November 1997
Hi, my name is Chris and I want to share this with you...
It has been my experience since childhood to witness a phenomenal event each year when our families gather on the days at the end of harvest time. There is a goodness in the air as those who had crops that produced a bountiful harvest share with others not so fortunate. There is always enough for all and a spirit of giving fills the countryside. New dishes abound as younger generations are making adaptations to old traditional recipes in hopes of alluring new taste buds to surface.
The celebration starts well before dawn. The older women are in their kitchens throughout the village cooking breads and desserts. At the same time, the younger women are preparing the Antipasto trays and setting tables. One can smell the essence of a giant bakery from any road leading to the village, long before a village can be seen. Some say that's what lures strangers to our festival quicker than the mouth could spread the word.
The men sit on wooden chairs, taken from their own living rooms, placed on the grass, as if it were an extended room of their very own homes. They tell stories of the past harvests, presenting both good and bad days, and of friends long gone. Some get together to play bocce ball and other games of the times, while teaching the younger boys the ways of their games. Keeping with tradition, other older men pass along their own experiences relating to work, play, and love down to the younger ones. It is indeed a day of bonding.
The tables are constructed out on the grass, using sawhorses for legs and huge wood boards for tabletops. When the table clothes are set out, the once simple pieces of wood are transformed into an elegant dining area with the countryside's backdrop of autumn colors to warm the mood. Antipastos and wines start the feast, providing something for all to nibble on while the main meal is being prepared. Nurturing, for both body and soul, begins early in the day and replaces the regular routines.
By noon, the essence of the village has shifted from a bakery to that of every grandma's kitchen. Garlic and other herbs fill the air, as well as the familiar smell of sausages and meatballs simmering in sauces. Steam rises up out of the open kitchen windows as a silent reminder that the pasta has not been forgotten.
The main meal begins in mid-afternoon, while the warmth of the full sun covers the dinner table and guests. Joy and laughter resound from the tables through the hillsides. No one is in a hurry to depart and end this day. Today is Saturday and we can sleep a little longer tomorrow, just as long as we make it to church in time for the last Mass of the day. The evening is coming upon us slowly, as the sun shifts behind the hills. Lamps and candles are set about strategically and give the ambiance of an evening of reflections and giving thanks to God. Desserts of all varieties are still being sampled with cups of Espresso, Cappuccino or one of the fine dessert wines on the tables. Some of the men walk away briefly, and then stroll back onto the scene playing their favorite musical instrument. Melodies fill the air, encouraging all to break out into song. What could be better than this?
The thoughts of all of this begin making me home sick for that kind of day again. As I was endeavoring to explain this event to our newfound friends, the grip of the language barrier was taking hold. At this point, I decided to invite our new friends to attend our feast and give them a demonstration instead. When our women began making preparations, their women began to interact with such ease that it astonished me how we were bridging the gap of that barrier.
Something became very clear to me that first year in the New World. Each of us, in our own worlds had reenacted the same tradition separately but spontaneously. Upon reflection, I have come to realize that throughout the Universe, each culture has similar traditions they have held as their own and unique. The amazing thing to notice is that these traditions are universal and innate to all humanity -- one of our common bonds.
