Leo Tolstoy spring has come. Abstract of a lesson on the development of speech in the middle group “Retelling the story “Spring Has Come” by L. N. Tolstoy. Forest and steppe

Spring, long delayed by the cold, suddenly began in all its glory, and life began to play everywhere. Scillas were already turning blue, and a dandelion turned yellow over the fresh emerald of the first green ... Swarms of midges and heaps of insects appeared in the swamps; a water spider was already running after them; and behind him every bird gathered in dry reeds from everywhere. And everyone was going to take a closer look at each other. Suddenly the earth was populated, forests and meadows woke up. Round dances began in the village. There was room for play. What brightness in the green! What freshness in the air! What is the cry of a bird in the gardens! ..

Spring

It was now impossible to look at the sun - it poured from above in shaggy dazzling streams. Clouds floated across the blue-blue sky like heaps of snow. The spring breezes smelled of fresh grass and birds' nests.

In front of the house, large buds burst on fragrant poplars, and chickens groaned in the sun. In the garden, from the heated earth, piercing the rotting leaves with green bobbins, grass was climbing, the whole meadow was covered with white and yellow stars. Every day there were birds in the garden. Blackbirds ran between the trunks - dodgers walk on foot. In the lindens, an oriole started up, a big bird, green, with yellow as gold underwings on its wings, bustling around, whistling with a honey voice.

As the sun rose, on all the roofs and birdhouses the starlings woke up, filled with different voices, wheezed, whistled either as a nightingale, or a lark, or some African birds, which they had heard enough of over the winter overseas - they mocked, out of tune terribly. A woodpecker flew like a gray handkerchief through the transparent birches, sitting on the trunk, turning around, raising a red crest on end.

And on Sunday, on a sunny morning, in the trees that were not yet dry with dew, a cuckoo cuckooed by the pond: with a sad, lonely, gentle voice, she blessed everyone who lived in the garden, starting from worms;

Live, love, be happy, cuckoo. And I'll live alone with nothing, cuckoo ...

The whole garden listened silently to the cuckoo. Ladybugs, birds, frogs, always surprised by everything, sitting on their stomachs, some on the path, some on the steps of the balcony - all made a fortune. The cuckoo cuckooed, and the whole garden whistled even more cheerfully, rustled the leaves ... The oriole whistles in a honeyed voice, as if in a tune with water. The window was open, the room smelled of grass and freshness, the sun's light eclipsed by wet leaves. A breeze came up, and drops of dew fell on the window sill ... Before that, it was good to wake up, listen to the whistle of the oriole, look out the window at the wet leaves.

Forest and steppe

... Further, further! .. Let's go steppe places. You look from the mountain - what a view! Round, low hills, plowed up and sown to the top, scatter in broad waves; ravines overgrown with bushes wind between them; small roshi are scattered in oblong islands; narrow paths run from the village ... but further, further you go.

The hills are getting smaller and smaller, the trees are almost invisible. Here it is, finally - the boundless, boundless steppe! ..

And on a winter day, walking through high snowdrifts for hares, breathing in frosty sharp air, involuntarily squinting from the dazzling fine sparkle of soft snow, admiring the green color of the sky above the reddish forest! melted snow already smells of warm earth, on the thawed patches, under the slanting ray of the sun, larks sing trustingly, and, with a cheerful noise and roar, streams swirl from ravine to ravine ...

Spring came

Spring came. Rushing streams gurgled through the wet streets. Everything became brighter than in winter: houses, fences, people's clothes, the sky, and the sun. You screw up your eyes from the May sun, it's so bright. And in a special way it gently warms, as if stroking everyone.

Tree buds swelled in the gardens. The branches of the trees swayed in the fresh wind and whispered their spring song almost audibly.

The chocolate flakes burst like they're shooting, and green tails are shown. Both the forest and the garden smell in a special way - greenery, thawed earth, something fresh. These are buds from different trees with different smells. You sniff a bird cherry bud - the bitter-tasting smell reminds you of the white tassels of its flowers. And birch has its own special aroma, gentle and light.

