The Tenuta Adamo winery in the hills of Lucca, a meaningful stop for a family rooted in winemaking traditions passed down from their nonni.

By Maria Costanzo

I first visited Coreno Ausonio in the summer of 2017, and it touched my heart more deeply than I anticipated. Both of my dad’s parents, Carlo Costanzo and Giovanna DiSiena, and my mom’s mother, Philomena Bonacci (née DiMassa), emigrated from this small mountain town in the province of Frosinone, cradled in southern Lazio near Gaeta, Cassino, and Castelforte.

As you zigzag up the mountain toward Coreno, you can catch glimpses of the Gulf of Gaeta shimmering in the distance. On one road, you’re greeted by a bakery that makes the best whole wheat bread I’ve ever had. Along the main road into town, a stone monument welcomes visitors with the word Benvenuti, and just recently, a statue was erected to honor the ancestors who emigrated from this special place.

This article appeared in the August 2025 edition of La Nostra Voce, ISDA’s monthly newspaper that chronicles Italian American news, history, culture and tradition. Subscribe today!

This past June, I had the opportunity to return to Italy for the fourth time, traveling with some of my family. We visited many cities — Venice, Verona, Padua, Pisa, Lucca, Aosta, Florence, Assisi, and Rome — and I realized, toward the end of the trip, that it had become something of a pilgrimage. In Padua, we attended Mass at the basilica and visited the tomb of St. Anthony. In Assisi, we visited the basilica of St. Francis and his tomb. We also visited the Vatican, walked through the Holy Door for the Jubilee, and explored smaller churches in many towns.

On the Feast of Corpus Christi, we visited the Abbey of Montecassino, attended Mass, and witnessed a beautiful Eucharistic procession. That day, we saw two more processions, as nearby towns created altars outside their homes and decorated the streets. We also climbed the steps of La Montagna Spaccata, where St. Philip Neri once prayed, and placed our hands in the rock where, according to legend, a Turk once left his mark.

Of all the places I’ve been in Italy, Coreno remains in my top three. It’s a classic small rural town where you might spot goats running down the street with their shepherd, children playing soccer in a field, vines heavy with grapes, olive trees swaying in the breeze, donkeys resting in the sun, men gathered at bars playing cards, and women sitting in the piazza watching the day go by.

Coreno was a strategic location during World War II, and there is a peace monument near the top of the mountain. If you travel even further, you’ll find tucked-away farms where goats and cows graze freely, producing what I believe is the best homemade cheese and freshly pressed olive oil in the world.

To me, serenity is sitting outdoors with a view of the mountains, playing made-up games with a young cousin using lemons picked from a tree. Or relaxing on the beach, eating sandwiches filled with fresh meats and mozzarella, grilled or marinated vegetables, juicy tomatoes eaten like apples, and sipping on Estathé or an Aperol Spritz.

My connection to Coreno means so much to me that I joined the Circolo Italo-Americano Corenese here in Cleveland a few years ago, to connect with others who share ties to this town. I’ve heard stories about Coreno my entire life, but to walk the streets where my grandparents lived, to meet relatives I hadn’t seen since childhood, to connect with the younger generation, was a powerful experience.

There were tears of joy as we were welcomed with warm hugs and the excitement of children, and tears again when it came time to say goodbye.

A part of my heart will always remain in Coreno.