European Escapades

I've been on many family trips before, but never on a plane. And not with 7 of us. It was an experience, if nothing else! I moved all my earthly belongings home from Darby on the 22nd, dumped them into my new room/storage space upstairs in approximately 15 minutes, and then headed to Dillon to meet with an old friend. We visited for several hours before I realized my time was running short, so I continued my journey to Clark Canyon Reservoir to pick up Mateo's girlfriend, Jillisa. We made it back just in time for dinner, and then I had to pack and go to sleep. Not terribly early, of course. My phone alarm decided not to function the next morning, since I don't have cell service out here, so Jillisa and I were close to half an hour late to Helena, resulting in her missing her flight. She was able to get a later one, so I left her there and zoomed back to Butte, where I met up with the rest of my travel companions and we headed to Bozeman for our first leg o the journey. Getting a bunch of travel greenhorns through security, (even at Bozeman), was memorable. Dad had a western shirt on with all those snaps, plus a gargantuan belt buckle, plus two metal hips to get through. The boys didn't unload their passports or phones into the containers, and they had to have their huge contact solution bottles tested for dangerous chemicals. Oy!
We met Jillisa in Minneapolis and made it to London without much in the way of excitement. Seth, Caia, and the kids met us there and we drove in our 2-vehicle caravan up to RAF Lakenheath. The first night, we just sort of chilled, settled in, grilled burgers and steaks, and went to sleep.
All the females shopped for groceries for the entirety of the trip, since each one had two days to cook for. The guys were on teams for dish duty. We went to the market at Bury St. Edmunds on Saturday and browsed around. After church on Sunday, Mom, Caleb, Seth, and I went with Taylor, (staying with Caia and Seth while her mom was in the U.S.), to see her horse. What a strange system. Both she and her mom pay 20 pounds a week for the privilege of watering, feeding, grooming, training, etc. They are leasing the horses, basically, and when they no longer can care for them, someone else "adopts" one. That's spendy!
We went gokarting on Monday. It was fun, but I wish I would have figured out NOT to use my breaks at all, or much less, at least. Seth beat everyone, of course, and had lapped each kart at LEAST twice by the end of 30 laps.
On Tuesday, we loaded into the vehicles and drove to Stonehenge, then Glastonbury Abbey, and then through Bath, though we didn't have time to stop there. We had run out of daylight and travel-tolerance on the part of one Titus and one Chloe of the Seth Salusso family. The Abbey was quite majestic and peaceful. I wandered mostly by myself and found the fish pond. They had some strange fish in there, and I found a lovely solace standing along the edge. We stayed at a hotel on RAF Fairford, which was a fabulous way to stay somewhere. I got to cook that night, which was interesting in such a small kitchen, but the couscous turned out alright anyway. We went to Monmouth, Wales the next day, which was fun. We had lunch in a former coach stop, and chatted with a gentleman there. We strolled around a bit, stopped in a few shops, and went to the local history museum, which was largely dedicated to the life of Admiral Horatio Nelson. On our way out of town, we walked over Monnow Bridge, which is the oldest bridge of its design in all of Britain. We drove directly back to RAF Lakenheath, with a bit of a confusing detour through Cambridge, as a section of highway was closed for maintenance, and all the detours just looped back to the closed highway.
Thursday was a rest day, but Mom, Caia, Jillisa, and I went to the nearby village of Thetford to walk along the river a bit and browse another English village. They had swans and other fowl on the banks, and Mom had her hand gnawed on by a swan!
Friday was our London tour. We watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham, stood outside Westminster Cathedral, wondering why it looked nothing like our idea of Westminster Abbey, (not until after we left London did we realize our mistake), went through the V & A Museum, (free, and probably the only thing I really enjoyed in London...except of course for one to come), and then the Sherlock Holmes museum at 221b Baker Street! We brought the stuffed The Cheat, (see characters from homestarrunner.com for explanation), with us on all our journeys and photographed him at famous places. The dressed up guard at the museum entrance was kind enough to pose with the Cheat, even though he had NO clue as to what he was. So I gave him the address to corrupt his mind. :0)
We drove north on Saturday to relax and see a crumbly castle. We went to Castle Rising Castle, the best-preserved castle in England. It was probably most people's favorite part of the trip, with the continuation of our trip to the beach at Hunstanton. Queen Isabella spent the remainder of her life there, after playing a part in the murder of her husband, King Edward II. It was really interesting. The wind made our trip to the beach fiercely beautful. It was a bit cold for the little guys, so we found a little pub area and had some hot chocolate. Mmmm!
We recovered, packed, and had fun on Sunday, complete with a solid game of Taboo. Unfortunately, Seth had to sleep early, since he started his shift at 1 AM. I was up to see him off, trying to combine everyone's photos, (a combined effort of over 1,000), and I finally made it sleep at 2 AM. Then we were up and off to the airport on a typically rainy, misty English morning.
We got back to the Bozeman airport just before midnight, and we were all VERY ready to be home and in bed. However, some lady had a flat tire, so Dad helped change it, and then I had to pick up my car in Butte, complete with frosted windows. I've missed my favorite season! We got back around 2 in the morning, and a very bleary-eyed Craig came to greet us. He had stayed to watch the place for us during our absence. We talked a little bit before everyone else disappeared to their respective rooms and I crashed on the couch. However, by that point, I wasn't sleepy. But my throat was scratchy and my nose was a bit stuffy. So, trying not to wake the other couch-dwellers, I didn't get to sleep until almost 3:30, and woke up for some dang reason at 5:30 AM! I thought I would just get a spot of tea, use the bathroom, and head back for some more z's, but no. Dad got up for work just after 6 AM, Craig just after that, and Craig and I chatted until he left for work, and then Mom got up. I was doomed. So after picking up Jillisa from Helena, shopping for a few groceries, and coming back for dinner with her family, I started a rapid decline from consciousness. It was lovely.
I had big plans to accomplish much in the moving into my new room upstairs process, but have done nothing but try to load pictures and shower. It's glorious. Here's to tomorrow!

