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Syrian Olives in Artsakh
BY STAFF
- POSTED ON SEPTEMBER 3, 2014
By Lena Tachdjian
As small and accessible as Armenia may be, I tend to hear about so
many interesting and unique projects that it can actually feel
strangely overwhelming at times. Whether it's a woman who makes soaps
for different skin conditions with local herbs grown in her own
backyard, or a new company specializing in essential oils made in
Armenia, my list of people to meet and interview continues to grow.
When we arrived, Hovig and Vrej automatically got into tour-guide mode
and hoped that we didn't mind having muddy shoes as it had been
raining all day.
When I arrived in Artsakh (Karabagh), I had decided to focus on
meeting a few people, learning how to makejingalov hats, and working
on activities I had planned beforehand, thus crossing some "to-dos"
off a long list. When my host-family--of Saro and Hasmik--and I went
over the plans for the full day I would be there, Saro mentioned that
I should meet two Syrian-Armenian farmers who had been living and
working in Stepanakert for about four years already. I was instantly
interested, but thought the extra meeting would make the schedule too
hectic and started the "Maybe next time..." excuse. Saro quickly gave me
a short preview of the Syrian-Armenian farmers, Hovig and Vrej, by
saying they were focused on bringing local Syrian produce to Artsakh
and Armenia. He mentioned olive trees, lemon trees, different plants
and herbs, and I had to interrupt him to say that he had me at olive
trees. Saro called them and arranged for them to pick us up in the
center and take us directly to their farmlands between our meetings in
different regions the following day. I asked Hasmik to swap my thyme
tea for a coffee the following morning.
Vrej and Hovig first showed us the interior of their beautiful
greenhouses. The first one had taken them about one and a half months
to create, with many mistakes made, but the second one took only a
week.
Monika and I waited in the rain in the busy center of Stepanakert when
Hovig called us, saying to watch out for his white jeep with stereos
on top. It stood out as much as we assumed it would and we jumped in
their car and were on our way. We stopped for gas, where we had coffee
number two and Hovig told us a little bit about their move to Artsakh.
He mentioned they were the first ones from Syria to make the move
here, as Yerevan is usually the first choice. He said his older
brother Vrej had come to understand the area first and began to study
farming, as that seemed to be the most realistic option in terms of
sustainable work. Vrej said he could tell right away that the land and
water was good, to the point that if someone "spit on the ground, a
plant would grow." They made the move with their families and settled
in Stepanakert, but decided that they would bring a taste of Syria
with them.
When we arrived, Hovig and Vrej automatically got into tour-guide mode
and hoped that we didn't mind having muddy shoes as it had been
raining all day. With both of us wearing combat boots and because I
have a mini-obsession with olive trees, we assured them that we were
in "all-or-nothing" mode. The mud ended up adding about five pounds to
each foot, but no regrets.
Vrej and Hovig first showed us the interior of their beautiful
greenhouses. The first one had taken them about one and a half months
to create, with many mistakes made, but the second one took only a
week. They were four workers all together, with one from Yerevan and
one who lived in a nearby village. They even established a greenhouse
heating system that innovatively used wood powder instead of wood
chunks and kept the greenhouse warm all night (rather than at
hour-based intervals).
Hovig told us that his farm, techniques, and new ideas are open to
anyone interested. He invites people--both his neighbors and
strangers--to come and see what they have established, as it will only
serve to benefit everyone, and to encourage more discussion and
collaboration.
While we sipped some thyme tea in their greenhouse, Hovig and Vrej
reflected, and said that they had made a lot of mistakes. "Armenians
are hard-working people, but they do not want to work hard," they
laughed. He elaborated by telling us that the four different types of
olive trees he planted would take seven to eight years to show
fruit--and that this waiting period is the "hard work." While others
may be discouraged from planting kiwi trees, as they take 3 years to
grow, the brothers planted theirs in May 2013, and since they can
stand -20-degree temperatures, they expect the trees to bear fruit in
less than 2 years.
They showed us some of the many plants they plan to sell in pots when
they grow, including lemons, pomelos, limes, Palestinian oranges,
mandarins, and even sweet limes, which Hovig happily described as a
citrus with an edible peel.
Monika and I--so engrossed in learning about Hovig and Vrej's trials,
tribulations, successes, and visions for the future--eventually
realized that we were going to be late to our next meeting. Before we
left, I asked them if they were happy with their decision to move to
Artsakh rather than Yerevan. Hovig smiled and replied, "Yes, as I do
not want my children to only remember 1915. I want them to remember
1992 when we were also warriors and not victims."
Hovig and Vrej drove us back to our original meeting spot, while we
apologized for muddying up their jeep, and while they described in
detail where they would take us and what we would do the next time we
came to visit. We told them we would look forward to it all, including
the day we would be able to buy Syrian olives grown in Artsakh.
