By Tony Traficante, ISDA Contributing Editor
It was the start of a beautiful, sunny day; and even though the warm weather had not yet arrived, the budding plants had plans of their own. It was evident that winter was winding down and spring was waiting patiently around the corner. The sun warmed the chilled air as I sat on the concrete steps of the back porch alongside my neighbor. Zi Mike was his name. He sat there pensively, looking over his future garden lot. Although I called him “Zio,” he wasn’t my uncle. It was a term of respect given to Italian seniors.
That morning the old man looked a bit out of sorts. So I asked, “Zio, cos’e’?” He hesitated, looked at me, and replied “Eh, Figlio, it’s my Maria!” His wife had been pestering him to get the garden ready. “Mannaggia la miseria,” the old man said. “L’inverno non e’ancora finit e quella gia mi torment!” It’s not even spring and she’s bugging me to dig up the yard. I told her many times, I will do it soon. No! She’s not happy with that, and she says, “Beh, a chi aspetto!”
Zio was an interesting character. He was full of stories about the old country. From the wrinkles and leathery skin, it was difficult to tell how old he was. And when you asked, he ignored you. When he laughed or smiled, you could still see the gaps where his teeth once were. He might have appeared crotchety to some folks, but he wasn’t. Deep down, he was a likable old goat.
The old man enjoyed sitting on his back stoop in the mornings, puffing away on his corncob pipe. Later in the day, he exchanged the pipe for a short stub of a Toscano cigar. The neighbors were concerned about his cigar holder, which he had carved from a rabbit leg bone!
Zi Mike loved to garden, as did many of our Italian neighbors. Gardening was a ritual, a way of life for them. For many southern Italian immigrants, their daily basic diet in Italy, at one time, consisted primarily of vegetables and fruit (meat was an occasional luxury).
The Italians imported their trade of gardening to America. Growing up I watched them, and my dad, turn fertile grounds into lush gardens. Some gardens were spacious, others were barely a nook. They all followed the rule of the proverb: “fatte cio’ che potete, con cio’ che avete, dove siete.” Do what you can, with what you have, where you are!
There were rows upon rows of tomatoes, peppers, “googootz,” squash, pole beans, Swiss chard, plus other greens and herbs. Some neighbors also planted fig trees and grapevines. Many of these original plants began with seeds brought from Italy. At the end of one season, the gardeners were sure to recapture seeds from their best fruit to replant in the successive seasons.
Early in the spring, Zi Mike and others built hot boxes to begin the starter plants. The boxes were made of wood with a top made of glass, or plastic covering, which could be propped open to air and water the tiny plants as needed. Many homes had a rain barrel and a compost pile for watering and fertilizing their gardens.
Their tools were mostly operated by hand. Nothing was wasted or thrown away — not the plant’s debris for composting, nor the scraps of burlap used for tying the plants to stakes, nor the wood used to make the hotbox.
Gardening was not just a past time for many Italian families, it also produced food for the table, especially during economic hardship. As a youngster, I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to garden. It was a wonderful learning experience.
Characters like Zi Mike were real and represented a generation of honest hardworking people who improved upon the knowledge of gardening. It all began with a handful of seeds from the homeland. Gardening was a form of therapy for the elderly Italians, that benefited both their mind and soul.
“The love of gardening is a seed that once sown, never dies.” -Gertrude Jekyll
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