2 Hydro, 1 Oxy: Etseri, Svaneti
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That’s all water is: a couple of hydrogen atoms and one of oxygen. I’ve learned that, although the English and Georgian languages have no relationship, their roots for these and many other anciently known elements have the same meaning. “Hydrogen” means something like “parent of water” in both languages, and in Russian and others too; “oxygen” means “parent of burning” (or oxidation, to be exact). These two gases combine to form a molecule without which life on earth as we know it would be impossible.
Another unique property of water is that when it freezes to ice, it expands and thus becomes lighter, in contrast to most other substances. This simple fact means that when bodies of water solidify from cold, they do from the top down, usually retaining a liquid layer below, in which aquatic life can continue. If they froze from the bottom up, this could not sustain water-based lifeforms.
No wonder, either, that peoples like the Inuit who live in climates dominated by winter have so many words for forms of solid water, not just “frost”, “ice” and “snow”. Living in Svaneti since 2007 has shown me many of these variations. We might not have single words for them in English, but at least we can differentiate and describe them. My more intimate relationship with 2-hydro, 1-oxy has made me aware of the intricacy of the thing, its pickaxe-threatening, Titanic-crushing strength and hardness as well as its lacy potential to dissolve back into liquid at the lightest puff of my breath. And everything in between.
The hexagonal miracles of uncounted trillions of unique snowflakes, each never once repeated in history. The thin white ice on top of puddles with air underneath which makes the loudest, most satisfying crunch when you step on it. Frost swirls not only on the windows, but on steps and even in the mud. Layers of the slipperiest ice of all, thick and already slightly wet, ready to knock you right off your feet if you attempt to cross. Snow on the ground getting sculpted into more and more fantastic forms daily as sun, wind and humidity changes work their microclimatic magic on it. Growths of whole fields above Mestia of miraculous fur-like frozen fronds where the humidity is comparatively greater and the sun and wind less.
Bubbles moving slowly downhill as water trapped under thin ice makes its moves. Rivers inching towards being ice-covered from the banks inwards; repeated splashings from them solidifying around plants at the water’s edge. Hoarfrost on trees further fractalizing their already non-integer dimensions; snow building up on branches silently over hours, sometimes heavy enough to break them down if you don’t knock it off first. Ice off roofs starting off thick, then evaporating to filigree of utterly impossible delicacy, supported by nothing but its tiny advantage over the law of gravity. (Or, in some winter locations like St Petersburg, Russia, remaining solid as long icicles, regularly falling multiple stories and killing a few people annually).
Whole temporary hotels made of ice and snow in Scandinavia: well, if the Inuit can spend their whole winter lives like this, why can’t we all try it for a few nights? Snow and ice sculpture competitions in Harbin and Edmonton and elsewhere, world famous- Three of my Edmonton friends once made the world’s record largest snow sculpture, asking road clearers in Memphis, USA to gather their snow into a box-form in an unused parking lot, then turning this into a giant polar bear.
Winter’s water is to be appreciated for all these reasons, and hundreds more, some to be found only where YOU are, if you take the time to notice them. It’s worth it.
Tony Hanmer has lived in Georgia since 1999, in Svaneti since 2007, and been a weekly writer for GT since early 2011. He runs the “Svaneti Renaissance” Facebook group, now with nearly 2000 members, at www.facebook.com/groups/SvanetiRenaissance/
He and his wife also run their own guest house in Etseri: www.facebook.com/hanmer.house.svaneti
By Tony Hanmer