My maternal great-grandparents Salvatore and Cologera Natale came to America from Sicily in the early 1900s. This was only 100 years or so ago but it might as well be 3000 BC for all the details and facts there are -- or aren't. Even stories are sparse. There are reasons for this: They never became fluent English speakers, they lived in an age that was circumspect, and Salvatore may have been a man of few words anyway (his oldest son, my grandpa Peter, sure was). Stories about our families can quickly go underground. Like tree roots, they're hidden, buried, and difficult to dig up.
Farms outside its town walls Salvatore was a farmer from Santa Caterina Villarmosa, a farming village atop a mountain in a range running through the middle of Sicily. It was lush and verdant when I visited a few weeks ago. Alpine, with sheep grazing up high. Almond orchards, olive groves and grains still grow outside its town walls. Pink and orange brick homes glow in the light and palm trees line its piazza. The Spaniards tacked on the Villarmosa or 'Pretty' to the name of this medieval town for a reason. But what really stood out was the quiet. It's quiet even by British Library standards.
Yes, we can see what churches and streets looked like hundreds of years ago, but to get a sense of what a town sounded like way-back-when? Even though there are plenty of cars and a few pizzerias and bars there (I recommend 'The Ethnic Pub'), the low-level background hums and electromagnetic vibrations were mostly absent. I didn't hear planes overhead or motorways whirring in the distance; there were no trucks or lorries rumbling through. While this was a relief, I also felt a little restless and isolated up there. Was the silence unbearable to Salvatore once he heard about America and its streets lined with gold? Was that turn-of-the-century Siren call impossible to resist even for a man well into adulthood and marriage? I sensed he didn't make the decision to leave his birthplace lightly; that there was a strong energy and power behind his decision.
TBC
Yes, we can see what churches and streets looked like hundreds of years ago, but to get a sense of what a town sounded like way-back-when? Even though there are plenty of cars and a few pizzerias and bars there (I recommend 'The Ethnic Pub'), the low-level background hums and electromagnetic vibrations were mostly absent. I didn't hear planes overhead or motorways whirring in the distance; there were no trucks or lorries rumbling through. While this was a relief, I also felt a little restless and isolated up there. Was the silence unbearable to Salvatore once he heard about America and its streets lined with gold? Was that turn-of-the-century Siren call impossible to resist even for a man well into adulthood and marriage? I sensed he didn't make the decision to leave his birthplace lightly; that there was a strong energy and power behind his decision.
TBC
RSS Feed