Smells fill the whole forest. In the spring forest breathe easily and freely. And a short, but such a gentle and joyful song of a robin has already begun to ring. If you listen to it, you can make out the familiar words: “Glory, glory all around!” The young, verdant forest whistles, shimmers in every way.

Joyfully, young in heaven, and on earth, and in the heart of man.

Spring

Spring did not open for a long time. The last few weeks have been clear frosty weather. During the day the snow melted in the sun. Suddenly a warm wind blew. A thick gray fog rolled in. Water poured in the mist. The ice floes crackled. Muddy streams moved. By evening the fog had gone. The sky cleared up. In the morning, the bright sun quickly ate the thin ice. The warm spring air trembled with the vapors of the earth. The larks burst forth over the velvet of greenery and stubble. Cranes and geese flew high with spring cackle. Cows roared in pastures. The real spring has come.

Steppe in spring

Early spring morning - cool and dewy. Not a cloud in the sky. Only in the east, where the sun is now emerging in a fiery glow, are still crowding, pale and melting with every minute, gray, predawn clouds. The whole boundless expanse of the steppe seems to be showered with fine golden dust. In the dense lush grass here and there trembling, shimmering and flashing with multi-colored lights, diamonds of large dew. The steppe is cheerfully full of flowers: the gorse turns bright yellow, bluebells modestly turn blue, fragrant chamomile turns white with whole thickets, wild carnation burns with crimson spots. In the morning coolness, the bitter healthy smell of wormwood is poured, mixed with the gentle, almond-like aroma of dodder. Everything shines and basks and joyfully reaches for the sun. Only in some places, in deep and narrow beams, between steep cliffs overgrown with sparse shrubs, wet bluish shadows still lie, reminding of the bygone night.

High in the air, invisible to the eye, larks tremble and ring. The restless grasshoppers have long ago raised their hasty, dry chatter.

The steppe woke up and came to life, and it seems as if it is breathing deep, even and powerful sighs.

Childhood years of Bagrov-grandson

(Excerpt)

... In the middle of Lent, a strong thaw came. The snow quickly began to melt, and water appeared everywhere. The approach of spring in the village made an unusual, irritating impression on me. I felt a special kind of excitement that I had never experienced ... and followed every step of spring. The dirty thawed patches grew wider and longer, the lake in the grove filled up more fully, and, passing through the fence, water was already showing between the cabbage ridges in our garden. I noticed everything accurately and attentively, and each step of spring was celebrated as a victory!

Rooks have been pacing around the yard for a long time and began to make nests in Gracheva Rosh. Starlings and larks also arrived; and then a real bird began to appear, game, according to the hunters.

How much excitement, how much noisy joy!

The water came in strong. The river overflowed its banks, merged with the Grachevaya Grove Lake. All the banks were strewn with every kind of game; many ducks swam on the water between the tops of the flooded bushes, and meanwhile large and small flocks of various migratory birds constantly swept by; some flew high without stopping, while others flew low, often falling to the ground; some flocks landed, others rose, others flew from place to place; a scream, a squeak, a whistle filled the air. Not knowing what kind of bird it was flying or walking, what its dignity was, which of them squeaked or whistled, I was amazed, distraught by such a spectacle. I listened, looked, and then I did not understand anything that was happening around me, only my heart sank, then pounded like a hammer; but after that everything seemed, even now it seems to me clearly and distinctly, it gave and still gives an inexplicable pleasure! ..

Little by little I got used to the coming spring and to its various manifestations, always new, amazing and delightful; I say I got used to it, in the sense that I no longer went into a frenzy ...

It's already spring

(Excerpt)

It's spring outside. The pavements are covered with a brown mess, on which future paths are already beginning to be marked; roofs and sidewalks are dry; On the floor, tender, young greenery breaks through the rotten last year's grass with fences.