And There Is A Season...

...for everything under heaven. And now is my season for endings and new beginnings...again. Six years of university now securely under my belt, and the whole world before me; whatever will I do? Which adventure will I embark upon?
My grandmother finally passed away last week, so I am without grandparents now. Aunt Ernie also died. It's as if my whole childhood is dying. I guess it's good to completely move on to the present moment and leg of my life journey. Death of any sort always makes me ponder. What stories will people tell about my life when I'm gone? What legacy will I leave? Will I live my moments and opportunities to the fullest, or will I settle for the ordinary?
And since I'm teetering on the edge of "career" choices, or at least the next step in my life, I'm trying to decide where I want to go and how to get there...and when to go once I figure out the aforementioned dilemmas. Not worrying, just wanting to see the next step. It's kind of like tango, I guess. As the follower, I have a tendency to try to predict the leader's step and try to get there too fast. A helpful individual reminded me to balance, and wait until the last possible moment to transition my weight to the next step. I'm impatiently trying to guess what's going to happen to me in the next year or so, and in doing so, I'm neglecting that elegant pause and reflection, feeling the lead, and transitioning to the next move with grace, rather than with clumsy blundering.
In truth, I really enjoy being done, though, as one friend warned, being done with so much idle time is starting to make me itch with the lack of purpose. I hate not having something useful to do. It wears on the nerves and suffocates my passion. What have I been doing with this empty space in my schedule? Well, a few great things have come of it. I have been taking fiddle lessons for almost a month now. I love making measurable progress! I also got back into tango and just finished a 3-day workshop with an instructor from Argentina. I am reconnecting with friends I've neglected all semester. I spent time with my sister-in-law and nieces/nephew when possible. I went back to Ophir School to sub for my English cooperating teacher when she got married and visit "my kids".
The tentative plan for closing this door and opening the next is to move to Darby, MT for the summer with my sister Laura and bro-in-law, and see if I am accepted to the Honduras teaching position I've applied for, or in some other location...maybe Columbus, MT? I'm having a harder time leaving Bozeman than I thought I would, but we'll see what the summer does. Maybe the change in locale will help clear my vision a bit.
Alright, there's an update. Maybe I'll try to think of something witty and enjoyable to read before another 6 months has gone by. Ciao!

