“The tree blooms beautifully, in his memory every year!”
If you ever go on Facebook you will find a page called:
You Know You’re Italian When…
On this happy little page, members talk about their
heritage, recipes, and share pictures and there’s some guy who writes jokes
with an Italian accent! The above quote was posted recently about fig trees
where this member added in the comments that her Nonno (Grandfather) died in
1970, and “The tree blooms beautifully, in his memory every year!”
When I read ‘Fig Tree’, it automatically took me back to
Grandpa’s backyard and his grape vines. Gramps was a winemaker, the little old
winemaker whose wine was considered almost holy. If I shipped a bottle to the
Pope and said, “Drink this your Holiness” he probably would.
Dad had strict rules about carrying that gallon of pure
contentment: ‘BE VERY CAREFUL OR YOUR BUTT IS HISTORY.
The wine served was usually in any glass vessel that could hold
enough of it to make you happy, from grape jelly glasses to goblets, the joy
was in the taste, the hard work it took to produce it and to know that it was
Grandpa who did this.
With that terrific wine came terrific vinegar. In later
years when Grandma would visit, she would bring some of Grandpa’s vinegar, a
vinegar I have never tasted since but I wish I could. It made an ordinary or
extraordinary salad go beyond the bounds of happiness and great taste!
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