I asked my dad before the party if he knew anything about this photo. As usual whenever I asked my dad about my Italian ancestors, he would always tell me to ask my Auntie Lena. She is about ninety-two years old and is our family archive. She is able to connect the past with the present through her memories of childhood. I write a post-it note to remind myself to ask her about this photo at the upcoming family party. 

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At the party I sit down with my Auntie Lena, Auntie Marie and cousin Eileen. I bring them the black and white photo and hand it to my Auntie Lena. I ask her if she knows anyone in the photo. It takes her a little while to remember, but then she is able to recognize one person in the photo. She points to one of the women and says that she is Pasquelena. Pasquelena is Auntie Lena's and Auntie Marie’s grandmother. As she is saying this my cousin Eileen takes out a post-it note and writes on it: Pasquelena & Husband Manna. Those people in the photo are my great-great-grandparents. Auntie Lena tells us that she was named after Pasquelena. I can’t stop smiling as I hear these words come from Auntie Lena. 

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After the party I pull out the photo again and stare at it. I imagine what emotions my Italian ancestors must have felt when leaving their home to come to the U.S. They were probably excited and nervous, ready to start a new chapter in their lives. Looking at this photo makes me wonder what it would be like to visit Italy.

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I finally decide my sophomore year to study abroad in Italy. It feels like a perfect fit. I go to the study abroad fair and look at the options for Italy. One stands out to me. It’s a three week trip. I would stay in Rome for the first half of the trip and then on a farm in Abruzzo for the second part. I knew that my great-grandma Teodora was from Abruzzo, so this trip would allow me to connect with my Italian heritage. The town Afledena, where my great-grandma was born, is only an hour from the farm I was going to be staying at in Abruzzo. I started envisioning what it would be like to visit Alfedena and meeting family members if I got the chance. I was already learning Italian, however after finding out I was going to be close to my great-grandma's hometown I wanted to learn even more.

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We get off the highway and begin to see our first sites of the city. I can’t stop smiling, finding it hard to believe that I am actually in Italy! I see beautiful large trees, old ruins and magnificent architecture. I pull out my phone and take a lot of photos trying to capture everything around me. When we pass the Vatican, our driver bends forward so I can get a good shot of it. At last, we get dropped off at campus. We say goodbye and thank our taxi driver. I walk with my friends to my new home for the next three weeks. As we walk onto campus I can’t contain my excitement thinking of all the fun adventures I will have. 

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The next day after a good night’s rest I have my first full day in Rome. We are told by our SLA’s (Student Leader Assistants) that there is a special St. Peter & St. Paul festival. There are going to be fireworks in the Piazza del Popolo. Once I hear the news, I know that I have to go! I gather a group of my friends to go with me: Laura, Sarah, Abi and Megan. We take the bus there and walk to the piazza. We see a duo band of Italian men playing guitars. We stop for a little bit to listen to their music, which echoes against the walls and through the piazza. 

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Every space in the piazza is filled with people. It is a claustrophobic person’s worst nightmare. I don’t care at all because I am so happy to be in Italy. I hear everyone around me speaking to their friends and family in Italian. I try to make sense and understand all of the conversations. I smile at my friends. 

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All of a sudden I hear a lot of popping sounds. Bright and colorful fireworks light up the sky! Green, red, gold and purple. They are coming out of the left side of a building. I look up, like everyone else, filled with awe at what is going on. Everyone’s phones are lifted high, recording the show. A car siren is going off nearby.

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Later, Laura and I wander around Ottaviano, a neighborhood in Rome. It is Sunday and we have been in Italy for three days now. Laura really wants to go dress shopping, while I really want to try some more gelato.

 

I get excited when we see a gelateria nearby. We walk inside. It is a small window shop with space only for a couple of people to stand inside. I look at all of the delicious gelato flavors. There are about ten or so. I decide to order two scoops. One scoop is chocolate and the other scoop is vanilla. I get my gelato in a waffle cone. 

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In the beginning of my trip, one of my friends had taken Italian and taught me some simple phrases to use. I tell the gelato guy, “Posso avere una coppetta al cioccolato e vaniglia?” (May I please have a cup of chocolate and vanilla?). The gelato guy smiles at me. He looks to be around my age. He has brown hair, slightly tan skin and greenish eyes. 

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As he scoops up my gelato he asks me, “Are you from around here?” He, among many other locals, surprised me with their English. He is still smiling when he asks me this question. I smile and respond, “I have family from Abruzzo, my great-grandparents are from there, but I’m from Chicago”. He laughs. I am honored that a local thinks I am from Italy. The possibility of being thought of as a local, was one reason I wanted to learn Italian. I already have the naturally oily face and olive skin, so I easily fit in. 

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After the gelato guy gives me my gelato, I have to pay him. I realize that it would be difficult to open up the zipper of my wallet and get the two euro coin out of it, while holding my gelato. I kindly ask the gelato guy if he can hold my cone while I get the money out. He agrees and so I hand him back my cone. 

