Gradually, as I got older, I began to see some areas of the forest being cut down. New deposits have appeared in place of other areas. One large logging company harvested timber from the surrounding forest. Every day, timber trucks passed through my village, transporting 100 thousand cubic meters of wood per year. In 1991, the Soviet Union suddenly collapsed, and this year I turned 13 years old.
After the collapse of the USSR, a different time came. One large logging enterprise was replaced by many small loggers, who over the course of a decade and a half, along with a powerful hurricane, felled the remains of large trees. There is not a hectare of untouched forest left.
Now a walk through the forest where I spent my childhood, along the same route, turned into constant climbing over piles of garbage and dead wood under the scorching sun or into thickets of young bushes that I had never seen before. Finding mushrooms and berries has become almost impossible.