My grandmother was the first one in her family born in America. The story goes like this: My great-grandfather, Dante, came to the U.S.A. with his family days before the stock market crash in 1929. A year later, my nonna, Elia, was born. The depression was terrible, the girls dropped out of school to work, boarders stayed at their house, but Dante stayed employed with tile and stone masonry. Life moves on, my grandfather met young Elia before he left for service in WWII, then returned safely, they married and had my father. My parents met in New Jersey, married and had me. The simple twists of fate align, but one part of it began here–in the mountains of Northern Italy–Poffabro. Continue reading “Poffabro ~ Origins of Me” →
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