Legacy of a Name (Conclusion)

Massismo D’Azeglio, an Italian statesman, once said of the newly-formed country of Italy, “We have made Italy; now we must make Italians. To make Italy out of Italians one must not be in a hurry.” I feel as though the search for my own identity is very similar to D’Azegli’s statement; “We have made a family, now we must make them Salussos. To make Salussos of a family, one must not be in a hurry.” It has taken three generations of Salussos in the United States to make me. I am the product of culture translated over oceans and time, and, though I have searched to discover my identity, I have learned that I am an unfinished product. I change moment to moment, piecing together the clues to who I am, who I was, and who I may be in the future. I run this leg of the identity journey, but I change, moment to moment, taking my time in fulfilling the next portion of the Salusso legacy.

Legacy of a Name (Barney Salusso)

Barney opened his eyes as the morning light peeked timidly in through the window over the East Ridge. The miners in Butchertown were switching shifts again, calling greetings to one another in the streets. Barney rolled out of bed and stretched. He splashed water in his face from the basin and then carefully dressed for another day of delivery, carefully putting on his starched white shirt and tie, like he did every morning.


The garden at Bull Run was particularly abundant this summer, and he was grateful. He walked into the kitchen and set about making his customary pancakes for breakfast. His little robin chirped in his cage. Barney chuckled quietly to himself. So nice, his little “pettirosso” or robin. She loved pancakes. He broke off a few crumbs and fed it to the bird between the wires of the cage. It was time to let her out for the day. She would come home just before the sun fell behind the western horizon. He opened the cage, and she flew out the window, and Barney continued getting ready for work.

Not much is known about my great grandfather Barney before he came to America. He did not talk much of Italy or of his childhood. His grandchildren and daughter conjecture that it was too hard to leave his family and homeland to keep bringing it up. I know that he was also a hard worker from a young age. When was 14, he led a cow over the Alps into France to be sold. His only daughter, Mary Calcaterra, thinks he came from a family of four boys and one girl. One of his brothers moved to Argentina and raised a large family there. Apparently, from 1870-1900, the standard of living in rural Italy fell dramatically due to a reduction in shipping charges. North American and Argentine produce flooded the market, sending Italy into an agricultural depression. Families were spending three quarters of their income on food, and this amount was barely enough to avoid starvation. In Northern Italy, most of the rural inhabitants lived solely on polenta. However, this meager diet caused severe vitamin deficiency, which then resulted in a disease called “pellagra,” characterized by insanity and death (Oxford History of Italy).
If the poor standard of living didn’t bring Barney to America, he may have come as a result of the lack of work. He came to America just as Italy was undergoing its second industrial revolution, which involved the development of hydroelectrical industry. Barney, however, would not have been part of that revolution. Giovanni Giolitti was the leading statesman at that time, following King Umberto’s assassination in July of 1900. He allowed, for the first time, the unions of rural laborers freedom to organize. Two hundred thousand laborers showed up for the first strike, protesting the work conditions and pay on behalf of their starving, dying families. It is very interesting to note that Barney moved from a country of “separate government and strong local identity” and labor unions to Butte, Montana—a city of warring political powers and strong local identity and heritage (Lintner). He also left an agricultural depression in Italy, only to find another in Montana, which lasted from 1910-1940, mixed with the Great Depression. But Butte had more opportunity than much of the rest of the country for a man of vision and ambition.
My great grandfather made it to Butte and stayed at the Tamietti boarding house. One day, in 1910, he was riding southeast of Brown’s Gulch, and he happened upon Bull Run Gulch. He fell in love with the gulch and proceeded to homestead it with George Johnson. There is some speculation in the family that he had tried hard rock mining briefly, but couldn’t stand to be underground. He and Johnson piped a spring into Bull Run, dug a well, and built a house out of recycled timber from a house they had demolished in Walkerville. He was handy at carpentry, plumbing, and mechanics, and clearly had a green thumb. He started a large garden of cabbage, lettuce, carrots, etc., and as soon as it produced, he would cart the vegetables in to sell them to the miners living in the boarding houses.
When he had made enough money, he sent for a bride from Italy. Margarita Chiono Roncoglioni arrived from Priacco, Italy, roughly 56 miles south of Barney’s hometown in Pinerolo. Both towns are located at the foot of the Piedmont, but would have been fairly isolated before the age of vehicles and highways. Margarita, or Maggie, arrived under the agreement that, if she didn’t want to marry Barney upon meeting him, she would return directly to Italy. Obviously, she chose to stay. Barney was a good-natured, patient man, with a quiet humor.
He was not a man of great stature, but he made up for it in hard work. Maggie became the matriarchal head of the family on account of her strong personality and controlling nature.
At that time, the Salussos were strictly Catholic, and attended mass at St. Lawrence Church every Sunday possible. After mass, the family would return home and enjoy “bagna calda”, a dish of hot butter, olive oil, garlic, and anchovies. Business must have been fairly good for the family, because Barney was able to purchase the small house in Butchertown in 1921. And Mary Calcaterra remembers that when she and George were very young, they would each receive a whole dollar for Christmas. She would buy Maggie a box of chocolate-covered cherries and George would purchase a pouch of Prince Albert pipe tobacco for Barney with his gift. My family has a long tradition of taking care of each other, in all circumstances.
They also know how to make do with that they have on hand. In a world before refrigerated delivery trucks, Barney cut the back out of a car, filled it with ice, and covered it with a canvas to keep the dairy and vegetables from spoiling. Salussos are a resourceful, pragmatic family.

