A friend with a camera happened by on a summer afternoon and captured this image, the only photo that remains of the whole family. Cranky youngsters and stoic teens.
They had a small plot of land with a cabin in Queen's Village, NY. It was still a place of farms in the 1930's. Antonio would spend the summer there cultivating the plot. My mother, the oldest daughter, would spend her summer canning and preserving the harvest. On weekends, when work allowed, my grandmother would take the train ride to visit and make bread and pasta for the week.
Having no other photos of the Queen's Village cabin my impressions are formed by the few stories that seeped through the cracks of the memory of elders. My mother mostly recalls it as a place where she worked relentlessly. Canning fruits and vegetables. Cooking. Caring for her younger siblings.
Any joy they may have experienced there was later overshadowed by the receipt of the telegram informing them of the the death of Frank, the second eldest son, fighting in Italy in WWII. He's standing rear right in the photo.
A few years back when my mom was visiting me we managed to beat the squirrels to the ripe peaches on our peach tree. Leaning over, so as not to have the sweet juices run down her face, my mom shared one of the few sweet memories from that plot of land.
She hadn't had a juicy tree ripened peach since those days long ago. I think we ate peaches for dinner that night. She just couldn't get her fill.
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