Etymology

I grew up among horses on the steppe, where a song was something you sang to the herd at dusk. Nobody called it a lesson. I learned the low voice from my uncle, sitting beside a stove in a ger, and the fiddle from the man who lived two valleys over.

Now I live in Ulaanbaatar, in a flat where the winter smog turns the window orange, and I teach people all over the world through a laptop. I go back to the ger when I can. I keep every lesson slow, because the sound comes from small, quiet changes in the mouth and the breath.