Legacy of a Name (George Salusso)

A large part of Dad’s drive was a result of his relationship with his father, George. By the time Steve arrived in ’52, George had accumulated heart problems and lost interest in working. Steve’s youngest sister Carol described Papa as being a “great worker, a marginal manager, and a man who sought what he could not achieve.” His wife, Ruth, described him in a poem titled “The Boxer”:

My husband is a boxer----------

Not the fisticuffer kind;

But all his papers, legal things,

And things that he must find.

He averages one box a week,

But when stacks begin to fall,

There comes the question,

Where to put it? Front porch,

Back porch? HALL?

When something is lost, confusion reins,

Each box must then be checked.

And I must keep my wifely charm,

So he won’t feel henpecked!

I love this busy boxer,

Would love to help him with each chore;

But I admit, this boxing bit

Bugs me more and more.

Will the boxes win the victory?

Will they usurp our place?

Oh Papa, what’s the answer?

With this I rest my case.

Earlier in his life, however, George, (or Papa to us), worked a lot, and had a broad network of friends and acquaintances. Like my father, he was born in the time of war and conflict. From a global perspective, WWI was tearing cultures and families apart. More locally, Butte was in the aftermath of the Copper King Feud and suffering from the Great Depression. By 1915, there were more than 2.6 people per square mile in Butte (Montana Legacy), increased from the 30,470 in 1900 (Burlinghame).

The year Papa arrived, the Daly and Rockefeller Amalgamated Copper Mines Company changed its name back to the Anaconda Copper Mining Company. The first of two major hard rock mining disasters occurred that same year; the major catastrophe of the Speculator Fire in 1917, which claimed at least 167 lives, predated the fire in the Pennsylvanian Mine the following year.

Even though by then, WWI was over, Butte remained in turmoil. The North Butte Mining Company suggested that the Spec Fire was the fault of pro-German sympathizers, which caused the first major strike in 39 years. The Spec Fire turned out to be the Kryptonite of Manus Duggan, who gave his life to save numerous other miners. So Steve and George were born under starkly similar circumstances, though 37 years apart.

