My great-uncle Rafaelle was known not only for his wine, but also for winning the town’s watermelon eating contest. He held the record in the mid-1970s at ten kilograms. I can still see his eyes dancing in excitement as he recounted his triumph, sometimes even demonstrating with a large piece of watermelon on his plate.
I spent my childhood summers visiting family in the south of Italy. I can still smell the aroma of basil and tomato sauce in the air as I walked up the staircase to where my grandparents lived. At every floor, hints of family recipes passed down from generations seeped from underneath the front doorways. After we came back from spending the morning at the beach, my grandmother would greet us at the door and before we even had time to put our bags down, we would find ourselves sitting around her kitchen table. Plates of fresh pasta, focaccia bread, cheeses and Rafaelle’s homemade wine awaited us. As a little girl, even I had a little wine mixed with my glass of water.
From Awakening the Imagination (M.Ed. capstone), 2014