The calendar and clock continue to move forward. May. June. July. August. I'm desperately torn between my darkened skin soaking up every ray of sunshine it can catch, while simultaneously, anticipating what the end of summer will bring. I'm a woman with two loves. A deep desire to stay put, cozy in my unflattering pajamas and familiar bed, surrounded by my creaturely comforts and preferences. A black espresso in the morning. Life in the country, with my children and animals. Some weight lifting in the afternoon and sparkling wine with dinner, please and thank you.
But then there's her.
The piece of me that loves something else, something far away. Something that is not even hers to love, really. Italy.
Two generations ago, my great-grandparents immigrated to America. My great-Grandmother refused to let Norwegian be spoken in the home, even though it was her native tongue. Her and my great-Grandfather had committed to a new life, a life across the globe from their heritage and family. I love that heritage and I love what it has meant for my great-Grandparents, my grandparents, and now me. All my grandparents are passed now. I miss them and the stories they shared of their families. Our roots are broad across Scandinavia on both sides of my family, isolating primarily in Norway. A country that I yearn to visit someday (a land littered with some relatives I would love to meet). I find myself like a lot of Americans. So deeply grateful for the country that I love and the opportunities I'm afforded, yet with disoriented ties back to the “motherland”.
How can I be American and love America, while simultaneously, feeling drawn back to a heritage that was/was never mine? It's a complicated wrestling match in my mind.
When I took my first trip to Europe fifteen years ago, Pandora's box exploded with experience and opportunity and almost a permission to expand to something beyond the large borders of America. It's not that our heritage doesn't matter. But maybe we have the opportunity, as a different generation, for exploration and growth.
I used to see it as a deficit – being a “euro-mutt”. A “not here, but not there” kind of heritage. As if my inability to point to a pinprick on a map or sing the songs of my people somehow pointed to a lack of history, of belonging in the bigger picture.
In all my years of grappling, I've come to peace with it in this way: as an American, I am given the gift of broadness. I can, in the same day, eat tacos with my Mexican neighbors and eat lefse with my family. What some may see as a lack of “heritage”, I see as freedom to taste and explore and experience. I love the people here. People from various backgrounds and places. Immigrants. Locals. A cornucopia of history and culture and food and heritage.
I can love my Norwegian heritage and simultaneously love throwing down on some Chinese dumplings. I can also love Italy in my bones. Come on ya'll. That's freedom. PS: I'm very confident my great-Grandparents would've loved street tacos.
The heritage of my bones may not come from Italian soil, but it was a love-affair that began immediately. Foreign, but so comfortable and familiar. Much like when I met Stuart (in a bar, mind you, but that's not the point). I was captivated. Drawn in. Ensnared.
Part of me desires to stay here on the farm: safe and comfortable. But the other part? She insists that I go back to this land that I love: budgets, comforts, and sea-sickness be damned. She insists that I study and carry on traditions and knowledge that I find valuable. She insists that I learn to cook more with my heart and hands. She insists that I put down the plow and learn to play. She insists that I learn from everyone around me. She insists that I learn to love people, hospitality, laughter, serving, and humility more. She insists that I dish up an extra serving.
My eyes are open, Sicily.
My friend, Dolores, has been busy at work piecing together our trip. You can follow along with her version of the tales right here. I'm deeply indebted to her and the incredible knowledge that her Sicilian heritage is allotting us as we plan our travels (spoiler: there's not one tourist checkpoint included). Dolores, in all her wisdom, planned our trip to center around just two things: eating and people.
Eating and people are universal, no matter where we come from.
(I accidentally wrote “no matter where we love from” initially and kinda-sorta wanted to leave it.)
Anyway. T-minus 4 weeks until touchdown. We're in the logistics planning of the trip now. One of the many challenges includes figuring out how to get all of our cameras, drones, tripods, and audio recording equipment there in one piece. This isn't just a trip for us. The entire journey will be documented to share with you.
We're going together. To learn, create, and be revived.