In the ditches, merrily murmuring and foaming, dirty water runs ... Chips, straws, sunflower shells quickly rush through the water, spin and cling to the dirty foam. Where, where are these chips floating? It is very possible that they will fall from the ditch into the river, from the river into the sea, from the sea into the ocean ...

Dictionary of native nature

The Russian language is very rich in words related to the seasons and natural phenomena associated with them.

Take at least early spring. She, this girl-spring, still chilled from the last frosts, has a lot of good words in her knapsack.

Thaws begin, warmer thaws, drops from the roofs. The snow becomes grainy, spongy, settles and turns black. The mists eat him up. Gradually delivers roads, there comes a slush, impassability. On the rivers, the first gullies with black water appear in the ice, and on the hillocks - thawed patches and bald patches. Along the edge of the packed snow, the coltsfoot is already turning yellow.

Then, on the rivers, the first shift occurs from the holes, vents and ice holes, water comes out.

For some reason, ice drift begins most often on dark nights, after “ravines go” and hollow, melt water, ringing with the last pieces of ice - “shards”, will merge from meadows and fields.

Hello Spring!

The roads darkened. Ice turned blue on the river. The rooks fix their nests. Streams are ringing. The fragrant buds puffed out on the trees. The guys saw the first starlings.
Slender shoals of geese stretched out from the south. A caravan of cranes appeared high in the sky.
Willow unfurled soft powder puffs. Busy ants ran along the paths.
A white hare ran out to the edge. Sitting on a stump, looking around. A big elk with a beard and horns came out. Joyful feeling fills the soul.

Spring sounds

Sokolov-Mikitov Ivan Sergeevich

Those who have spent the night many times by the fire in the forest will never forget hunting spring nights. It's wonderfully early morning in the forest. It seems that the invisible conductor raised his magic wand and at his sign the beautiful symphony of the morning begins. Obeying the wand of an invisible conductor, one after another the stars go out over the forest. Growing and dying in the tops of the trees, the predawn wind rushes over the heads of the hunters. As if joining the music of the morning, one can hear the singing of the first awakened bird-bird.
A quiet, familiar sound is heard: “Horrr, horrrr, zviu! Horrr, horrr, zviu!” - it pulls a woodcock over the morning forest - a forest long-billed sandpiper. Out of a thousand forest sounds, the hunter's sensitive ear already catches an unusual, unlike anything, capercaillie song.
At the most solemn hour of the appearance of the sun, the sounds of forest music especially increase. Greeting the rising sun, cranes trumpet silver trumpets, indefatigable musicians - thrushes - sing everywhere on countless pipes, larks rise into the sky from bare forest glades and sing.

Wonderful time

Grigorovich Dmitry Vasilievich

April is coming to an end. Spring was early. The snow has fallen from the fields. Winters are green. How good it is in the field! The air is filled with the songs of the lark. Fresh juice moves in branches and stems. The sun warms the thicket and fields. Remains of snow melt in the forest and ravine. Beetles are buzzing. The river has entered its banks. This is a wonderful time - spring!

In the March sun

In the calm, in secluded forest glades, the sun is hot, like in summer. You turn one cheek to him, you want to turn the other - it's nice.

The horned spruce is also basking in the sun, densely, from the top to the hem, hung with old cones, birches-gussets are basking, forest children are basking - willow.

waited

Here it is spring again. No sooner had sunset played than the east began to blush. Along Pinega densely, in bulk there is a forest. Lobasty logs, like big fish, hollow out a newly placed boom with a dull thud. Bon creaks, water squishes in the stony throat of the lintel:

"Ehe-he-he-hey!" A loud echo swept through the night Pinega, jumped out to the other side, haunting, along the tops of the pine forest.

The echo played like a summer. Looking forward to sunny days again!

