As the saying goes, Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life. I happened to pick up a copy of The Grapes of Wrath the other day. It had been 40 years since I first read it and remember enjoying Steinbeck's descriptive language very much. I had never lived on a farm myself but his descriptions of the families moving from the Dust Bowl to California were very poignant. I can even remember copying down at the time some of the passages whose imagery were particularly striking.
About a week after I started reading the book again, I took a bus to celebrate with our newest group of Volunteers their official Swearing In, attended by the US Ambassador to Armenia. It was interesting to witness the ceremony again, this time without the flood of emotions as when you are up on the stage. Then we all trooped over to the same outdoor cafe as last year for the more "informal" but truly celebrative part of the graduation experience. After spending 11 weeks in another culture that included living with an Armenian family and having 4 hours of language classes a day, there is a certain release of energy after the completion of this first stage of your service. The communal sigh of relief was soon followed by numerous toasts and several hours of loud conversation.
As the afternoon wore on, the members of our class from last year started preparing the return journeys to our sites before dark. The new Volunteers didn't have to worry about that as they would be spending this final night in nearby villages where they trained. And the next day they would be transported by the Peace Corps with all their belongings to their new sites. That would be the official start to their two years of service in Armenia.
For us "old timers," we would need to fend for ourselves. Since there were no regular bus routes back to my site, I realized I had a couple options. I could take a one hour bus ride going west back to the capital and then connect with another bus traveling two hours east back to my site. I'm not sure if it was firm grasp of arithmetic or my old habits from the 60's kicking in, but I was soon found myself hitchhiking home ( not a practice recommended for our female volunteers.) I probably also have a naive trust in my Hitchhiking Karma, haven given innumerable rides to hitchhikers over the years.
My thumb wasn't out in the breeze but about 15 minutes when this very nice couple with their young daughter picked me up. While the Mercedes and BMW's went roaring by, it is usually a vehicle in rather weathered condition that stops for me. In Armenia it probably doesn’t hurt having white hair and beard as the culture still gives some deference to being a "papeek" (grandfather). I first discovered this on the local buses when young ladies would stand up a say: "nestea" (sit down). I was a little uncomfortable at first but have since realized it is better not to refuse a form of generosity that is a cultural norm.
After we had been on the road for about 20 minutes, I began to notice a little bit of shimmy in the car. Then the driver started to drive with his head out the window watching something. That signaled something more serious. After another 20 minutes we stopped next to a roadside food stand. Soon the food vendor was under the hood of the car with the driver. Since most Americans don’t even change their oil anymore, I felt a little useless in this roadside version of CarTalk. But soon they had agreed on a fix and noticed them ... chopping a 2 foot section of from a branch along side the road. That was enough to have me join the under-the-hood-conference. A bracket of one of the pulleys had worked its way loose and they decided to wedge the wood to hold it in place. When I realized that the next step was to hold the branch in place, I joined in the impromptu scavenger hunt along the side of the road. I felt like part of the team again when I found a piece of wire soon to become part of the solution. I heard the expression from American farming days about things being “held together with baling wire” but this was my first up-close experience.
The vibration disappeared for the rest of my ride home. When I got out I put some money in the driver’s hand claiming it was gas money. But I knew some kind of auto repair was coming his way the next day.
About a week after I started reading the book again, I took a bus to celebrate with our newest group of Volunteers their official Swearing In, attended by the US Ambassador to Armenia. It was interesting to witness the ceremony again, this time without the flood of emotions as when you are up on the stage. Then we all trooped over to the same outdoor cafe as last year for the more "informal" but truly celebrative part of the graduation experience. After spending 11 weeks in another culture that included living with an Armenian family and having 4 hours of language classes a day, there is a certain release of energy after the completion of this first stage of your service. The communal sigh of relief was soon followed by numerous toasts and several hours of loud conversation.