The Salusso family lived on the homesteaded farm in Bull Run until 1921, when Barney bought a small home in Butchertown in order to be closer to his work. They leased Bull Run Gulch to a Korean family. George began his short school career at the Sherman School. On his way to school every morning, he would deliver milk bottles, tied in a dishtowel, to customers on Daly Street, and then pick them up on the way home. He became the target of neighborhood bullies, so he learned to run, which helped him when he played baseball at noon recess.

In 1926, when George was 11, the Korean family moved out of Bull Run Gulch, adding to the work load of the Salusso family. Barney made George a pair of cross-country skis out of barrel staves to travel during the winter between the ranch in Bull Run, Butchertown, and Walkerville. During the summer, they used a horse and wagon to deliver milk and vegetables into customers in Walkerville and Butte. In 1927, they bought a car, and George had to drive the delivery vehicle to the boarding houses where the miners lived. He made friends easily, and was very gregarious with strangers. In those days, the miners often referred to each other by nicknames alone, so Papa, though he knew many people, rarely knew their real names. He never smoked or drank as a result of seeing the miners in those boarding houses working so hard in such abject conditions and then spending their hard-earned living on liquor and cigarettes. He saw the sickness that resulted from their lifestyle and chose to live his own differently.

He was too busy working to finish high school. He started his first year at Butte High School, but dropped out to continue his dairy and vegetable deliveries. His future wife, Ruth Richards, graduated from Butte High in 1933. They were family friends, and knew each other from gradeschool at Sherman. He took her to the prom at the pavilion at the Columbia Gardens, in the years before the Berkley Pit, and, after a three-year engagement, they married on May 22, 1939.

In 1941, George and Barney purchased a farm in Divide to raise hay for the dairy cows. “They hired a man to irrigate the hay then when the hay was dry then mowed it with the horse mower, ran a rake to put it in rows, then the buck rake with two horses pushed it into the stack” (Richards). George had to be everywhere at once during haying season. When WWII broke out, he and Barney planted 35 acres of potatoes because enough of the right crop planted for the war effort kept the farmers from having to fight overseas. In 1945, Barney and George ordered a $20,000 dairy barn kit from Wisconsin. At that time, it was state-of-the-art to have milking machines in it.

A year later, George inherited the farm when Barney died after having a simple surgery to fix a hernia. The doctors did not know he was a bleeder; they fixed the hernia, but he bled to death. George and his then family of four children moved to a rented house in Walkerville. In 1953, due to a carelessly tossed cigarette, the Walkerville Dairy burned down. In 1955, George left his partnership in the Nash car business and moved the family back to Divide. The Salusso family and Tony Calcaterra, Papa’s only sister’s husband, continued milking cows at Divide and pasturing the dry ones at Bull Run. Shortly thereafter, they stopped delivering door to door, and instead separated the cream and hauled it to the Divide Railroad Station to be shipped to the Dillon Creamery. They sold the remaining cows in 1964 and George took up roofing and construction.

Papa had to have a heart valve replaced in 1976, (one of Dad’s excuses to go to Spokane), and was told by his doctor that he had already had twelve to thirteen minor heart attacks. It seems as though a few times while he was up on ladders or after he had eaten too much food, he would pass out and his face would turn black. The surgery helped some, but his heart continued to bother him.

He was a brilliant salesman, with grand schemes and little or no follow-through. He bought a railcar full of fertilizer spreaders and sold them, and the leftovers he would use or store. Apparently, he did this for many items needed on the farm. He wouldn’t buy one of anything, but a lot of everything and then try to sell the excess. When he demolished buildings, he would bring home the leftovers. To this day, we have the skeletal remains of countless demolition projects from around the southwestern portion of the state.

George was raised “fanatically” (Calcaterra) Catholic, but once on his own, he never took the time to pursue any religion. He married a dedicated Baptist woman, but after their marriage, he never set foot in a church again. My own father and mother brought their family to church, sent us to Bible camps during the summers, and involved us in youth group during high school. Our interest in religion was more a result of the influence of my mom and Ruth, (Richards), than George. He was over-churched, and I guess my Dad felt under-churched, so he worked at intertwining God back into our legacy.

