Wednesday, September 19, 2018


 
Life After Peace Corps -
  Olive Tree
 
 
September 18, 2018



I found two Oliver trees in Shirlington, Virginia by the river bank of the Four Mile Run.  Someone intentionally planted them there long time ago to memorize an event, I suppose, for finding an olive tree in Virginia is rare.  Early September, the fruits begin to ripen and they bring me back to the time when I lived in Sumgayit, a small village where I served the Peace Corps in Azerbaijan.  The olive trees are everywhere.  By end of summer, all the olives turn black and ready to be harvested. 

 
Picking olive is a family event.  Grandmother lays a big piece of cloth underneath the tree, the youngsters climb up to the highest branch to pluck the darkest ones, Ana (mother) uses an aged wooden stark banging on the tree trunk, in no time, all the shinning black and green olives hitting the ground where grandmother and little girls are eager to collect them.  Grandfather is the oldest member of the family, he does not do much, just looks up to the tree with his hands behind his back, watches his grandchildren laughing and picking the fruits.  Occasionally, he guides his grandchildren to find the biggest ones.  When his grandson hands him a handful, he smiles with an appreciative nod.    One late autumn day, I walked home and found an old man collecting a few olives left on the ground.  I picked up a big one and handed it to him, he gave me a big smile with a “sağolun” and I said “Dəyməz”. 


 
 
Nowadays, I can only remember a few Azerbaijanis, most have already been forgotten.  But the time I spent there, the life I lived, the ancient cultures I witnessed, and the people I encountered, still live deep inside my heart.  The Morning Prayer I contemplated every dawn, still haunts me, still lingers in my head…..

 

 

 

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