And the day is not a day, and the night is not a night ... Mysteriously, the sky is transparent above the silent earth. Dozing surrounded by forests - dark, motionless. The dawn that does not fade for a minute gilds their pointed peaks in the east.

Dream and reality are confused in the eyes. You wander through the village - both houses and trees seem to sway blindly, and you yourself suddenly ceased to feel the heaviness of your own body, and it already seems to you that you are not walking, but floating above the hushed village.

Quiet, so quiet that you can hear the bird cherry tree resting under the window, crumbling in white. From the wooden bottom of the bucket, raised above the well, a drop of water reluctantly separates - the depths of the earth respond with a booming echo. A sweetish smell of milk wafts from the half-open barns, the bitterness of the sun radiates from the beaten wood heated during the day. Hearing footsteps, a dove will move under the roof, cooing awake, and then, slowly circling, a light feather will fly to the ground, leaving behind a thin stream of nesting warmth in the air.

It was now impossible to look at the sun - it poured from above in shaggy, dazzling streams. Clouds floated across the blue-blue sky like heaps of snow. The spring breezes smelled of fresh grass and bird nests.
In front of the house, large buds burst on the fragrant poplars, and hens groaned in the baking. In the garden, from the heated earth, piercing the rotting leaves with green bobbins, grass was climbing, the whole meadow was covered with white and yellow stars. Every day there were birds in the garden. Blackbirds ran between the trunks - tricksters to walk. In the lindens, an oriole started up, a big bird, green, with a yellow, like gold, underwing on its wings, bustling around, whistling with a honeyed voice.
As the sun rose, on all the roofs and birdhouses the starlings woke up, filled with different voices, wheezed, whistled now with a nightingale, then with a lark, then with some African birds, which they had heard enough of over the winter overseas - they mocked, out of tune terribly. A woodpecker flew like a gray handkerchief through transparent birches; sitting on the trunk, turning around, raising a red crest on end.
And on Sunday, on a sunny morning, in the trees that had not yet dried out from the dew, a cuckoo cuckooed by the pond: with a sad, lonely, gentle voice, she blessed everyone who lived in the garden, starting from worms:
- Live, love, be happy, cuckoo ... And I'll live alone, nothing to do with it, cuckoo ...
The whole garden listened silently to the cuckoo. Ladybugs, birds, frogs, always surprised by everything ... The cuckoo cuckooed and the whole garden whistled even more cheerfully, rustled the leaves ...

L. N. Tolstoy An excerpt describing spring from Anna Karenina

Part Two, Chapter XII.
…..
Spring did not open for a long time. During the last weeks of Lent the weather was clear and frosty. During the day it melted in the sun, and at night it reached seven degrees; The crust was such that they drove carts without a road, Easter was in the snow. Then suddenly, on the second day of the Holy, a warm wind blew, clouds moved in, and for three days and three nights it rained stormy and warm rain. On Thursday, the wind died down and a thick gray fog rolled in, as if hiding the secrets of the changes taking place in nature. Water poured in the fog, ice floes crackled and moved, muddy, foaming streams moved faster, and in the evening the fog broke up on Krasnaya Gorka itself, the clouds scattered like white caps, it cleared up, and real spring opened up. The next morning, the bright sun that rose quickly ate the thin ice that covered the waters, and all the warm air trembled from the vapors of the revived earth that filled it. The young grass, old and emerging with needles, turned green, the buds of viburnum, currant and sticky spirit birch puffed out, and on the vine sprinkled with golden color, an exposed flying bee buzzed. Invisible larks flooded over the velvet verdure and icy stubble, lapwings wept over lowlands and marshes filled with brown, unwashed water, and cranes and geese flew high with spring cackling. Mangy cattle roared in the pastures, only in places not yet molted, bow-legged lambs began to play around the bleating mothers losing the wave, swift-footed children ran along the drying paths, with the imprints of bare feet, the cheerful voices of women with canvases crackled on the pond, and the axes of the peasants rattled in the yards, setting up plows and harrows. The real spring has come.