Papa died of a heart attack on Thanksgiving Day in 1985 when he saw his house in Divide on fire. Hunters who saw the flames arrived in time to save a few items of furniture and belongings, but the house burned to the ground. So I never got to know Papa, but I hear that he loved the grandchildren he lived to hold. Dad describes him as having a gentle, loving nature in his later years, though he rarely showed it to his own family in prior times. Salussos are a gregarious, many-talented people who love to meet people and to try new things.

Legacy of a Name (Stephen Salusso)

In 1952, the U.S. developed the first hydrogen bomb, following on the heels of Britain’s atom bomb. The Korean War would still continue for four years before it ended. Hemmingway and Steinbeck both published novels, Jonas Salk developed a vaccine for polio, and Superman died. And while all the world writhed in conflict and birthed major events, Stephen Bernard was born in Butte, MT on January 18th. When he was four, his family moved out to Divide, MT. My father has lived an entire life of driven pursuit of provision.
Even as a very young child, he was given many responsibilities. He told me of the summers he acted as a human fence, guarding the fields and garden from bovine invasion. He also helped feed and milk the cows while he was in grade school at Divide School. In addition to the hay, they fed potatoes to the cows. His mom, Ruth, would drive into Butte and pick up a carload of people to help with the potato harvest, and then fill large sacks with the tubers and pour them down ramps. Dad and the other kids would have to pick out the rocks and sort the good potatoes form the seed ones. They were careful, but still sometimes small rocks would hide among the potatoes, and Dad would occasionally have to dodge the rocks pinging off the barn walls as the cows coughed them up. Papa sold all the cows in 1967 when Dad was a sophomore at Butte High School.
Dad began cross-country skiing in high school, and competed in that sport actively through the end of his senior year and on through college. He went to Montana Tech briefly before transferring to MSU-Bozeman to complete his major in Range Science. He also coached the MSU cross-country team for a year after he had finished college.

Tech Skiers to compete

A U.S. Ski Association Northern Division meet this weekend in Dillon will test the skills of the Montana Tech Nordic ski team.
Competition will be Saturday and Sunday at Maverick Mountain (Rainy Mountain) and will pit the Tech team against other squads including Montana State University and the University of Montana.
Tech coach Dr. Paul Sawyer, assistant professor of biological sciences, reports Tech’s Nordic skiers have much better depth and balance than last year. He predicts MSU will be hard to beat, but he admits he knows little about the UM skiers.
MONTANA TECH possesses one of the top skiers in the Northern Division of the U.S. Ski Association in Steve Salusso, a sophomore from Divide. Salusso won the Northern Division cross-country championship last year and recently participated in the Olympic training camp at Big Sky.
Two members of last year’s Northern Division junior national squad, Tom Downey and Rich Barnett, both Butte freshmen, also are on the Tech team. Sawyer said Downey could develop into “one of the best skiers in the Northern Division.”
Rounding out the cross-country team are two other local freshmen, Dick Hofacker and Steve Johnston.
A jumping team, composed of Mike Patterson, a sophomore from Divide, Downey and Barnett, also will compete in the meet.




TRAINS FOR COMPETITION-Steve Salusso, left, star Montana Tech Nordic skier, prepares for this weekend’s U.S. Association Northern Division meet at Maverick Mountain near Dillon. Following Salusso is Tech coach Dr. Paul Sawyer. (Staff Photo by Cliff Moore)


Following the meet Sawyer and Salusso have a busy schedule as members of the Northern Division team. They will enter a 15-kilometer meet in Lyndonville, Vt., Dec. 27, and will compete in the U.S.S.A. men’s relay championship Dec. 29, also at Lyndonville.
SALUSSO WILL engage in the 15-kilometer Olympic tryouts Dec. 31, at Lake Placid, N.Y. Competing in these races with Salusso will be two other Montana skiers, Steve Settle, and Brian Troth of MSU.
Closing the holiday racing schedule for the Montana Tech pair will be a 30-kilometer meet at Craftsbury Common, Vt., Jan. 2.

