Born in Marash and survivors of the Armenian Genocide, our large extended family was accustomed to the never-ending supply of water gushing through their homes in the Hatounya Mehelleh and other neighborhoods of Marash. [All of Marash, actually, was known for its water.] Never was there a lack of water in the homeland. And so when Uncle Harry bought the first parcel of land on the top of Wilbraham Mountain, simply replacing a small piece of the homeland, he had not even thought about water, assuming, of course, that it would be there. As luck would have it, there was no water, and so upon arriving in multiple cars, the first task the Marashtsi families faced was to forage for spring water in various locations on the mountainside. With odd assortments of aluminum pots and pans and tin pails, Kermer led the children and the young adults in a parade North on Middle Road and East down Monson Road to schlep the heavy pails of water back up the mountain to the camp.
Consequently, from the earliest days, in the desire to find water on the property on top of Wilbraham Mountain (and this was well before any structure was built), the men and young boys attending Sunday shish kebab picnics dug many disappointingly dry well holes. Sunday after Sunday, dowsers were brought up to locate yet another well hole to be dug, only for the hole to be dry. Finally, the year Marash Boy was born, one of the dowsers proved right and when his two pronged stick of witch hazel pointed downward in the open field next to the orchards and garden, the men and boys dug for 26 feet, and water gushed for the relocated Marashtzis.
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| Marash Boy (in background) gazes at hand pump (in foreground) spared by tornado. Photo Courtesy of Karoun Charkoudian | . |
N.B. Patriarch of the clan Nishan often marveled at how water could be found on the very top of the mountain, comparing it to the air space on top of the rounded part of an egg.
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