Leaving my small village

I had to include this photo as part of my final days living in the tiny village of Karenis. I walked by this water trough everyday on the way to school in the morning and on the way home, my head filled to the brim with new words. Now when I think of the village, it is the ever-present image of water that comes to mind, rivulets, and streams guided downhill along roads and eventually guided into the orchards that fed all the families. One day as I was finishing a travel memoir about Armenia ("The Crossing Place"), I came across a description that seemed to add another dimension to the water trough I passed every day. These springs were a part of every Armenian journey. I had been on buses which had stopped simply so that people could visit a certain spring, filling up like litrurgants to take water. Many of the churches were built near water, no doubt replacing earlier sites of worship. Water held a peculiar significance for Armenians. Here the water was channelled into a pipe which pushed through a large stone. At the foot of the stone was a trough and the water slopped constantly over the rim of the trough to drain away down a gully. After two months Armenia, I could feel just what he was describing.

During my last couple days of my stay in Karenis, I could sense those things I would miss the most: the sweetness of the people and the land. The "tateek" in my family was in her early 80's but as you can see even in this photo, never lost the sparkle in her eye. And she had a world of patience for the goofy "Americatzi" who tended to put on the hats the women wore in the orchards. I sure came to appreciate the value of humor to relieve the stress of having no idea what you are doing for days at a time.