When I was growing up in Red Hook, our family garden was an integral part of our life. Practically everyone in the neighborhood had one. It was pretty much the norm that if you were Italian, there was a garden of some sort in your backyard, side yard, front yard, or even on a piece of purchased property elsewhere.  If there wasn’t a yard available, you might offer to do the gardening in another’s yard and split the produce.

Even a stray public property somewhere may be found flourishing in the summer with tomatoes or beans, courtesy of an Italian who sought to make use of otherwise wasted soil. And widows or the elderly were guaranteed visits from neighbors bearing gifts of fruits and vegetables from their yards, so no one should, God forbid, go without eating something fresh from the ground. This is inherently who Italians are; creatures of producing, conserving, providing, and eating abundantly from the earth that was gifted to them.