"In the 1970s, foresters were provided free housing, facilities where you could keep a cow or piglets, a hay meadow, areas where you could chop wood to heat the house and a sauna. The territory needed patrolling, so we were given a horse or a motorcycle. When a person came to work at the preserve, it was obvious whether he was going to stay. If he hadn't planted anything in spring, hadn't chopped firewood and had spent the summer bumming around and fishing – he wouldn't last long. A forester must be able to do everything, working with animals as well as cars and machinery," says Gennady.
"It is hard to say," he says after a long pause. "I recall two homes more and more often. The first one is my granny's house, where my parents lived. It was a large cottage in the village, with a traditional Russian stove, where granny baked bread and we children slept. It was a home that offered shelter to everyone. This is why I'm against large cities: they keep people apart. I live here at the cordon of a national park, but my house is temporary. I'm more attached to the forest. As I walk through it, I feel I'm part of it. So a home is not necessarily a roof to me."