Stephen had met and married my mom, Joan Ripley, by August 1977. They met at various ski competitions and, when Mom went to Spokane to finish her schooling in Medical Technology, Dad just “happened” to find reasons to travel to Spokane to see her. My oldest sister was born in 1979, and the next sister, thirteen months after that. The eldest was a toddler just in time to go to the Lake Placid Olympics with my parents, when Dad worked there in 1980.
Right out of college, Dad had grand plans to work for the Bureau of Land Management, but the only openings at the time were in Las Vegas. Instead, he got a job at the pump station in Divide, Montana. During the winter of 1986, he picked up a temporary job at the Montana State Highway Department. This temporary job became a permanent one, and he continues to work for the State today.
Dad inherited the farm because he was the only one of his siblings that showed interest in staying and finding a way to make it produce. He felt responsible for carrying on the legacy that his grandfather Barney had begun. George had worn himself out with working by the time Dad was born, so Dad picked up the slack and pressed forward. Even in college, he went home on the weekends to irrigate and do whatever else needed to be done. During the first few years of his marriage, he would keep his mom’s woodstove stocked and burning, even though Papa was still alive.
My father is the sort of person who serves others, regardless of the cost to himself. When I was young, we took several road trips to visit family friends. The eight of us Salussos would pile into our old blue twelve passenger van and trek across the country. It seemed that whenever we would vacation, Dad would still be working. If our hosts’ faucet leaked, he’d fix it. If the roof was in ill-repair, he’d patch it. Garage need cleaning? Steve was on the job. The year I was born, in 1984, Dad decided to upgrade the irrigation system on the farm, though we were still living on the twenty acres across the Bighole River from the main property. The hand line sprinkler system increased coverage and crop production. We have grown alfalfa mixed hay for as long as I can remember. When we had to replant, we would start with oats, and the oats would provide adequate shade for the young alfalfa crop. After a year or so, the alfalfa would again constitute the main crop.
Several years ago, Dad began to suffer acute pain in his lower back. He had to have both hips replaced, though he was stubborn for years, and put the surgery off for as long as possible. He has very little trust in doctors, and often said he’d go to the doctor when he could no longer walk at all. Hard work and stubborn independence is in his blood, the blood he gave to me. Salussos are stubbornly independent hard workers.

Legacy of a Name (Prologue)

Prologue
I am born of earth and sweat and passionate ambition, but who am I? My surname is Salusso; would not this rose, by any other name, perhaps be a different flower altogether? Our names carry history and definition.
My great grandfather first came to America from Pinerolo, Italy in 1907 seeking better work, and forged a new life here. I know him through documents, through dusty photographs, and stories, and I know him because his blood runs in my veins. I seek to bring to life these characters of my past, to give them voice and to research the border between factual history and historical fiction.
In this project, I will trace the lives and histories of my great grandfather Barney Salusso and his bride Margarita Chiono Roncoglioni, their son George and his wife Ruth, and, finally, my own parents. My intent is to discover how the marriage of authorial voice and oral tradition, history and sensory memory, have birthed my own identity as an American devoid of la lingua di origine of my ancestors, but full of adventure, rich with family tradition, and striving to continue this legacy of time and fluid existence.

Random Procrastinating Note

OK, so a crazy random occurrence...occurred today. I was sitting in ICT, trying to cram for my Arabic exam tomorrow, write my final written and oral presentations for the same class, and trying to organize my thoughts on life and love and happiness and then the.....(Houseplant Song, anyone??), when all of a sudden, I was distracted by an elderly lady sitting by herself at one of the tables. I thought of my grandma, and was struck by a strange protective feeling towards the woman. Anyway, after a bit, I resumed my studies, only to be distracted again by a younger woman, (presumably her daughter), asking in a perceivably irritated manner if she would be able to walk out to the curb. I didn't want to interfere, so I kept pretending oblivion, until I saw the old lady standing by the door, alone, for a long period of time, barely able to support her own weight. So I went and asked if she would like some assistance out to the car...afraid of a slip and broken hip or something. And to my delight, she responded in a most favorable manner, and accepted my offer. I saw a gleam of very distinguished beauty in her grateful eyes.
It made my day.
I wonder a lot about old people. I will be one of them one day. I wonder at their life stories. What adventures did they live at my age? What do they think about their lives, looking back? Do they have regrets that overshadow the good memories? Were they college graduates? Did they give up their personal dreams to support their families? Human life is so frail, and yet so perseverant! I am awed at these glimpses of other microcosmic dramas. So many lives, so many pains, so many joys...how does God endure all these extreme emotions all at once, and not shatter into a bazillion pieces of pulsing pain and confusion? That's how I feel sometimes. Like I cannot understand, organize, or label my feelings, and therefore I will explode if I don't find an outlet.
OK, I'm done now. Back to Arabic.

