Crispi's family is originally from Palazzo Adriano, a small town closed in the mountains surrounding the valley of Sosio, irrigation and green crops as well as the mountains around are bare. To get to Palazzo
pass at the foot of Prizzi, perched on a hill all lopsided, as if about to slide down.
Once the road Palazzo Adriano had led to a dead-end road .
There were continuations to other destinations and to get it followed the road that came in Corleone.
Rummaging in my memory as a child, I remember that I found surprising when we put in a verdant valley that was all the more after passing through a landscape so bleak and lonely: it was almost like finding an oasis after the desert, After a slow journey and adventure, as they were traveling by car along roads mostly narrow and winding.
Those were just the land lost deep in the heart of Sicily, a piece of border territory between the province Agrigento and Palermo.
My father felt with strength and pride link with the homeland of his family.
There, there was the ancestral home, located right on the course (today, via Francesco Crispi) which departs from the square where the two churches face each other proud, but not at issue, that of ritual greek Orthodox and Catholic .
It was the house on the facade has been allocated in recent times, a marble plaque recalling that Francesco Crispi (the statesman) has spent the formative years of his youth.
A simple one-storey house, front rather conil narrow, but developed in depth.
Behind it, the campaign and, in particular, also owned a garden enclosed by high walls of Crispi.
Despite its simplicity, it was still a mansion with a carriage door and patio which overlooks the doors of several warehouses for the storage of agricultural commodities such as oil and grain jars, and tools.
allowed to climb a narrow staircase to the floor.
Yeah, after the war, much of this property had been sold, unfortunately, the city "kind" of Palazzo Adriano (not Orthodox), the Palumbo, including the ground floor.
use of grandparents (his grandfather and grandmother Toto Ia) that were always there to spend the summer with my uncles (Uncle Horace, who later married and her aunt Mariannù) remained only the back upstairs, including a large great room that served as a dining room and lounge / living room - and even from room to bed when we went with my father and mother.
not remember that in these circumstances there was also my brother who in childhood was anywhere else for health reasons.
On these occasions we slept on straw mattresses laid on the plank supported from the classic "trispiti" wrought iron.
I have vivid memories of this house.
Ia Grandma had made the kitchen into a closet long and narrow (less than one meter in length), the gas stove placed against the far wall where he opened a small oval window.
Yet, despite the logistical difficulties - as I remember - always cooked great, authentic delicacies: from that kitchen and spread through the sublime house smells good and simple preparations.
profondamentamente My father loved those places, evidently, even if all his adult life as a student and had developed in the big city where he was also born there, he felt his roots, as well as for him was strong and steady contact with identity awareness of the important genealogy of our family, who never failed to remember.
Go to the palace, for he was way back to his childhood and adolescence, and spent entire summers there.
There was "Peppineddu", a close childhood friend who had stayed to live there: my father was dear to chat with him every time down the streets.
Many times in the summer, even if only for a few days later we went to Palace to find the grandparents who went there their summers until his grandfather in a bad fall at night did not break her hip, and since then, although clinically cured, he refused to move from home.
remember that just arrived, my father immediately went to buy bread baked in wood-country, still fragrant, and setting up of large snacks of bread and oil, so teaching me the pleasure of simple things.
But I also remember so many consecutive days spent there on vacation along with Zia Mariannù, memories of walking up to the side of the river and beyond, walking up to a church - a true oasis of peace - on a small hill from ' other side of the river from which you could relax the country with the more houses dominated by mass of the various churches, as well as the step afternoon in the square covered with pebbles of old, with my aunt that I was holding, I dressed in the clothes good.
Once washed and covered at all points, ready for the inevitable ride in the afternoon, moving awkwardly, I fell into the lifeguard where her aunt had just finished bathing me, still full of water and I inzuppai everything. His aunt, patiently, and had aciugarmi dressed again.
My favorite moment was peace and quiet in the evenings (there was no television), when my aunt was reading whole chapters of Pinocchio, from an old edition of the family, I remained dear in recent years had this bind, but then unfortunately the book was irreversibly damaged by flooding at home.
Another time, during one of our stays there, my father took me to walk along the embankment of the old narrow gauge railway, now abandoned, and he told me when, as the train is still active, with him his family traveled by this means to travel to Palace and came all dirty with soot. This trip was fascinating and adventurous, partly because - at some point - we found ourselves in front of a tunnel and walked across, despite the pitch darkness and the scent still lingering coal soot and burned up to exit the light at the other end.
On another occasion, while traveling by car along the road leading into town, my father was stopped by to give a relief to a farmer who had just been bitten by a mule. transported him to drive up to the nearest doctor. remember the blood flowed copiously from the wound, smearing the seats of the car magrado some newspapers spread out on it.
Palazzo Adriano's house was later sold, my grandfather still alive.
It was a decision taken unilaterally by surprise and others, without even first consulting my father, who was the eldest son, partly as a result of pressure exerted by some Italian-American family that it was a part of the house and wanted to make a profit, however meager.
If my father had been informed, would surely have done something to prevent this sale to outsiders: maybe he would try to buy it himself. It was a real emotional loss for him, that was a worry.
never return to the palace. There were more trips there.
