Time Travel

To fulfill my promise to my 4th-grade self, I recently journeyed back to my ancestor’s homeland in Piedmont, Italy. It’s been over 150 years since they came to America and, ultimately, the Salt Lake Valley.

It was not lost on me that their journey took almost three months, while mine was about thirteen and a half hours. But the greatest distance was traveling through time, finally standing on the same soil, hearing the sounds, and seeing the landscape.

Our guide took us first to the Pra del Tor, the ancient refuge of my ancestors. It was here they stood against the Pope’s army, fighting for religious freedom. There was only one main entrance to this high mountain valley, and it was there that they defended their people. It was also here where I met a friendly neighborhood Waldensian who showed me the farm implements that the people fashioned into weapons. The fight for freedom went on for centuries.

This man was excited to show us the schoolhouse where my ancestors studied. It was a little one-room schoolhouse like I had imagined. He proceeded to show us a child’s backpack made of bark and leather, filled with…chestnuts.

Chestnuts, my heart contracted. One thing I knew of my great-great-grandmother when she came to Utah was that she was sad that there weren’t any chestnuts! They used chestnuts in all their cooking, including grinding them into flour. The guide told this man the story. He placed a chestnut in my hand and closed my fingers around it, telling me in Italian through the guide, “Take this home and plant it! Comprende?” he asked.

“Comprende,” I replied. I understood.

Across time, across space, he and I, survivors of the cruel persecution of our ancestors, connected! I felt the whispers of this place.