spring

Chekhov A. P

The snow has not yet fallen from the ground, but spring is already asking for the soul. If you have ever recovered from a serious illness, then you know the blissful state when you freeze from vague forebodings and smile for no reason. Apparently, nature is now experiencing the same state. The ground is cold, the dirt and snow squelches underfoot, but how merry, affectionate, and affable everything is around! The air is so clear and transparent that if you climb a dovecote or a bell tower, you seem to see the whole universe from end to end. The sun shines brightly, and its rays, playing and smiling, bathe in puddles along with sparrows. The river swells and darkens; she has already woken up and not today, tomorrow she will roar. The trees are bare, but they already live and breathe.

At such a time, it is good to drive dirty water in ditches with a broom or shovel, to launch boats on the water or to hammer stubborn ice with your heels. It is also good to drive pigeons under the very heights of heaven or climb trees and tie birdhouses there. Yes, everything is fine at this happy time of the year, especially if you are young, love nature, and if you are not capricious, not hysterical, and if you are not required to sit within four walls from morning to evening. It’s not good if you are sick, if you languish in the office, if you know the muses…..

Meeting of spring: (Reasoning)

Chekhov A. P

Borea was replaced by marshmallows. A breeze is blowing either from the west or from the south (I recently did not understand the local countries of the world enough in Moscow), it blows lightly, barely touching the tails ... It’s not cold, and it’s not so cold that you can safely walk in a hat, coat and with a cane. There is no frost even at night. The snow melted, turned into muddy water, running with a murmur from the mountains and hillocks into dirty ditches; it has not melted only in the lanes and small streets, where it rests serenely under a three-inch brown, earthy layer and will rest until May ... In the fields, in the forests and on the boulevards, green grass timidly breaks through ... The trees are still completely bare, but they look out somehow cheerfully . The sky is so glorious, clear, bright; only occasionally do clouds roll in and let small splashes on the ground ... The sun shines so well, so warmly and so kindly, as if it had a nice drink, a satisfying bite and saw an old friend ... It smells of young grass, manure, smoke, mold, all kinds of rubbish, steppe and something special... In nature, everywhere you look, preparations, chores, endless cooking... The bottom line is that spring is flying.

The public, which is terribly tired of spending money on firewood, walking in heavy fur coats and ten-pound galoshes, breathing either hard, cold, or bathhouse, apartment air, joyfully, swiftly and standing on their toes, stretches out their hands towards the flying spring. Spring is a welcome guest, but is it kind? How can you tell? I don't think it's too kind, and it's not too bad either. Whatever it is, they look forward to it.

Poets old and young, the best and the worst, leaving cashiers, bankers, railroad workers and horned husbands alone for a while, scribble madrigals, dithyrambs, salutatory odes, ballads and other poetic things, singing in them every single spring charm ... As usual, they sing unsuccessfully (I'm not talking about those present). The moon, air, haze, distance, desires, "she" - they have in the foreground.

Prose writers are also tuned in a poetic way. All feuilletons, curses and praises begin and end with a description of their own feelings, inspired by the approaching spring.

Young ladies and gentlemen of that ... Suffer mortally! Their pulse beats 190 per minute, the temperature is feverish. Hearts are full of the sweetest forebodings... Spring brings love with it, and love brings with it: "How much happiness, how much torment!" In our drawing, spring holds Cupid on a string. And he does well. And in love, discipline is needed, but what would happen if she let Cupid down, gave him, a rascal, freedom? I'm a serious person, but even all kinds of devilry comes into my head due to the grace of spring smells. I am writing, and in front of my eyes there are shady alleys, fountains, birds, “she” and all that. My mother-in-law is already starting to look at me suspiciously, and my wife is constantly sticking out at the window ...

