The Wooden Village Part 1

As I began to know Narine the first few months in Noyemberyan, she told me often of a magical place that she called the wooden village.    Every time she spoke of it, she had the look of someone much older than she remembering sacred moments of a past well spent.  Her eyes would sparkle as though there was a candle inside illuminating the wrinkles of her brain to unfold the hidden mysteries.  A smile would creep upon her face like the smile of someone remembering the taste of their favorite dessert or a first kiss.  I wanted to know more, and she would always tell me one day we will visit, and she would tell me more. 

In October, I was allowed to go with her family that has become like my family to celebrate her birthday.  She had selected the site of her celebration as the khachkar at the top of the mountain followed by a visit to places they played and the wooden village.  The day was so overcast and cold. I have documented that in another story.  I saw glimpses of why this was a special place, but I could not see much because of the cloudy skies.  Her and her brother’s playfulness at a park hinted at the mysterious joy.

Thursday, I was asked to take pictures of a new vacation area for a burgeoning tourist business. I did not know where I was going (a typical situation for me here) but that it was near the dairy the NGO for whom I volunteer are building.  We headed up the dirt road that passed the dairy and I knew it was the direction of the wooden village. We were in a caravan of three cars, the vacation spot owner, a film crew and us.  Our car was Roman driving, his wife, Meri, and Ruzan who was working with the gentleman who wanted me to take pictures. 

The sky was an amazing azure blue over the mountains as we climbed ever higher.  Now, I could see what Narine had wanted me to see. I wanted to scream stop the car but we were on a work mission, so I just stared out the window at the valleys in front and on either side of the road.  We came upon two little wooden villages and I remembered the second was where we had stopped on Narine’s birthday.  There were more people there and some of the homes had new wood on the side.  We flew by the villages and I saw people looking at the strange caravan going by.   We reached the spot where there is a left turn to go up to the khachkar where we had held hands and walked around three times on Narine’s birthday.  I remember what I prayed for then and I still hold that prayer in my heart, perhaps even stronger.   I saw the Khachkar at the top of the hill but we were not stopping.

As we say in America, my head was on a swivel.  I am surprised I did not get dizzy from turning right to center to left and back again.  We passed where there had been an attempt at strip mining but the people of Noyemberyan drove the miners away (YEAH NOYEMBERYAN!!!).  It was a small blight on the beauty but not nearly as bad as the places I have seen In Colorado and the Appalachians in America. On we drove until we finally reached our destination which I will share in another story.

After hours of shooting pictures and filming, we began our return to Noyemberyan, or so I thought but that's another story. We were leading the caravan and left a little earlier than the film crew.  Meri asked Roman to stop so she could pick some of the beautiful wild daisies that were covering the fields.  The film crew caught up and yelled to Roman to follow as they passed us. He took off immediately and Ruzan reminded him Meri was not in the car.  I was going to wait a few kilometers but Ruzan is nicer than me.  We stopped and Meri climbed in with some daisies.  But as we got to the wooden village the film crew stopped to see it. We all got out and I took a few pictures as did the film crew.  Meri went off to complete her daisy picking and returned with a beautiful bouquet of white wild daisies.

What they did not know was that in my mind, there was a flood of imagination sweeping over like the waters of Katrina swallowed New Orleans.  My dear Narine had told me that she had spent summers here for the first fifteen years of her life and how it was the best memory of her life.  Standing here at the edge of this simple wooden village, I was taking in the majestic scenery of mountains and trees and fields full of wildflowers. I closed my eyes and I could hear a herd of children running and laughing and playing with tatiks calling after them to be careful.  The play of children is an orchestra of universal joy no matter what language or scenery if the adults will just stay away and let the children be flooded with life.  I understood why Narine told me she hid when they told her it was time to go to the city and go to school. I remembered hiding from adults in trees when I was a child.  I could not wait to get back to work and beg her to tell me the promised stories of the wooden village.  I knew she would think what is wrong with this silly American that he is so fascinated by such a simple place and the children, but I was mesmerized by the place.

When I finally got back to work, I found out that my move had been approved and I wanted to finish moving.  Narine and I had scheduled an Armenian language class which she was willing to cancel because, as she worries more about me than I do myself, she thought I might be too tired after my day.  I explained to her that I was so energized by the day that I had a million questions for her.  I asked if she would mind answering a few cultural questions and not just work on my terrible language skills. Lucky for me, she agreed.

When I arrived at her house for my tutor session, there was coffee waiting as always and a big bowl of fresh cherries.  As we sipped the coffee and ate cherries, (an aside, for someone so tiny Narine can put away some cherries and green apricots) I told her about how beautiful my drive was past her village and asked her to tell me a story about it. I saw a light ignite in her eyes blazing with memories.

