Leaving for Georgia

Life has knotted itself around the music, and instead of flowing one thing to the next to the next, I keep being gently twisted and turned around the phenomenon of Georgian sacred chant. It is mesmerizing, enchanting, it stills the soul, demands breath; I'm learning it as a baby learns to speak -exuberantly, with abundant mispronunciation and drooling.

On the 31st of August I'll be returning to Caucausus Georgia for almost a year to learn the language, Kartuli, and study sacred chant. Kartuli is a non-Indo European language only related to the other some fifty languages in the Caucausus mountains. The Persian name for this region means "Mountain of Languages" referring to the abundant and unique languages living side by side in valleys often only a few miles apart. Roman officers recorded needing "123 interpreters to conduct our daily business" in the Black Sea coastal kingdom Colchis (now Georgia). Kartuli also has a unique alphabet, one of fourteen in the world, probably created between 100-400 AD. Based loosely on the Greek alphabet, Kartulad letters more closely resemble the curvature of grape vines, the cultural symbol of Georgia.

Between returning from Georgia last December to my departure this month, it has been an eventful year. My family relocated to Vermont in July, featuring a major rehaul and sale of our Pennsylvania home, finding and purchasing a Vermont home, loading and hauling eighteen years of accumulated possessions into UHaul trucks, and unpacking everything.

In the spring, I toured with an incredibly talented and fun group of singers through New England and over to Old England for a total of eight weeks. We sang old American shapenote songs, South African, Bulgarian, Georgian, and Shaker songs. I loved wandering through solemn cathedral naves taking in the chiseled rose-lily geometry of medieval stonework. I loved massive oak trees left standing in every field and pasture. I loved pints of ale amidst a jovial crowd, playing cards and eating crisps. Sometimes even a gentleman would stand and sing an old famous ballad that everyone could join in on for the chorus. At these moments we knew we were in England proper.

Construction didn't teach too many new tricks, I always feel like I end up breaking or messing things up more than I fix them. But how can you go wrong with exterior painting? Maybe by falling off a ladder, which I did. I felt redeemed by building eight horse jumps for a local horsefarm. Powertools have such a way of satisfying. I took my new skills out to Colorado for a visit with best Waldo buds Mark and Jake, where we worked little and reminisced lots. On a camping trip in the baking desert canyons of SE Utah, we found a pool of water and soaked our parched bodies. Mark and I found a way into Michael Franti & Spearhead at the Bluegrass Festival in Telluride with Wes friends Kathleen, Steve, and Colleen. Days we weeded gardens, nights we played music and basketball. I sang Georgian sacred chants with two unlikely candidates for an audience bred on die-easy country, they actually liked us but didn't leave any tips. Finally Mark and I designed and built the "Will It Stand" shelf extravaganza, without right angles, which now graces Jake's fine ceramics studio in Mancos CO.

The summer of weddings has lead to continued traveling to see dear friends unite in PA, CT, VT, and NH. To my delight, all have involved singing. Many loose ends tied together this year. Many friendships revisited, chapters begun and closed. For me, a new chapter opens. To Georgia!


Aug. 23rd, 2004