TRAVELS AROUND THE WORLD
Around the World , Around the Lake
Agrigento , Sicily Florence , Italy
I
grew up on a small farm next to the smallest village in Erie County , New York . We lived upstairs on the second floor of my paternal grandparents ’ 100 + year old house , until the birth of my second brother ( aka the “ gift ”) resulted in building our own home on a piece of the farm property . Our home was just down the road from the Seneca Nation reservation . The village was fairly self-sufficient , with churches , grocery and hardware stores , a few restaurants and a canning factory , to process the vegetables grown in the area . Our farm had cows , pigs and chickens , but more than half the land was a vineyard ( we sold our grapes to Welch ’ s , another large employer in the area ). My grandfather bought the farm as a refuge from his work at Bethlehem Steel , one of the first harbingers of the future of the village , which eventually became a “ bedroom ” community . Today , there are only churches ; a Dollar Store sits on the site of my old elementary school ; and the post office , where we had to go to collect the mail , local “ news ” and convenience items , is now a set of rental “ boxes .” Thankfully , the volunteer fire department still exists , but it no longer seems a hub for parades , parties , baseball or festivals .
My mother ’ s family ( grandmother , great grandparents and numerous cousins ) lived in the village , or nearby . Both of my parents were first-generation Americans , whose parents immigrated to the U . S ., from Sicily and Croatia . In an effort to “ Americanize ,” we only spoke English , with native languages reserved for conversation
by CINDY RIGBY , MD
among the adults , probably to separate us from “ family matters .”
The village had an independent elementary school , grades K-8 , two grades to a room ( my eighth-grade graduating class had 10 pupils ). My maternal grandmother , widowed in her early 50s , was the school cook . As an “ antsy ” kid , I was kept busy , to allow peace in the classroom , with various activities : helping in the cafeteria ( free lunch !), decorating the school ( and occasionally the gym ), starting in the band in fourth grade , and assigned to read an entire book closet ’ s contents . We only had periodic visits from the bookmobile ( no real library ), and I devoured any book I could check out . There was always plenty to do on the farm . Television had limited appeal ( and competition from family members ). My dad used weekends to take us on road trips to nearby towns , or to picnics at the parks on Lakes Erie , Chautauqua or at Allegheny State Park .
An assembly featuring foreign exchange students attending high school in our region , and my entry into a large central high school , caused me to look beyond the confines of our area . I started dreaming of travel . Unfortunately , my choice of Latin as a “ foreign ” language , and my exclusion from learning either Italian or Croatian by my Americanized parents , kept me from getting a spot as an exchange student . I also declared , to my family ’ s dismay , that I intended to go away to college , only to come back to visit rather than settle close to home .
Fast forward – I attended college 100 miles away , met and married my husband Ron and welcomed our son . A year in the
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