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I finally get the two euro coin out and put it on the counter. As I am about to grab my cone from the gelato guy, he tricks me and pulls it back towards him. He smiles at me while I laugh. As I try to grab it a second time, I miss again and get a little of my gelato on my hand. I am starting to get a little annoyed. I try to hide my annoyance from him, by smiling. The third time I finally grab it from him and as I grab it out of his hand, he winks at me.

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On Friday, I make my journey to where my dad’s family is from. My class drives on the highway in Rome in a huge bus. On this drive, I am constantly looking outside of the window in anticipation of entering Abruzzo. The scenery quickly changes from the buildings in the city of Rome and the bustling traffic to the countryside and mountainous region of L’Aquila, Abruzzo. 

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I see small farm houses in large fields. There are some cows and animals grazing. There are mountains in the distance, with bright clouds overhead. I immediately perk up. When I see the sign that reads L’Aquila I try not to cry, but it is hard not to because I am one of the only members of my dad’s side who is going to get the chance to visit where my great-grandma is from. 

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This is the moment I have been waiting for. We are getting closer to the farm. Then I finally see the sign “La Porta dei Parchi”. This is the agriturismo farm that we are staying at while in Anversa degli Abruzzi. I take my first steps in Abruzzo, finding it hard to believe that I am actually here. I want to make the most of my time here, hoping to connect with my Italian roots.

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Our first night at La Porta dei Parchi we make homemade pasta and get our first cooking class. I remembered when we were told that we were going to make gnocchi. The one story I was always told about my grandma, Mimi, was that she made the best homemade gnocchi. I am so excited to learn how to make gnocchi so I can continue the family legacy. 

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I listen carefully to the instructions because I know that I want to make gnocchi again. As I start making the gnocchi, it weirdly feels natural. I grab the special semolina flour and lay it on my plate. Then I add the riced potatoes and salt. I begin to mix that all together. I form it all into a dough ball. I feel the stickiness of the dough on my rough floured hands. I keep adding flour to make sure my dough isn’t too sticky. Once I think my dough is good to go I ask Viola, the instructor, to check to make sure that my dough is fine. I get her approval and begin to roll my dough into the shape of a snake. Then I cut it into small pieces with a dough cutter. To finish my gnocchi off I sprinkle flour over them. 

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I am so proud of myself. That moment was so special for me because I never got to meet my Mimi. She had passed away before my parents got married. Whenever I was told about her gnocchi and cooking skills I had to live vicariously through my dad in those stories. I proudly hold my gnocchi and take a picture with them. That night is already perfect in my eyes, I can’t imagine what the rest of my stay on the farm is going to be like. 

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On Sunday, my class goes to a nearby lake called Lago di Scanno. The drive is less than thirty minutes. On the drive I look out the window, because we are driving around cliffs and mountains. Below us, there are waterfalls and beautiful bodies of water. Once we get to the lake, I go in the cool refreshing water with my friends. The color of the lake is a green-ish blue tint. It is so beautiful and calm there.

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Me and four of my friends decide to rent out a five-person paddle-boat for an hour. We put on our life-vests and get into our boat. We take turns paddling. Once it is my turn to paddle, I begin to pick up a sweat because of how much of a workout it is. 

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I am smiling so much the whole time we are paddle-boating on the lake. Once we are farther into the lake, we decide to take our puffy orange life-vests off. We stop our boat, and I decide to jump in the water. I swim around and float on my back. Feeling so refreshed and at peace. 

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A couple of days later, my class has a sheepherding experience planned. We are going to be hiking up a mountain with the sheep from La Porta dei Parchi. We decide to hike an hour earlier, around nine a.m. instead of ten a.m., because it is supposed to get really hot.

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As I climb up, I feel the rocks under my feet. Once we get to the open area of grass I stand and spin around taking in everything around me. I feel like I am in the “Sound of Music”. As I am spinning I see the mountains around me. The sheep are grazing and the bright sun is shining down on me. For some reason I can’t take my eyes off of the mountains in front of me. It is such an amazing feeling of peace. It feels as if time has frozen. 

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We finally get to the top of the mountain. As I look at the view in front of me, I am able to see more of Anversa and the neighboring villages. I take in all the sites around me, trying to take a mental photo of the breathtaking view. Being at the top of the mountain with the sheep is such a rewarding feeling. The hour or so long hike up makes this view worth it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On our second to last day on the farm in Abruzzo, we are told that there is going to be a special religious festival in the town that we are staying in. Our teacher Elizbeth tells us that there is a mass in the town celebrating St. Mary if anyone wants to go. A group of four girls in my class and I decide to walk down into town. We have gotten used to the hike down. We walk down the steep hill and steps. 