Medical people are very serious people, but even they do not sleep peacefully... They are choked by a nightmare and have the most seductive dreams. The cheeks of doctors, paramedics, pharmacists burn with a feverish blush. And not without reason! There are fetid fogs over the cities, and these fogs consist of microorganisms that produce diseases ... Chests, throats, teeth hurt ... Ancient rheumatisms, gout, neuralgia are played out. Consumptive darkness-darkness. In pharmacies, the crush is terrible. Poor pharmacists have no time to dine or drink tea. Bertolet's salt, Dover's powder, breast spices, iodine and stupid dental products are sold by the pound. As I write, I hear nickels clinking in a nearby pharmacy. My mother-in-law has flux on both sides: freak freak!

Small businessmen, loan savers, practical cannibals, liquids and kulaks dance kachucha for joy. Spring is a benefactor for them too. A thousand fur coats go to the loan offices to be eaten by hungry moths. Everything warm, which has not yet ceased to be valuable, rushes to liquid benefactors. Don't take a fur coat on loan, you will be left without a summer dress, you will flaunt in the country in beavers and raccoons. For my fur coat, which costs a minimum of 100 rubles, they gave me 32 rubles in a loan.

In Berdichev, Zhytomyr, Rostov, Poltava - knee-deep mud. The mud is brown, viscous, smelly... Passers-by sit at home and do not show their noses into the street: just look that you will drown in the devil knows what. You leave in the mud not only galoshes, but even boots with socks. Go out into the street, if necessary, either barefoot or on stilts, or best of all, don't walk at all. In mother Moscow, to be fair, you can’t leave your boots in the mud, but you will certainly pick up in galoshes. You can say goodbye to galoshes forever only in very few places (namely: at the corner of Kuznetsky and Petrovka, on Truba and almost in all squares). From village to village you will not pass, you will not pass.

Everything is going to walk and rejoice, except for the youths and youths. Young people will not see spring beyond the exams. The whole of May will go to getting fives and ones. For individuals, spring is not a welcome guest.

Wait a little, in 5-6 days, in a lot of weeks, the cats will sing louder under the windows, the liquid mud will become thick, the buds on the trees will become fluffy, the grass will look out everywhere, the sun will bake - and the real spring will set in. Wagon trains with furniture, flowers, mattresses and maids will be pulled from Moscow. Gardeners and gardeners will swarm around ... Hunters will start loading their guns.

Wait a week, be patient, but in the meantime, put strong bandages on your chest so that your raging, urgent hearts do not jump out of your chests ...

By the way, how would you like to depict spring on paper? In any form? In the old days, she was depicted as a beautiful maiden pouring flowers on the ground. Flowers are synonymous with joys... Now there are other times, other customs, and another spring. We also depict her as a lady. It does not pour flowers, because there are no flowers and a hand in a muff. We should have portrayed her as skinny, thin, skeletal, with a consumptive blush, but let her be comme il faut! We make this concession to her only because she is a lady.

, about nature, about the weather.

for acquaintance with fiction

in the middle group

Topic: Retelling of the story "Spring has come" (according to L.N. Tolstoy)

Conducted by the teacher Vlasova Irina Timofeevna

Moscow, GOU D / S No. 2526
Target- teaching a coherent sequential retelling of the text with visual support in the form of graphic diagrams that display the sequence of events.
Main tasks:

- Educational: to teach holistically and emotionally to perceive works with natural history content; teach children to answer questions with sentences of 2-3 words; continue to learn to form nouns with diminutive suffixes.

-Developing: to develop visual and auditory memory, thinking, grammatical, dialogic and coherent speech in children.

- Educational : to cultivate love for nature, the ability to listen to the interlocutor.

Reading a work, talking, retelling, playing with the ball “Call it affectionately”, looking at illustrations, reading a poem, a surprise moment, gifts for children.

Painting Savrasov A.K. "Spring", reference pictures, diagrams, ball, toy - a hare, a gift bag, a piece of a plank, a container with water, an empty container, gifts - wooden boats (according to the number of children), a portrait of the writer Leo Tolstoy.

