And so, they walked back up the mountain, leaving the "dropped" history behind, already planning how to tell the village they had fought off a pack of wolves to save the empty air.
Bedina looked at the tumbling wooden mountain, looked at his blackberries, and then looked at the steep 200-foot drop to the river below. He calmly stepped aside. "Bacho!" Bedina yelled. (Drop it/Let it go!) DON BACHO & BEDINA daagdo ...
The sun was barely kissing the peaks of the Caucasus when Don Bacho stood outside his stone hut, scratching his chin. He had a problem: a giant, ancient wooden wardrobe that had belonged to his grandmother. It was heavy, smelled of mothballs and history, and needed to go to the village at the bottom of the valley. And so, they walked back up the mountain,
Bedina walked over, wiped purple juice from his lip, and pointed down at the river. "Look on the bright side, Bacho. You wanted it in the valley. It’s in the valley. And we didn’t even have to walk the rest of the way." "Bacho
Don Bacho and Bedina are legendary, lighthearted figures often featured in rural Georgian folk humor and local anecdotes. Their stories usually revolve around their cleverness, stubbornness, or comical misunderstandings of modern life. In Georgian dialects, (
Silence fell over the mountain. Bacho crawled out of the mud, his face a mask of fury. "My grandmother’s wardrobe! You told me to daagdo ?"
Bacho looked down at the wreckage, then at his muddy hands, and finally at Bedina. He started to laugh—a deep, booming mountain laugh. "You’re right, Bedina. It was getting heavy anyway."