Within the larger framework of the global Armenian nation, we have a series of “subcultures.” These are usually comprised of local traditions and history that manifest through social events. In the United States, we have a culture of bazaars and picnics. During the May-to-September window, most communities sponsor a tradition called a picnic.
Now, in our American lives, a picnic takes on an entirely different reality. In this country, a picnic is a gathering of families or friends who pack a lunch, go to a scenic area and enjoy food and social interaction. The Armenian version has some similarities but reflects a community component that can bring hundreds, or perhaps even thousands, of people together.
Picnics in the diaspora are as old as the communities themselves. During the first half of the 20th century, many picnics were sponsored by the compatriotic unions that our survivors’ generation established with provincial associates. I remember in my youth attending a picnic sponsored by the Tadem society in the Worcester area, where many “Tademtzis” settled. Each picnic offers unique traditions. The Tadem picnic was noted for its drum playing during festivities. There were picnics hosted by Kharpert societies or natives of Van. In my community of Indian Orchard, there were many immigrants from Sepastia, and thus, the picnic reflected their traditions.
In these early days, the food, music and dances displayed the cultural nuances of each region of Western Armenia. When the music of the village or region was played, it was a high point of the picnic—similar to the excitement generated today when the “Halay” or “Tamzara” are played. Some of our church picnics have religious themes, such as the blessing of the grapes held on the Feast of the Assumption. There were times when the picnics reflected other sacrificial traditions, such as a “madagh” offering. I attended a “madagh” ceremony in the Midwest many years ago and appreciated the diverse community traditions. Other picnics commemorate important historical moments. For many years, the Providence ARF has held a picnic to honor the memory of the “Khanasor Expedition,” a retribution led by ARF fedayees against the marauding Mazrik Kurdish tribe in 1897.
There have been picnics in many communities to remember the battle victories of 1918 that enabled the establishment of the first free Armenian state since the Kingdom of Cilicia in the 14th century. Many enjoy the picnics that honor our history, as there is an added component of knowledge and identity.
As the compatriotic unions faded from the scene with generational transitions, the Armenian churches became the most prominent sponsors of picnics. Virtually every parish holds a picnic during the May-to-September season. Today’s picnics have a prominent entertainment component for children. During my youth, you went to picnics with your family and had fun with your network of friends. We played games or baseball and did not burden the adults with entertaining us. Of course, times have changed. Adults now are generally consumed with organizing or supervising entertainment for their children. Our picnics now feature face painting, inflatable slides and clowns. They continue to be family-oriented events, but how we attract families has evolved.
Our communities hold picnics in virtually every outdoor environment. I have been fortunate to attend a variety of picnics over the years in many locations. I remember dancing in the blazing sun of Fresno during a blessing of the grapes picnic in August.
To experience local traditions and share in their commitment is a delightful experience. Some of our smaller parishes hold picnics on their grounds, giving the event a village feel. I recall attending an “urban” picnic in Queens, New York, held in a courtyard with a cement patio and benches. We could hear the city traffic as the band played. The Whitinsville parish holds its picnic on the church grounds. It is a major event and considered to be one of the best in the region. With the loss of organizational picnic grounds, some churches have held their festivities in their parking lots or on nearby land. St. James Armenian Church in Watertown has held a huge event outdoors in that fashion for many years.
For many, the staple of community picnics has been the “upper” campgrounds at Camp Haiastan in Franklin, Massachusetts. The facility has evolved over the years but still remains a prominent venue for hosting picnics with its bandstand, dance floor and picnic tables. Our family had a unique view of the picnic experience at the camp. My grandfather ran a family egg poultry farm about two miles from the camp. I spent most of my summers with my grandparents, working on the farm. In those days, there was a caretaker and sundry store on the left as you entered the main gate. On the right side were the cabins rented by people from other communities who spent the summer at the camp. My grandfather, as a local, would go to the camp in the evenings to play cards with his friends. I would go with him, and he would purchase some candy to keep me busy. Listening to these men argue politics and reconcile was a delight. There were picnics virtually every Sunday, sponsored by Worcester, Providence and Boston communities.