Examination of illustrations on the theme "Spring".

Acquaintance with schematic images for the story.

observations in nature.

H O D A N I T I A:

1. 
   Organizing time.

Teacher: Children, listen to the poem. What season is it talking about?

Spring is coming to us

With quick steps

And the snowdrifts are melting

Under her feet.

Black thawed patches

visible in the fields.

Apparently very warm.

spring's feet. (I. Tokmakova)

1. 
   Preparation for the perception of the text.Creating a text perception background.

Educator (imperceptibly knocks behind the screen):

Oh guys, I think someone came to visit us ...

The teacher looks behind the screen.

- Something he is embarrassed to go out ... And let's guess who it is:

long ears,

gray belly.

Who is this, guess...

Well, of course, this is ... (BUNNY)
- That's right, children. This is a bunny. (Shows a bunny from behind a screen)

- See how the bunny is happy that his fur coat has changed to a new one.

It looks like he wants to tell me something...

(The teacher brings the bunny to his ear.)

He says that he brought you a gift in a beautiful package.

(The teacher shows the children a gift bag)

Let's see what's in it, shall we?

(The teacher opens the chest and takes out the picture of Savrasov A.K. “Spring”)

Guys, tell me what season is shown? (Spring)

If the children find it difficult to answer, the teacher helps the children with leading questions.

1. 
   Reading a story.Development of voluntary attention.

(The teacher shows a portrait of the writer) Lev Nikolaevich is a Russian writer. He lived and worked more than 100 years ago. But until now, adults and children read his books: about war, about animals, good and evil ... Tolstoy wrote many works for children, including stories ... He even opened a school in Yasnaya Polyana to teach children to read and write . And he taught there. So, listen to the story of nature ...

Spring came.

Spring has come, water has flowed. The children took the boards, made a boat, launched the boat on the water. The boat swam, and the children ran after it, they did not see anything in front of themselves and fell into a puddle ...

1. 
   Vocabulary work.

(Spring has come.)

Do you know what boards are? (These are pieces of wood, these are strips of wood)

- Right. This is a piece of wood from which you can make any shape, for example, like this. ( Demonstration.)

The teacher “demonstrates” to the children the verbs “flowed” and “let go”.

The verb "flowed" . A small container is taken at an angle and water is poured into it. At this time, the teacher comments that the water has flowed.

The verb "let go" . A handmade boat is taken and lowered into the water. At this time, the teacher says that this is how the children let the boats go.

1. 
   Content Conversation. The development of dialogic speech.

What season is it? (Spring has come.)

- What did the children do? (Children made boats.)

What did they make the boat out of? (The boat was made from planks.)

Where did they put the boat? (The boat was launched into the water.)

Did the boat float or stand on the water? (The boat floated.)

What were the children doing? (Children ran.)

How did the story end? (The children fell into a puddle.)

1. 
   Ball game "Call it affectionately."Improving the ability to form nouns with diminutive suffixes.

Lexical material:

board - planks,

boat - boats,

water is water.

puddle - puddles.

1. 
   Rereading the story.Development of long-term auditory-speech memory.

connected speech. Formation of the skill of working on the algorithm.
- And now, let's tell you how spring came.

Retelling the story by all children in a chain and individually.
9. Bottom line.

- What work did you meet today?

(With "Spring Has Come")

- And who wrote it? (Written by Leo Tolstoy)

You are all so great today, and the bunny has prepared a surprise for you.

The teacher shows the children boats made of wood and offers to put them on the water.

Used Books:
1. Summaries of classes on teaching children to retell using reference diagrams. Middle group. Teaching aid. Lebedeva L.V., Kozina I.V., Kulakova T.V. et al. Center for Pedagogical Education, Moscow, 2008
APPENDIX

Reference pictures for the story "Spring has come"

1.