Don Bacho & Bedina Daagdo ... File

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!)

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. 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. Bedina looked at the tumbling wooden mountain, looked

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." (Drop it/Let it go