Being up here in the mountains is therapeutic.
Each week, we get all the stuff we need for our weekend event Blooming April and take the one-and-a-half-hour road up on Thursday to start preparing the space and the food before the weekend arrives.
Fridays are busy for us here. We lay out the mats with the tables on top of them, we wash the water and arak pitchers, we fix the garden and the house inside, and we work on the food prep with what we can make a day ahead. Despite the work load we have, I cannot miss the chance at enjoying a delicious lunch. Continue reading
Christmas in the camp is different.
We don’t live in tents anymore, but everyone’s roofs and extensions are made of corrugated metal sheets. It’s never a silent night when it’s raining. Every single drip of rain is heard tic-toc-ing on the roofs echoing one another into a deafening harmonious symphony.
Christmas in the camp is engulfed with church bells jingling at midnight calling for celebratory mass. The Maronite monastery uphill, and our modest Greek Catholic church by the side of the camp both hold masses filled with joyful Christmas chants for believers to have a blessed eve. I lead the choir for a while after being a member for long. Those chants were magical in lyrics and melodies that fill you up with warmth and joy. Continue reading