Basilicata blackberries
Rediscovering my roots on a journey of nostalgia and identity
Eastern view of Castelgrande and the Monte Giani foothills. // Photo by Maddie Federici
Nostalgia is powerful — often taking us back to places, memories, and people we’ve never even met. For me, it’s always been intertwined with my family’s roots in Italy.
My great-grandparents immigrated to the United States from a beautiful town called Castelgrande in Basilicata, a southern region. It is now a tradition for each generation to return and see where they came from.
Throughout my life, I dreamt of that moment. A deep longing grew as I listened to stories about my family and their origins. Last summer, I decided to embark on the journey of a lifetime to explore my family’s heritage.
Going to Castelgrande reconnected me with my family and myself. So many people, especially those born in the United States, have a longing and nostalgia for places and connections they may never know — particularly their cultural heritage and family roots.
Exploring my family’s past and connecting with my heritage has enriched my life and relationships. It brought me closer to myself and created a sense of belonging and connection that I never felt before.
My dad and I traveled through the country from north to south for a month, hopping between Airbnbs by train. When it came time for the main event, we embarked on a three-hour drive from oceanside Naples into the mountains.
As we headed east, cool, sharp air replaced the blistering heat. The scenery oscillated between lush forest landscapes, farmland and dramatic peaks with occasional appearances of little towns cradled into the mountainsides, so poised it seemed they would fall at any moment. Zipping through windy roads, we never knew what would be around the next bend.
Approaching our destination, tension grew. The sky darkened with patchy clouds and rain while lightning struck, roaring through the air. Somehow, this felt calming — the jarring shift reflected how alive we both felt in those moments, anticipation pumping through us like electricity.
Finally, our GPS led us off the main highway down a dirt road. Soon after, Siri said the magic words: “You have arrived at your destination.”
Our meandering descent through Castelgrande was silent and swift, less than five minutes. The town was precisely how I imagined: elegant, humble, calm, and charming.
A farm dog chased our car to the only nearby bed-and-breakfast, an astrology-themed ranch — a nod to Europe’s largest observatory nearby — as the high-altitude area has no light pollution.
Our host, Giuseppe, and three tiny kittens greeted us outside. Correspondingly, the storm passed. Once acquainted, we nervously explained why we were there. His face lit up with excitement as he learned of our Castelgrande ancestry. Later, he informed us that he had scheduled an appointment at the city hall to help us find relatives the following day.
Eastern view of Castelgrande and the Monte Giani foothills. // Photo by Maddie Federici
At sunset, wine in hand, my dad and I frolicked through the surrounding meadows together, playing with grasshoppers. That night, I fell asleep with my balcony doors open, and blue skies greeted me in the early morning.
As I sat outside, reality hit, and I became awestruck by the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. Serene energy permeated the land. Gentle wind nudged whispers from the trees, colorful wildflowers opened before my eyes, and a faint symphony of cowbells, barking, and farm whistles echoed through the hills.
Arriving at the city hall, we quickly realized communication would be difficult. No one spoke English, and neither of our Italian was advanced enough to host an entire conversation, so we relied on Google Translate.
A woman paraded us around the building to the staff before we ended up in a small room with most of them. We watched in amazement as they pulled several thick stacks of unbound yellow parchment off the shelves, handwritten records dating back centuries. For over an hour, they browsed by hand, refining our family tree and making connections.
Suddenly, they began talking feverishly and buzzing around the room. Amidst the activity, there must’ve been a quick, unsuspecting phone call. Minutes later, two men walked in smiling, looking confused.
The workers pointed and said, “La tua famiglia!”
My heart stopped and swelled. Our long-lost relative, Pasqualino.
We shook hands, not even knowing where to start. I apologized for not having better language skills.
“It’s OK,” Pasqualino said. “We have smiles and translate.”
Pasqualino and his friend with us at the city hall. // Photo by Maddie Federici
He quickly ushered us down the street to a lowkey bar filled with locals. We sat at a picnic table out back, and with the afternoon heat and spritz, the language barrier gradually melted. Time flew as we talked about everything and anything.
He took us to the town’s only restaurant, Mizar. Conversing over Chianti, we enjoyed the signature pasta dish and a local meat plate. He showed us around the town, taught us local traditions and we said goodbye.
Neither of us knew how to begin processing what had happened. Feeling dreamy and tipsy, we napped in the balmy afternoon air and woke up surrounded by the kittens.
The next day, we explored on our own. Our first stop was the ruins from an earthquake years ago that destroyed many homes and the Catholic school.
Making our way through rubble and deserted houses, we entered the courtyard, where nature had taken over. One direction was an upward view of the town, the other displaying the valley below. Standing there, we grasped that this was where our relatives spent their childhoods.
A strong presence came in that moment, a very peaceful, supportive, loving energy in the air. We were moved, and my dad took a moment for himself. Looking around, I noticed that most of the overgrowth was blackberries.
Laughter bubbled through my emotions. My grandpa Tony was known for loving blackberries. Several years ago, I was harvesting on a camping trip and felt the same companionship as in the courtyard. When I returned, I was reminded on social media that the day it happened was the anniversary of his death. Ever since, I have known that blackberries are his sweet way of saying, “I’m here.”
I called my dad over and told him to look around us. Once he realized, his jaw dropped and tears turned to wonder. As we embraced, I remember saying, “They’re all here with us.” It was a surreal full-circle moment and we left shortly after.
Emotions running high, we explored individually for a bit. Before long, a dog approached me, and I felt like it wanted to lead me somewhere. As I followed, they trotted in front, periodically glancing back to ensure I was still on board.
Finally, they stopped and stared at me. I took in the view and had an indescribable feeling. After that, my guide left, and I continued exploring with my dad.
That night, our family was reminiscing and sent us a photo they found of my great-grandpa Nick and his cousin Maria. There they were, in front of her house — the same spot the dog had led me to.
My five-star guide in front of our final destination — Maria’s doorstep. // Photo by Maddie Federici
On our final day, we watched the sunrise over grassy fields, drenching everything we saw in honey light, sticky with dew and the scent of sweet wildflowers. The air was thick and still, as farmers whistled at their livestock. I wondered if I’d ever feel this peaceful and at home again.
During our last walk-through town, we heard a sweet voice from above us shout, “Ciao, amici americani!”
It was the first woman we met at the town hall, smiling down and waving. Driving away, I knew my life would never be the same.
Since my visit, I’ve made a conscious effort to stay in touch with my family in Italy and continue learning about my heritage. I plan to return to Castelgrande, get to know Pasqualino and his family better and continue passing on the tradition to future generations, including my little sister, Livy.
My journey of rediscovering my roots was more than just a trip to Italy. It was an emotional and transformative experience that taught me when nostalgia is powerful enough, combined with passion, it can transform dreams into reality.