opposite direction under the pressure of the black and green were fired weed seeds. To avoid raking them across the floor, under a stream of substitutes for a bucket that is filled with frightening speed. Then we should change it to another and quickly drag to the fence, which already heaving mountain of waste.



Before sending the deposit of the city elevator grain dried properly, so it was not vzoprelo not kindled. For this purpose the distance loomed bulky hopper dryers, which was filled in a lot of grain, and the heated air is fed from the bottom. However, whether their bandwidth was low, whether the fuel is a pity, but a large part of the harvest had to be dried in the old way. To do this, on the eve of refined grain shovels threw in a spacious indoor pens, there is not gaining it with a meter thick, and waited.



Day two of the shed has attracted moist heat. Then designers armed with shovels shovels bravely climbed inside and began to shovel, ie, grain tossed from one corner to the opposite, warmed up to cool down at the top of the bottom layer.



The main problem is that on the eve of the grain etched with chemicals, and now people have to work in a cloud of toxic dust. Their standard arming stuffy mask respirators, filter while breathing toxic dust; However, in the afternoon, when the sun is heating up the roof of the shed, and heated by wheat burned boots, use them was not so easy. Many general threw them aside and worked well.

Sometimes the pen dragged a long tube, inside which rotates the screw. Then the work is greatly accelerated. On the one hand the pipe scoops grain, and it obedient spits it from the other end.



Since mid-August most laborious unfolding potato harvest and ran without interruption until the frost. On the dirty, completely covered with weeds, fields yellowing withered, gnawed stems of potato beetles. Along okuchennyh ridges, deep sinking into the sodden clay, trailed potato harvester - strange humped structure, painted with red lead to rusty brown.



On the back of it, like flies, designers sat staring at crawling past their nose, black rubber band. Combine picking his mustache in the ground, tearing off the top layer, and dragged him upstairs confused functioning transporters. On the road crumbled all unnecessary and tubers with like them with stones and lumps of clay crawl to the top of the men on duty, and they could hardly keep throw garbage overboard. From harvesting stretched dump trucks, loaded in bulk.



However, more often on the field just driving a tractor with a plow and sloppy wrenched the tubers to the surface. Following walked figure with empty bags and filling them three-quarters, allowed to stand, and themselves moved on. Others dragged dragged the bags in groups, where the most skillful and twisted their necks tightly tied with rope.



Match ugly truck with high sides; Two men catches on both sides of the bag, shook and deftly threw up. Those who do not know how, at the very hoarsely koryachilis wheels, lifting bags over the head and has exceeded across the board. On top of them took a few more people piling bags bulging toward heaven hump.



Trucks succession went to the side of a giant sorting, which rattled and shook, distributing tubers on the degree of fineness. Some stayed on the farm to the seed, the smallest fed to cattle, other waiting send vegetable base city. Nevertheless, they all fell to the transporters in bags that are now necessary to throw in the body for hours without a break.



At first it seemed impossible; arms fall off, lower back ached, clammy sweat shrouded eyes. However, day-to-day work was all dexterously, so that eventually no one counted the number perebrosali tons.



Sometimes citizens handed rusty bayonet shovels, and they smeared from ear to ear, picked out of clay a long orange carrots. Other shoved it into bags and shipped in the same order in the body. Beets and radishes primitive pulled the tops.



In September, he matured forage turnips - a giant juicy tubers with a rough taste that loved animals. Other long-grow almost a meter and twenty centimeters in diameter; they completely stuck on the surface, like stumps or cacti with stupid tufts of leaves at the top, which came off easily. The land, like an anchor, left a powerful taproot.

It was amusing to watch as the city's intellectuals, traveling in the clay feet, vainly pulled and pushed a stubborn cylinder is not fly with it's nose in the dirt. More skillful cleverly succumb to his foot under the bottom, like a soccer ball. Women, armed with fearsome knives, cut off the roots and leaves, and has lost its solidity root hollow thumps on the bottom of the truck.



But the most fun was held cleaning cabbage. Across the field rows were shaggy blue-green scaly Kochnov on long stalks. Women cut down their knives just below Kochnov men picked up and threw from a distance in a body dump like basketballs. Then began the competition: a woman tried to cut as much as possible, so that men do not have time, and they threw themselves like machines, and did not allow women to straighten up.



When the body is nearly filled, a slippery head, flying tangentially, slaps on the head works on the other side. From there, already taken throw on purpose; someone pulls a frail head and grabbed for a stump, swinging it like a grenade. This is called "cabbage with a pen"; launched at the enemy, it is funny tumbled in the air, spread wide flabby leaves; someone would pick up on the fly and send it back. Finally, the truck left, and flushed the team would sit on the sidelines to rest.















Source: ussrlife.blogspot.ru