An Ode to the Village or How I Learned to Love this Country

Spring has sprung in the village

It's 6:30 in the morning, Saturday. I'm huddled in my bed for warmth. I don't feel like sleeping any longer nor do I feel like getting up. I just lay there taking in the familiar scenery. The green Soviet era wallpaper and the stained ceiling. This wasn't my bed but I'd slept here enough for it to still feel familiar. The last time I was staring at these ceiling stains was in January. Back then I could see my breath as I exhaled and I was scared to leave any part of my body exposed for too long. Now it is April the chill is more inviting, the feeling that a fresh day has arrived- crisp and ready to be experienced. 

As I lay still, imagining the coming scenes of spring, I can hear rustling in the next room. I shield my face to hide that fact that I too am awake. I know what the rustling means. My hosts are getting up and starting their day. If we make eye contact I'll feel ashamed that I plan to lie in bed for at least another hour while they go out to start their work. I sink deeper behind the covers as the bedroom door creaks open and footsteps on the wood floor cause the boards to creak. They close my door slowly trying not to wake me.

It's been almost a year since we first met. I miss it here. Life was busy then, but it was simple. I wasn't worried about students who couldn't care less about learning, and there weren’t deadlines and projects constantly swimming around in my head. Back then the only swimming I was doing was in the nearby river. We'd go to classes in the morning, eat an amazing lunch and then return for more classes or spend the rest of the day hiking in the mountains or resting by the river. I didn't have people tracking my whereabouts 24/7, I wasn't being told to eat something every five minutes, and no one asked me the same questions every day. It was a different life, in many ways it was a better one. Then again nostalgia is often better than the present, in the past all your problems have been resolved in the present the solutions have yet to appear.

After another hour in bed I finally get up and go to find Irma. Zviad has left for work and probably won't make an appearance until later in the afternoon. Irma however is bound to be hard at work somewhere nearby. I find her in the kitchen. As soon as I step through the threshold she is placing a plate and cup on the table. The stove is being light and food beings to appear. Suddenly I am sitting at the table eating bread and honey while sipping on warm milk. I struggle to control myself, moderation is the goal but it seem impossible since everything tastes so good. I do my due diligence and try a little of everything before she can get upset- it isn't hard.

We discuss life. The village school is still being remodeled and won't be ready until September. Once it's completed they will be well off resources wise, however there are plenty of other problems to figure out. Irma explains how well her students are learning in the classroom but they forget it all when they go home. They don't practice with their parents since many of the parents don't understand the things their children are learning in school. A complicated cycle is formed and most students don't escape it. Due to the construction, everyone is being bussed to the nearby city to conduct school in one of their buildings from 2-7pm once the morning students have gone home. This has made the work life balance even more difficult, but the sacrifice will be worth it.



As we talk she moves over to the stoves and uncovers a pot full of what I assume is milk. While we continue our conversation she begins mixing the curds and kneading them together. Soon she has made a wheel of cheese and she places it in a plastic strainer to dry out. Next we get ready to make bread for the week. The dough has been made and is rising. While we wait we go outside to check on the chickens and corral them back into the barn area. The rooster has gotten possessive and territorial of late, I wisely keep my distance. I've never seen someone speak so lovingly of and to their future food- several chickens are missing from my last visit. It's a different world from back home where we often speak of animal cruelty in food production. Here they keep an interesting balance of love and respect for these animals and the role they play in their livelihood.

Now that the chickens have been corralled we head back to knead the dough and separate out the potions for bread. The tone (brick oven) is warming and the embers are smoldering. She will make 40 loaves of tonis puri today, something she does about every 5 days. The level of bread consumption blows my mind. I watch as she molds and flattens each loaf and smacks it onto the warm wall of the tone. Once the first loaf is done she hands it to me and sends me inside to eat, I happily oblige.



This is the village life. Later we'll take a trip to the orchard to do some work on the cherry trees which have begun to blossom. There is still laundry to be done and the house cleaning never really stops. Of course throughout the day there will be time for more conversation and neighbors will stop in to visit and we'll also go and visit neighbors and relatives. There is plenty of work to do, but as we work and converse village life seem less demanding and takes on more of a charm. Everything we do serves a purpose. In the village you live by the product of your labor. Of course you could purchase everything you need at the bazaar or a store in the city, but it isn't the same. You didn't make it, you didn't grow it. Even though you bought it, it isn't really yours.

I've come back to the village many times since I left last July. Each time I return I am greeted with open arms. However, now that I have been in Georgia for almost a year there is something different about my arrival in the village. I think I am finally seeing it for what it is and what life here might be like. I'm seeing it for the effect it has had on me. It's here that I finally realize that Georgia is slowly creeping into my heart and I am letting it in.