Phrase from Field: For the first time in years, we are finally at the highest point on the horizon, where conversations are at once of mighty proportions, between the great peaks of the south and the towering crests of the north Caucasus, between the shores of the clouds and the hour-glass manipulations of the sun; they are also small, a spooked mountain chicken squawking behind a rock, the shocked and silent cries of flowers who grow this high to escape the treads of man-kind, only to fall beneath feet on a rare day of sun.
Phrase from Field: The 14′th Annual Macahel Honey Festival lacks its regular enthusiasm as bureaucracy, speeches, and road-blocking clouds close in on the rings of dancers, the lip smacking children, and the stacks of honey priced high, declaring a new kind of future for the ancient biosphere.
Explorer’s Journal: Dropping 2,700 Meters, Nine Hours, Downhill, Through ‘Nam. And You Better Leave the Forest By Six.
Phrase from Field: Eager hands direct us to thick scratchy rhododendron bushes, promising a fast route down the 2,700 meter drop through the Macaheli cloud forest maze, mentioning little of waterfalls, river crossings, or the labyrinth of towering trees and their karakovan hives, beacons of history reminding us of the final words of mountain villagers, “Make sure you leave the forest by six.”
Phrase from Field: Slouching against mountain wool-stuffed pillows, a man donning a track suit and perfectly trained British English recounts how a life of survival and fickle weather patterns in the yaylas has prepared him for survival in the cut-throat corruption of Batumi oil ports and the tyrannical nepotism of politics. Read the rest of this entry
Phrase from Field: Straddling snowy white lethally electric mountain clouds and semi-tropical green staircase hill-sides, beekeepers in Savsat savor the unique light colors and rich tangy flavors of their honeys, a true child of the dramatic marriage of regional micro-climates. Read the rest of this entry