We all remember our childhood to one degree or another. Many lived or visited relatives in the village. My memory has preserved such moments of village life as haymaking, swimming in the river, meeting a herd, picking berries. I remember the smells of old, sun-warmed logs, ripe apples, fresh honey, the taste of milk with crushed raspberries, the crunch of fresh bread, my grandmother’s gentle voice. Such warm memories form a colorful mosaic that warms the soul. Sometimes I dream of episodes from my childhood and adolescence, stories told by one of my relatives. And very rarely do I see dreams in which I, having already become an adult, still live in that village. But not in her today, but in the one that was in the distant sunny and carefree time of the Big Trees. It’s about these amazing events that either happened in reality, or I dreamed about, and I want to tell you about them.