Resourcefulness over accolades.
More people, less stuff.
Busy hands, open table.
See? We're learning already.
I love this post! Your writing is beautiful…my ancestors are from Norway too…I long to go there someday…but there are so many places to want to go to…God made this amazing world and it’s magical differences and people. Thank you for giving me some beauty to think about and trips to dream about 😉
Loved this post! I too dream of Italy. Don’t have any relatives from there either. There is just something about it! The charm, the food, and scenery.
So glad you have touched on this! I too have wrestled with the idea of loving America and where I’m from and not wanting to degrade that at all! While at the same time envying the culture and traditions that others have!
You touch on so many profound ideas here! Yes to learning and incorporating and delighting in the wisdom of others! I, too, grew up without heritage and family traditions comforting me, centering me, and mooring me to my ancestors and a sense of belonging. In many ways, everything felt trite. Christmas, for example, seemed centered only on the self (and maybe a bit of church here and there). It’s only really been since marrying a German that the holidays have felt meaningful. Suddenly, the shadows of tradition from my own family’s holidays have begun to take a form and develop meaning. The holidays are about traditions we all look forward to and that bring us together; it’s about family and respite and celebration. There is such warmth and joy tapping into heritage—born or borrowed.
Love this. I also love my home but hope to experience Italy some day. Right now. I am happy to enjoy your experience and look forward to what you will be sharing
I can’t wait to hear of your travels. I’m 70 years old. At 67 I hiked the west highland way in Scotland. I left part of my heart. Now I plan a month in Italy in March of 2023. I still plan to return to the highlands God willing and the creek don’t rise. Love your trip
Thats great to hear. I live in the Highlands and plan on making our son walk the West Highland Way with me when he is older! How long did it take you? (and well done by the way, 97 miles in no mean feat) x
I am not a hiker but did start walking about nine months before. Packed and repacked backpack so I could carry everything. I loved the hostels food adventure. It was good for my soul. The beauty took my breath away. I believe my soul belongs in the highland. Next year I plan to go to Italy for a month. Then hopefully back to Scotland for one last long holiday. I should be 72. I don’t mind traveling alone or with two or three friends.
You are an inspiration my friend!
Wow. This message is incredible. My husband was born overseas as a missionary child. My child was born overseas as a missionary child. Our roots are from England/Germany/Ukraine. There is this deep urgent urge to go explore where we are from. We have written papers from our ancestors of where they were from before coming to America. Some came before the mayflower some came only 3 generations ago. And here we are packing up to once again move overseas again. We love America truly we do. We stress our love and all that she means to our son. But when you go overseas, live elsewhere and you realize there is more than just America it complicates your heart. When you are there you long for America but when you are in America you long for there. Your heart is never satisfied so you create your own traditions your own culture within your family. We have plans next year to start in Germany rediscovering where our roots are from where our great grandparents came from. 2019 we went to Russia with the idea of going in 2020 to Ukraine to see the old family farm. 😢. It was so incredible indescribable seeing the old country. Feeling it deep in your bones that this was the land you partly came from. That this is the land your great grandfather escaped from during the revolution by hiding under dead bodies. We wept as we left. Yet when we land in America we hold this deep pride of I am an American. My family arrived in Jamestown before the pilgrims. So yes I have deep roots in Europe and my son deep roots in Central/South America yet truly we are American.
Great post. I think all that read it will agree you are exactly right.
I am so very new to your blog and your YouTube channel. Already I am gripped by your world, your work and your story telling. I am delighted and I will continue to
Absorb your content. With much love from my family to yours… (written from a fellow photographer weightlifting gardener) x
Hi – Thank you so much for this post! My husband also has what I’ve always seen as a sort of random love of Italy. I can’t wait to return for him. I am Cuban and he’s Colombian, but our kids call his parents nonna and nonno. Your writing is lovely! So glad I happened on your blog! I just started blogging and yours came up as one of the top blogs this year so even though I’m not a chef, or even a cook, I decided to visit. So glad I did!