Easter in Georgia: A Spring of Faith and Family

This past Easter, I left the city behind and traveled deep into the heart of rural Georgia, to visit an old college friend in his village house—a place of stone walls, orchard trees, and stories older than memory. What I experienced there wasn’t just a holiday. It was a passage through time, tradition, and pure spring magic.

As soon as I arrived, the air smelled different—cleaner, warmer, filled with the promise of new life. Apricot trees were in full bloom, bees hummed lazily around early wildflowers, and children ran barefoot down dusty lanes, already clutching red-painted eggs.

Inside the house, the preparations were in full swing. The kitchen buzzed with activity—kneading, roasting, boiling—and the table groaned with the arrival of the first dishes: chakafuli, green and fragrant with tarragon, and the tall, golden paska bread cooling on embroidered cloth.

On Sunday night, we attended the midnight service at the village church. The candles, the chanting, the quiet, broken only by whispers of “Kriste aghsdga!” (Christ is risen!) answered with “Chezdmaridet!” (Truly He is risen!), created a feeling I can’t describe—peaceful and eternal.

The next morning, laughter filled the yard as we gathered for the egg-cracking contest. My friend’s youngest sister had the sharpest one—it survived every round until the very last! We cheered and laughed like children, and for a moment, there were no years, no cities, no worries—just Easter.

But one of the most touching moments came on Monday, when we walked to the village cemetery. Each family visited the graves of loved ones, placing red eggs and a bit of wine, saying prayers. It reminded me of El Día de Todos los Santos in Spain—this same tender bridge between the living and the dead, where love is stronger than absence.

As we walked back through the village lanes, I saw an elderly man leaning on a wooden stick, standing in the sunlight, watching us. He smiled, pointed to the sky, and said in Georgian:

„Good weather always comes after Easter—it’s our promise from heaven.“

I believed him. Because in that moment, standing among blossoms and bells, surrounded by good people and ancient rituals, Georgia felt like a land where such promises are still kept.