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As we get into town we immediately go to the large church on our left thinking that this is the right church. We try to unlock all of the doors, but they are all locked. We feel lost even in this small town of two hundred. I am the only one in our group who speaks some Italian and I am not afraid to ask for help. So, I pull out my phone to type into Google Translate that we are looking for a church, when the sound of church bells starts ringing. I look up and see some older women walking towards the right of us, so we decide to follow them. They bring us right to the church. 

 

We walk inside the small church and feel the warm air. I have gotten used to not having air conditioning, because Italians don’t believe in it. I was told that they think the air that comes out of air conditioners is evil. We find spots in an empty pew and wait for the mass to start. I am excited for this new experience. Music starts playing and everyone stands up around us, so we also stand up. I watch as the priest, a deacon and three altar boys walk down the main aisle. I have a great view since I am in the aisle seat.

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When it comes to the sign of peace, I do not know what “peace” is in Italian. I listen around me and hear people repeating “Pace” to one another, which is “Peace”. Right after, we receive communion. Back at home, we usually make two lines, however everyone begins to form one line down the aisle. I am confused. Luckily, the older Italian ladies behind me understand that we are foreigners and kindly guide us down the aisle as they smile. At this mass they only offer the Eucharist and not the wine. Near the end of mass we are told that there is going to be a religious procession afterward and that all who attend mass can join it. 

 

When we walk out of mass we wait to join the procession. Everyone starts to form two lines on either side of the street. There is a traditional Italian band dressed in uniforms marching and playing. Watching and listening to the band is nostalgic for me because I used to play the flute in the marching band. We walk slowly, while the priest, deacon and altar-boys walk in the middle right next to me. The priest has a microphone and is singing prayers in Italian, while everyone else sings along.

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I didn’t expect to be a part of a religious procession that day, but I’m glad that I got to experience something so unique. 

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Later that night we have a pizza party where some people from the town come to celebrate. There is an Italian band of older men playing the accordion and some other instruments. At dinner we eat delicious pizza from wood-ovens. One is a prosciutto pizza and the other has truffles. I also try beer for the first time and drink some wine. 

 

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After dinner we all begin to dance. I start dancing with one of my friends slowly. Then I ask Giovanni to dance. Giovanni works on the farm and is the same age as me. We never really talked until today. Earlier I had started to develop a little crush on him. I have some courage, probably from the alcohol, to ask him to dance. He accepts, but then says, “I can’t dance well”, to which I respond, “Same here, but let’s try”. Just as we are about to grab hands the music changes and begins to speed up the tempo. All of a sudden Giovanni grabs my left hand and everyone else in my class and at the party grabs hands and forms a circle. We begin to spin and run in a circle holding hands. Next we form a pyramid with our hands where couples run under it together. 

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I don’t remember when we stopped dancing, but I do remember everyone laughing and smiling. That night I was the happiest I can ever remember being in my life. I was able to take in all the Italian culture around me and feel completely welcomed with open arms in Abruzzo. This place truly felt like home to me. I didn’t want to leave.  

 

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Today, I am going to be leaving Italy.

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On the plane I am surrounded by college-aged Italian students. Throughout the flight they keep standing next to my seat, so that they can talk to their friends. I assume that they are going to be studying abroad in the U.S. It is nice to imagine how even though my study abroad experience was ending, that another one was beginning. 

 

Once I return home I want to learn more Italian and can’t wait to go back to Italy. Before this trip, I barely saw my dad’s side of the family. I reached out before the trip to my cousin Melanie who had studied a semester in Rome. We met up in March, three months before my trip. It had been five years since the last time I saw her.

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After my trip to Italy, I have continued to meet up with Melanie and my great-aunt Marie. When we meet up, my great-aunt Marie shows us how to cook Italian family dishes. Melanie and I cut up the vegetables to put in a pot. Onions, green peppers, potatoes, tomato sauce and spices fill the pot. Breaded pork chops are sizzling nearby. Once everything is cooked, we sit down to eat. Eating those meals at my great-aunt Marie’s home makes me feel as if my Italian side, both living and dead, is always with me no matter what.

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At one of these visits, my great-aunt Marie pulls out our family tree. Melanie, my sister, my great-aunt Marie, Auntie Lisa and I all smile as we look at the old family tree. It hasn’t been filled in for about twenty years, since my mom isn’t even in it. I get handed a pencil to fill in my part of the family tree for the “Harris” family. Melanie does the same for her family. In this moment I feel so close to my family who is there with me. In the last year, we had dealt with some ups and downs on my dad’s side. My great-aunt Marie and great-aunt Lena had lost their brother Cosmo. Also, my great-aunt Lena’s health was failing and she was being moved in and out of care facilities. She peacefully passed away on April 30, 2020.

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I look around me at my family smiling. I think about how much time has passed, wondering if these bonds will continue over the years. Then I am brought back to the present moment. I may not know what the future holds, but I know that right now I feel so loved and connected to my Italian family. Their smiles warm my heart and remind me of Abruzzo.

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