The first story was about her and her love of her brother Vahan.  Narine and the dog Bozar were protectors of Vahan.  She told me she was not afraid to fight to protect her brother.  Now, dear reader, I have described her before as an adult woman so imagine a mountain urchin weighing in at 15 kilos and less than a meter tall becoming bellicose.  I have seen passion in her eyes about her country and her people so I can imagine her courage.  She told me that a fifteen-year-old boy had threatened Vahan with an axe.  She told me she was only about seven years old, but she would not let harm come to Vahan.  She stormed up to the older boy and screamed at him that he better leave Vahan alone or she would kill the older boy. She was giggling as she told this story and asking if I believed she would do such a thing.  I laughed and said I had no doubt because I have seen her and Vahan together.  I also had a little sympathy for the older boy because, she said he never bothered Vahan again, and I was picturing this larger boy looking at little Narine and remembering that David had taken down Goliath because his faith was strong.  I would not have wanted to cross this little spitfire of passion either.

Narine had already told me that she was not a girl to play with dolls. She wore boy clothes and played like the boys.  I imagine one of my favorite scenes in “To Kill a Mockingbird” when Scout has to put on a dress to go to school and ends up in a fight with a boy who teases for her dress.  I could picture Narine doing the same thing.

Narine brought out a picture of Vahan with Bozar the dog.  Here was this little boy with his big dog who you could see in the picture that her maternal instincts were this is my man cub and I will fight to the death to protect him.  Vahan was four years old when they got Bozar as a puppy and had her for almost twelve years.  Narine told me they were inseparable.  She laughed and told me this is a bad thing, but she thought it was funny and worried I would think badly of her.  Narine said Bozar loved her grandfather (papik) very much.  He had left his coat on the ground one day and a boy went to pick it up to return it once he knew whose coat it was.  Bozar saw him try to pick up papik’s coat that she was watching.  As the boy picked up the coat, Bozar bit him to let him know that she was protecting the coat.  I told Narine that I agreed it was funny and the boy learned not to question Bozar’s authority.

Narine told me that there were many children there in the village being taken care of by their tatiks.  She told me she accepted the move away from her mother without question even asking her tatik if she was now her mother.   She said that her brother Vahan did not like being taken away from his mother.  The children eventually accepted the summers without their parents who only came for short visits if they could.

Eventually, like we did in America roaming around in the summer, the children found an empty house. They converted the house into a personal theater for putting on shows.  They made benches for seats and a little stage.  I immediately thought of the old movie shorts called the Little Rascals or sometimes Spanky and Our Gang.  Children are children everywhere in the world. They would put on performances and everyone in the village would attend. These children created plays and recited poetry and stories.  They sang. Alex, whom I wrote about earlier as the guitarist in the park, has a twin sister.  They are good musicians and singers and led the others.  Narine said her singing was so bad she only moved her lips so as not to interfere with the beautiful sounds from the others.   I believe she could sing if she would give herself the chance.

Other nights, the children would build a fire and sit around the fire singing and talking.  Narine told me that the children would be pretty much left to fend for themselves.  The children of the wooden village would stay by their nightly bonfires until the morning hours.  She and Vahan, however, would always be called home by their tatik around 11:00.  The other children teased them because they could all hear tatik’s voice calling Narine and Vahan home from their little wooden house.  Her voice echoed in the still night air and the brother and sister were a bit embarrassed that they had to go to bed earlier than all the rest. The bonfires were a favorite time for Narine and all the children.

Narine’s family had cows that they tended every day.  She told me that one of her favorite sounds was the gentle mooing of the cows in the morning as they went out to feed on the grassy meadows around the village.

There is no running water or plumbing of course so the children help the tatiks get water from the springs that are nearby.  There are privies and lots of trees and natural bathroom areas.  The biggest problem Narine told me she faced was a fear she had of getting water in her face.  She would hide when tatik called her for a bath because she was so afraid of having water on her face.  Having grown up where we could not wait to jump in the water, this is hard to understand for me, but fears have reasons that we may never understand.  She did tell me she liked the rain, especially the sound of it echoing in the little wooden house from the roof.  I will have to introduce her to John Sebastian’s “Rain on the Roof”.

The last of Part one of this story is about Vahan and his big head.  It was explained to me that he was born with a head that was a little big for his body.  Their mother took him to a doctor who recommended surgery but, not trusting the medical profession in Armenia very much, she decided to see if he would grow into his head.  His neck was not strong enough to hold his head up, so he tended to have a slight lean to his head.  He eventually grew to match his head and his neck supported his head properly, but she laughingly had to share one more story. 

Their mother left them alone for the first time and, as children will do, they were a bit mischievous.  They were never allowed to jump on beds or furniture so, of course, after their mother left, they began doing so immediately.  They even set up a slide on a bed by using some pillows.  The bed as described sounded like a wrought iron style bed.  When Vahan slid down the pillow slide, his little body went right through the bars, but his head got stuck.  Narine said she was panicking and Vahan was screaming and crying.  Luckily, the neighbor called, and she explained what was happening. He came over and bent the bars to the bed and freed Vahan’s big head.    Narine said her mother was furious with them that they had misbehaved so badly on their first time alone, but then Narine giggled a little and told me the footboard of the bed with its bent bars is still under their house in storage.  I hope she will show it to me sometime.