As we left their farm and returned to the center of Stepanakert, I was
left wondering if, as a result of Vrej and Hovig committing to growing
olive trees--the ultimate test of patience and dedication--I would be
able to see if I was patient and dedicated enough to be here to try
those Syrian olives when they make their debut in Artsakh.
http://www.armenianlife.com/2014/09/03/syrian-olives-in-artsakh/
BY STAFF
- POSTED ON SEPTEMBER 3, 2014
By Lena Tachdjian
As small and accessible as Armenia may be, I tend to hear about so
many interesting and unique projects that it can actually feel
strangely overwhelming at times. Whether it's a woman who makes soaps
for different skin conditions with local herbs grown in her own
backyard, or a new company specializing in essential oils made in
Armenia, my list of people to meet and interview continues to grow.
When we arrived, Hovig and Vrej automatically got into tour-guide mode
and hoped that we didn't mind having muddy shoes as it had been
raining all day.
When I arrived in Artsakh (Karabagh), I had decided to focus on
meeting a few people, learning how to makejingalov hats, and working
on activities I had planned beforehand, thus crossing some "to-dos"
off a long list. When my host-family--of Saro and Hasmik--and I went
over the plans for the full day I would be there, Saro mentioned that
I should meet two Syrian-Armenian farmers who had been living and
working in Stepanakert for about four years already. I was instantly
interested, but thought the extra meeting would make the schedule too
hectic and started the "Maybe next time..." excuse. Saro quickly gave me
a short preview of the Syrian-Armenian farmers, Hovig and Vrej, by
saying they were focused on bringing local Syrian produce to Artsakh
and Armenia. He mentioned olive trees, lemon trees, different plants
and herbs, and I had to interrupt him to say that he had me at olive
trees. Saro called them and arranged for them to pick us up in the
center and take us directly to their farmlands between our meetings in
different regions the following day. I asked Hasmik to swap my thyme
tea for a coffee the following morning.
Vrej and Hovig first showed us the interior of their beautiful
greenhouses. The first one had taken them about one and a half months
to create, with many mistakes made, but the second one took only a
week.
Monika and I waited in the rain in the busy center of Stepanakert when
Hovig called us, saying to watch out for his white jeep with stereos
on top. It stood out as much as we assumed it would and we jumped in
their car and were on our way. We stopped for gas, where we had coffee
number two and Hovig told us a little bit about their move to Artsakh.
He mentioned they were the first ones from Syria to make the move
here, as Yerevan is usually the first choice. He said his older
brother Vrej had come to understand the area first and began to study
farming, as that seemed to be the most realistic option in terms of
sustainable work. Vrej said he could tell right away that the land and
water was good, to the point that if someone "spit on the ground, a
plant would grow." They made the move with their families and settled
in Stepanakert, but decided that they would bring a taste of Syria
with them.
When we arrived, Hovig and Vrej automatically got into tour-guide mode
and hoped that we didn't mind having muddy shoes as it had been
raining all day. With both of us wearing combat boots and because I
have a mini-obsession with olive trees, we assured them that we were
in "all-or-nothing" mode. The mud ended up adding about five pounds to
each foot, but no regrets.
Vrej and Hovig first showed us the interior of their beautiful
greenhouses. The first one had taken them about one and a half months
to create, with many mistakes made, but the second one took only a
week. They were four workers all together, with one from Yerevan and
one who lived in a nearby village. They even established a greenhouse
heating system that innovatively used wood powder instead of wood
chunks and kept the greenhouse warm all night (rather than at
hour-based intervals).
Hovig told us that his farm, techniques, and new ideas are open to
anyone interested. He invites people--both his neighbors and
strangers--to come and see what they have established, as it will only
serve to benefit everyone, and to encourage more discussion and
collaboration.
While we sipped some thyme tea in their greenhouse, Hovig and Vrej
reflected, and said that they had made a lot of mistakes. "Armenians
are hard-working people, but they do not want to work hard," they
laughed. He elaborated by telling us that the four different types of
olive trees he planted would take seven to eight years to show
fruit--and that this waiting period is the "hard work." While others
may be discouraged from planting kiwi trees, as they take 3 years to
grow, the brothers planted theirs in May 2013, and since they can
stand -20-degree temperatures, they expect the trees to bear fruit in
less than 2 years.
They showed us some of the many plants they plan to sell in pots when
they grow, including lemons, pomelos, limes, Palestinian oranges,
mandarins, and even sweet limes, which Hovig happily described as a
citrus with an edible peel.
Monika and I--so engrossed in learning about Hovig and Vrej's trials,
tribulations, successes, and visions for the future--eventually
realized that we were going to be late to our next meeting. Before we
left, I asked them if they were happy with their decision to move to
Artsakh rather than Yerevan. Hovig smiled and replied, "Yes, as I do
not want my children to only remember 1915. I want them to remember
1992 when we were also warriors and not victims."
Hovig and Vrej drove us back to our original meeting spot, while we
apologized for muddying up their jeep, and while they described in
detail where they would take us and what we would do the next time we
came to visit. We told them we would look forward to it all, including
the day we would be able to buy Syrian olives grown in Artsakh.
As we left their farm and returned to the center of Stepanakert, I was
left wondering if, as a result of Vrej and Hovig committing to growing
olive trees--the ultimate test of patience and dedication--I would be
able to see if I was patient and dedicated enough to be here to try
those Syrian olives when they make their debut in Artsakh.
http://www.armenianlife.com/2014/09/03/syrian-olives-in-artsakh/