Years after the death of my father, my uncle Louis, rented a small house in the palace and there he spent several months a year immersed in his reading. A Palazzo
I returned recently, with great emotion.
pass at the foot of Prizzi, perched on a hill all lopsided, as if about to slide down.
Once the road Palazzo Adriano had led to a dead-end road .
There were continuations to other destinations and to get it followed the road that came in Corleone.
Rummaging in my memory as a child, I remember that I found surprising when we put in a verdant valley that was all the more after passing through a landscape so bleak and lonely: it was almost like finding an oasis after the desert, After a slow journey and adventure, as they were traveling by car along roads mostly narrow and winding.
Those were just the land lost deep in the heart of Sicily, a piece of border territory between the province Agrigento and Palermo.
My father felt with strength and pride link with the homeland of his family.
There, there was the ancestral home, located right on the course (today, via Francesco Crispi) which departs from the square where the two churches face each other proud, but not at issue, that of ritual greek Orthodox and Catholic .
It was the house on the facade has been allocated in recent times, a marble plaque recalling that Francesco Crispi (the statesman) has spent the formative years of his youth.
A simple one-storey house, front rather conil narrow, but developed in depth.
Behind it, the campaign and, in particular, also owned a garden enclosed by high walls of Crispi.
Despite its simplicity, it was still a mansion with a carriage door and patio which overlooks the doors of several warehouses for the storage of agricultural commodities such as oil and grain jars, and tools.
allowed to climb a narrow staircase to the floor.
Yeah, after the war, much of this property had been sold, unfortunately, the city "kind" of Palazzo Adriano (not Orthodox), the Palumbo, including the ground floor.
use of grandparents (his grandfather and grandmother Toto Ia) that were always there to spend the summer with my uncles (Uncle Horace, who later married and her aunt Mariannù) remained only the back upstairs, including a large great room that served as a dining room and lounge / living room - and even from room to bed when we went with my father and mother.
not remember that in these circumstances there was also my brother who in childhood was anywhere else for health reasons.
On these occasions we slept on straw mattresses laid on the plank supported from the classic "trispiti" wrought iron.
I have vivid memories of this house.
Ia Grandma had made the kitchen into a closet long and narrow (less than one meter in length), the gas stove placed against the far wall where he opened a small oval window.
Yet, despite the logistical difficulties - as I remember - always cooked great, authentic delicacies: from that kitchen and spread through the sublime house smells good and simple preparations.
profondamentamente My father loved those places, evidently, even if all his adult life as a student and had developed in the big city where he was also born there, he felt his roots, as well as for him was strong and steady contact with identity awareness of the important genealogy of our family, who never failed to remember.
Go to the palace, for he was way back to his childhood and adolescence, and spent entire summers there.
There was "Peppineddu", a close childhood friend who had stayed to live there: my father was dear to chat with him every time down the streets.
Many times in the summer, even if only for a few days later we went to Palace to find the grandparents who went there their summers until his grandfather in a bad fall at night did not break her hip, and since then, although clinically cured, he refused to move from home.
remember that just arrived, my father immediately went to buy bread baked in wood-country, still fragrant, and setting up of large snacks of bread and oil, so teaching me the pleasure of simple things.
But I also remember so many consecutive days spent there on vacation along with Zia Mariannù, memories of walking up to the side of the river and beyond, walking up to a church - a true oasis of peace - on a small hill from ' other side of the river from which you could relax the country with the more houses dominated by mass of the various churches, as well as the step afternoon in the square covered with pebbles of old, with my aunt that I was holding, I dressed in the clothes good.
Once washed and covered at all points, ready for the inevitable ride in the afternoon, moving awkwardly, I fell into the lifeguard where her aunt had just finished bathing me, still full of water and I inzuppai everything. His aunt, patiently, and had aciugarmi dressed again.
My favorite moment was peace and quiet in the evenings (there was no television), when my aunt was reading whole chapters of Pinocchio, from an old edition of the family, I remained dear in recent years had this bind, but then unfortunately the book was irreversibly damaged by flooding at home.
Another time, during one of our stays there, my father took me to walk along the embankment of the old narrow gauge railway, now abandoned, and he told me when, as the train is still active, with him his family traveled by this means to travel to Palace and came all dirty with soot. This trip was fascinating and adventurous, partly because - at some point - we found ourselves in front of a tunnel and walked across, despite the pitch darkness and the scent still lingering coal soot and burned up to exit the light at the other end.
On another occasion, while traveling by car along the road leading into town, my father was stopped by to give a relief to a farmer who had just been bitten by a mule. transported him to drive up to the nearest doctor. remember the blood flowed copiously from the wound, smearing the seats of the car magrado some newspapers spread out on it.
Palazzo Adriano's house was later sold, my grandfather still alive.
It was a decision taken unilaterally by surprise and others, without even first consulting my father, who was the eldest son, partly as a result of pressure exerted by some Italian-American family that it was a part of the house and wanted to make a profit, however meager.
If my father had been informed, would surely have done something to prevent this sale to outsiders: maybe he would try to buy it himself. It was a real emotional loss for him, that was a worry.
never return to the palace. There were more trips there.
Years after the death of my father, my uncle Louis, rented a small house in the palace and there he spent several months a year immersed in his reading. A Palazzo
I returned recently, with great emotion.
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