The blessing of the grapes picnic hosted by the Watertown and Providence churches was always a favorite. There was something special about several clergy conducting a blessing outdoors. I was always annoyed by the disrespectful chatter of people talking while the services were held. My father would tell me that a large crowd outdoors is very different than being in a sanctuary. He was right. As I would walk the grounds, I saw several “mini-picnics” with families on the periphery. My grandfather would take us to every picnic on one condition: We had to leave the camp by 4:00 or 4:30 p.m. to be back at the farm. Many attendees would stop at the farm to buy eggs or chat with my grandparents. Our job was to prepare the inventory and take care of customers. The cement dance floor at the camp has been frequented by thousands of people over many decades.
Each generation has enjoyed the social amenities while bringing their kids to AYF camp or attending the picnic of the week. As a youngster, I would sit on the benches near the dance floor watching my parents dance until I garnered enough nerve to learn. The camp picnics were well known for competitive Halays, rows of Tamzaras and snaking lines of Sepastiatzi bars. As parishes began to hold more picnics locally, the use of the campgrounds declined, but it has experienced a resurgence as other organizations have stepped up to fill the void. Each picnic is unique, but all carry a common thread of tasty shish kebab, traditional music and warm fellowship. This has been a constant in our picnic culture.
Each picnic is unique, but all carry a common thread of tasty shish kebab, traditional music and warm fellowship.
This past Sunday, I attended the picnic of the St. Gregory Armenian Church in Indian Orchard, where I was raised. This parish has held its picnic on Father’s Day for many years. St. Gregory is a small parish that has sponsored its picnic on the church grounds since its founding. The church has a spacious backyard with ample space for seating, entertainment and food service. It is a beautiful area to relax in the shadow of the traditional Armenian architecture of St. Gregory, modeled after St. Hripsime Church and the Cathedral of the Holy Cross on Akhtamar. This is a parish where everyone works together in order to maintain its vibrancy. Parishioners come early before Badarak to set up, and everyone pitches in to remove the tables and chairs and clean the grounds. Through my experience at St. Gregory, I learned why our culture loves picnics. They require significant preparation, but the fatigue fades with the joy of the day.
Food and fellowship are the hallmarks of our picnics. I have always preferred Armenian social events that are in a reception or less formal format. The most challenging are sit-down dinners. Why? It is in our nature to socially interact. Events that allow for mingling generate the excitement we cherish. Armenians love to wander, free to converse with attendees. Picnics are a superb social setting to support these needs. Whenever we attend the picnic at St. Gregory, it becomes an unexpected reunion with people I grew up with. We all enjoy maintaining current relationships, meeting new people and re-engaging with old friends.
Picnics offer us an environment to accomplish all three and drive home with smiles on our faces. We attended Sunday’s picnic with a few of our grandchildren, which made it special as they introduced them to our culture. It is especially gratifying to have a substantive discussion with a cousin or friend in contrast to the superficial conversations we only have time for at other social events. Perhaps it is because picnics slow the pace of our lives for a few hours, allowing us to focus on quality. Maybe it is because I am always happy with kebab and pilaf.
That picnic location has been a constant for decades, and there is something humbling about it remaining present for a new generation. I embrace change as a requirement for sustainability, but I love the security of some traditions. There are times when we need to emerge from our hectic American lives and find warmth and comfort in our heritage. Knowing what to maintain and what to evolve is always the challenge. This summer and fall, take your children to an Armenian picnic. Enjoy the food and fellowship as we remind ourselves of the unique ways we bond.
Stepan Piligian
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I was involved with the Guerinski picnics at Waverly Oaks every year. I was the scurer of the lamb. We had a four piece band and it was well attended. We had a “priest” who came from New York! Those days a long gone. St James has taken over the picnic.
Thank you Stepan for a wonderful piece. As a child we always attended the Aintabsie picnic at Waverly Oaks in Belmont. It was such fun as a child, but I look back now and think of the suffering they endured and how they found laughter and joy being together at the picnic. Then in my teens to this day, I could not wait to get to the camp to enjoy dancing, eating, and friendship. The one thing that I miss is a packed dance floor.
I have photographs from the late 1940s of me … with hair which is now long gone … walking around Husenig Groves in Massachusetts enjoying the smell of the grilled shish kebab wafting into the air and the sound of the clarinets wailing in the Summer heat. Wonderful memories of a remarkable tradition. Thank you for your article.