Family Roots

Malfa, Salina (Sicily)

Seven members of my family crammed into the tiny office at the Municipal building in Malfa, a village on the Island of Salina, off Sicily. The woman at the desk didn't speak English and we don't speak Italian, but that didn't stop us from finding what we were seeking. She opened the giant ledger and flipped through the pages until ...there it was. We looked at each other aghast, smiling. My sister-in-law said, "I have goosebumps!" "Me, too," was my reply.

What had we found? The official record of my husband's great-grandparents' marriage in 1895. My kid's great, great-grandparents! We had planned our trip to that little island having no idea if we were even in the right place. My Father-in-law had pieced together bits of information from his genealogical research with the bits of memories of things his parents had told him when he was young. But we settled on Salina as the place to start looking without any certainty about the location. And there we were, after a five minute interaction with the clerk, with the document in front of us!

This trip was years in the making and had, in fact, been postponed last summer when we realized we needed to plan better for the cost. But it was important to us, so we figured out how to make it work.

My husband's great-grandparents immigrated to the US from the island of Salina, which is now part of Italy. My Father-in-law has always wanted to see where his grandparents were from. My husband, sister-in-law, brother-in-law and I did, too, so we embarked on a three generation vacation to walk in his ancestors' footsteps.

San Lorenzo Church

When we boarded the ferry to Salina, we had no idea what we would discover. We just knew we wanted to see the island (we thought) they had left behind when they came to America. Of course, we'd also spend time together as a family and do some sight-seeing. The fact that we located the marriage documents so easily was amazing. We also visited the church where they were married and secured copies of the church record of their marriage and their proof of baptism. We were amazed by how quick and easy everything was. If not for the pesky language barrier, we would have had the church documents in even less time. Luckily, a kind American college student working in Malfa for the summer helped translate for us.

On the ferry ride to Salina, another passenger had told us the island is "magical." I thought that was a lovely way to describe it. I won't say that finding these documents was magical, but it sure was wonderful. And our desire to trace family roots brought us to a place that is lovely indeed.

Family Connections

Connections are important to me. Connections between people. Connections between people and nature. If we had more of both, I believe we'd have a lot fewer problems in the world. While this blog focuses on connections between kids from different cultures and kids and nature, I'd like to take a little side trip today. It may seem disconnected to you, but stick with me. I hope my comments will help you understand.

How connected are your children or students to their relatives, both dead and living? I ask this question because I believe fully understanding your family's values and beliefs enables you to make choices about continuing or rejecting those beliefs.

I am fortunate to come from a solid foundation. I grew up with my relatives nearby. When I was young, four generations lived on our farm, so I had a sense of family history.  I felt loved by my great-grandfather and great grandmother right on down to my aunts and uncles. I learned to live close to the land as I helped feed the animals, bring in the hay, and work the vegetable gardens. I learned independence romping in the woods and fields alone or building forts with my friends. I'm certain I am a naturalist because of this early beginning.

Only later, as a pre-teen, did I start to question the opinions expressed by certain relatives. I heard racial and ethnic slurs uttered on many occasions by some extended relatives. One grandfather thought women should stay home and have babies. He told my parents, "You do not waste money educating women." I didn't always like my extended family or the prejudice that existed. My questioning of that prejudice, and my parents' recognition of it, gave me the courage to grow and reach for something better. Being firmly rooted to my nuclear family and my home gave me the courage to spread my wings and fly half way around the world as an exchange student when I was just 16 years old, even when my grandfather said I belonged at home.

My parents did not want us to repeat my family's history of racism, sexism, antisemitism, etc. (you name an "-ism," it was present in my extended family). They worked hard and raised their daughters to be strong and independent. They pushed us to aim high. Each of us has studied abroad and earned Master's degrees- the first women in our family to do either.  Each of us is a strong independent woman because of our parents. Each of us views the world in a more global way than was the norm in our small home town. I am certain I am passionate about race relations and interactions between people because of the blatant prejudices I experienced as a child and my parents' critical responses to it.

The other day, as I walked in my yard photographing my beautiful flowers, all of these ideas flooded my mind. What made that happen you might ask? My strong roots, that's what. I live in the house my maternal grandparents lived in when I was a child. My parents live in my paternal grandparent's house. All around me I see evidence of my grandparents. This home is certainly ours now- we've lived here more than 15 years and made many changes to make it our own. One thing that hasn't changed is some of the gardens and plants. As I walk through my gardens, I see the flowers my grandmother planted all those years ago still blooming. Her snowdrops, crocuses, and daffodils still push up through the snow every spring. Each time I see them I think of her and smile. My front garden is a riot of color right now- some of it my grandmother's plants, some of it plants dug from friends' and relatives' gardens over the years. Gardening goes way back in my family. As I walked and photographed each of those flowers yesterday, I thought of the person who gave them to me. And there's the seed of this whole post: connections between the people in my life (some living, some dead) and nature, in the form of the plants they gave me.

For your viewing pleasure... here is a sampling of those flowers and who they're from:

My deceased grandmother's clematis. This is the first time it has bloomed for me.

My grandmother's iris. Yellow was her favorite color.

Peony dug from my uncle's garden. That ant is doing it's job--soon a full bloom!

Lupine my mom grew from seed.

Geranium dug from my great aunt's garden 10 years ago.

Iris from the original plant my mom dug from her grandmother's garden back in the 60's.

I maintain strong connections to the family that nurtures me. I embrace my family’s legacy of living close to the earth- of growing food and flowers and animals-but I reject the legacy of prejudice. I can only choose to embrace or reject something once I have recognized it, considered it, and acted in response to it.

How about you? What is your family legacy? What makes you proud? What do you want to change for your children? How will you make that happen?