As the afternoon wore on, the members of our class from last year started preparing the return journeys to our sites before dark. The new Volunteers didn't have to worry about that as they would be spending this final night in nearby villages where they trained. And the next day they would be transported by the Peace Corps with all their belongings to their new sites. That would be the official start to their two years of service in Armenia.
For us "old timers," we would need to fend for ourselves. Since there were no regular bus routes back to my site, I realized I had a couple options. I could take a one hour bus ride going west back to the capital and then connect with another bus traveling two hours east back to my site. I'm not sure if it was firm grasp of arithmetic or my old habits from the 60's kicking in, but I was soon found myself hitchhiking home ( not a practice recommended for our female volunteers.) I probably also have a naive trust in my Hitchhiking Karma, haven given innumerable rides to hitchhikers over the years.
My thumb wasn't out in the breeze but about 15 minutes when this very nice couple with their young daughter picked me up. While the Mercedes and BMW's went roaring by, it is usually a vehicle in rather weathered condition that stops for me. In Armenia it probably doesn’t hurt having white hair and beard as the culture still gives some deference to being a "papeek" (grandfather). I first discovered this on the local buses when young ladies would stand up a say: "nestea" (sit down). I was a little uncomfortable at first but have since realized it is better not to refuse a form of generosity that is a cultural norm.
After we had been on the road for about 20 minutes, I began to notice a little bit of shimmy in the car. Then the driver started to drive with his head out the window watching something. That signaled something more serious. After another 20 minutes we stopped next to a roadside food stand. Soon the food vendor was under the hood of the car with the driver. Since most Americans don’t even change their oil anymore, I felt a little useless in this roadside version of CarTalk. But soon they had agreed on a fix and noticed them ... chopping a 2 foot section of from a branch along side the road. That was enough to have me join the under-the-hood-conference. A bracket of one of the pulleys had worked its way loose and they decided to wedge the wood to hold it in place. When I realized that the next step was to hold the branch in place, I joined in the impromptu scavenger hunt along the side of the road. I felt like part of the team again when I found a piece of wire soon to become part of the solution. I heard the expression from American farming days about things being “held together with baling wire” but this was my first up-close experience.
The vibration disappeared for the rest of my ride home. When I got out I put some money in the driver’s hand claiming it was gas money. But I knew some kind of auto repair was coming his way the next day.
This “make do attitude” seems to prevail in Armenia as it obviously did with the farmers who held our country together with not just bailing wire but a large dose of grit and determination. As I opened my novel the next day, I couldn't help but feel Steinbeck was describing my trip:
Listen to the motor. Listen to the wheels. Listen with your ears and with your hands on the steering wheel; listen with the palm of your hand on the gear-shift lever; listen with your feet on the floor boards. Listen to the pounding old jalopy with all your senses, for a change of tone, a variation of rhythm may mean-- a week here? That rattle – that's tappets. Don't hurt a bit. Tappets can rattle til Jesus comes again without no harm. But that thudding as the car moves along – can't hear that – just kind of feel it. Maybe oil isn't getting someplace. Maybe a bearing's startin' to go. Jesus, if it's a bearing, what'll we do? Money's going fast.
It wasn’t long after the characters in the Grapes of Wrath got to California that they realized their fantasy of clean little cottages with white picket fences and juicy oranges hanging from all the trees was just that: a fantasy. Steinbeck ends the story shortly after their arrival in California and doesn’t fill in the details of how they survived. But he does suggest the emotional that was coming:
The decay spreads over the State, and the sweet smell is a great sorrow on the land. Men who have created new fruits in the world cannot create a system whereby their fruits may be eaten. And the failure hangs over the State like a great sorrow. And in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people, the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.
I often worry about how this country is going to move to the next stage of their economic growth, lacking both the resources and free enterprise system that made America’s growth possible. I guess I’ll just need to trust the grit and determination of the people. They have suffered much in the past couple centuries and don’t look like they are going to quit anytime soon.