The Battlefield

She looked out the rose-stained window and watched the rain drip
Down like torrents of slippery, hot blood,
And wondered when the last bit of rain
Would fall, plummeting down to the ground in silent agony,
Vastly alone among the thousands of comrades;
She wondered most about the man she missed.

And he was in the middle of the smoke and mist,
Fighting for his life, his breathing labored and sweat a steady drip,
Wondering how many had fallen in his company of comrades,
Lying on the weeping ground, covered in their own blood,
Fear tormented his soul, and so he fought in agony,
Blinded by the salty mist of tears and of rain.

They had been battling for days, sloshing in the rain
Fighting blindly with dark shadows in the swirling mist,
Their muscles groaning almost audibly with agony;
Bone-chilling weather slowing their movements like a cold molasses drip,
And turned cold the once hot and boiling blood
That surged through the veins of the fighting comrades.

But the men had not always been such close comrades,
Friendship had been forged from training missions in the rain.
And through hardship, they had formed a bond tighter than blood,
As each one fell, he felt as though a part of his soul he missed,
As if a frozen, lethal poison was infiltrating his veins in a slow drip,
Leaving him to suffer in a crippling agony.

And all at once, he felt a new, tangible form of agony
Enter his body below his ribs. He fought to protect the comrades
Who were still standing, but weakened steadily as the dark red drip
Soaked through his clothing layers to mix with the rain.
And though he fought still, his eyes began to mist.
He thought of her then, as the world went red as with blood.

She was still standing there, looking through the windows that looked like blood,
Not knowing whether he would live or die, her heart in agony
Mourning already the part of her heart she missed.
Not seeking comfort from sympathetic comrades,
But waiting out the unjust battle, fought against an unjust reign,
Defying the corrupt power flow, trying to choke it to a drip.

Her lover, soaking in pooled blood, lie on the chilled earth with his comrades,
The fierce and futile agony of battle over, his body carefully cleansed by the rain;
A burial ceremony lost in the obscurity of the mist, and his mortality fell to earth as a stilled drip.

Love Sonnet Cycle: English/Italian

Mist

My love is vague and fleeting after rain,
Like twilight he is neither day nor night,
I often dream, beneath the stars have lain,
In hope he might transpire upon my sight.

Most oft he blurs the visage trapped behind
His cloak of swirling droplets. Just as I
Reach out to touch, he disappears on wind;
He comes and goes upon my ling’ring sigh.

On silv’ry threads he shivers, then he shines,
With kiss of light from quiv’ring gentle breeze
To tease and tug upon the lethal lines
But won’t be caught; entrapped by none of these.

To see my love, await the coming dawn,
When fears and all obscurities are gone.

The Silhouette

When rays of sleepy sun come peek upon
The stretched horizon found to east of shore,
When darkness, fear, and dusk are found no more,
The morning after night is hailed the dawn.
My love to me is slowly taking on
A shape I see I think I saw before,
The vapored sunlight bright as gold does pour
Around his formless face. And with fear gone,

I revel dancing, gleaming soft delight;
We sway with hands entwined like rosy vine.
My love is dew that nestles close to grass,
Resplendent dashing valor blinds my sight,
In tiny glimpses, see this love of mine,
In air suspended. Time does cease to pass.