Rosa let go of her mamma’s hand and ran for the rail of the ship. It was a beautiful crisp day; big fluffy white clouds floated over the harbor. The pigtails of her long brown hair swung back and forth as she ran holding on to her straw hat so it didn’t blow off in the breeze, as it has done many times on this voyage. The painted flowers on her dress moved as if they were in an open field in early spring, just dancing in the wind. Rosa reached the rail, grabbed it with both hands, pulled herself up on her toes for a better look and let out a shriek joy. Here was her first view of her Lady in the New York Harbor and her new life in America was about to begin, a memory she would never forget.

Three of us regular riders were spread out in a four-seater of an early-afternoon NJ Transit train discussing the plans for our gardens this year, and what we would share with our neighbors. Sitting in front of us was Marie with her mamma at the window; the big loaf of bread sticking out of their bag was on the seat near the aisle. Marie held her mamma’s hand, and from time to time mamma would turn around to us and smile.

I mentioned sharing the garlic I grow with Carmela, the woman who owned the dry cleaner I use. She in turn would always give me a jar of her sauce when it was done. Her sauce was some of the best I ever had, and Carmela always said it is my garlic that makes it so good. To our surprise, Mamma then rose in her seat and turned around. She asked, “Do you use the dry cleaner in Monticello?” I said, “I do.” She shook my hand and in her thick Italian accent said, “My name is Rosa, and that’s MY gravy Carmela is giving you.” We all laughed, and then Rosa began telling her story of how she would make gravy with her sister each year, and Carmela always said she grew the best garlic that made it so delicious.

Rosa was in her eighties now, and her eyes were as wide and bright as they were on that first day when she saw the Statue of Liberty. Her father was a stone mason working in America, sending for her mother and her after he was settled. Carmela was born here a few years after they arrived. Her father had followed the work with a large group of stone artisans who did much of the work on the old mansions in the Hudson Valley. They finally settled on a farm in the black dirt section of Pine Island. Marie joined in the conversation; she too had a garden in her home near Montgomery. Mamma Rosa taught her all she needed to know about life and gardening. Rosa told us her mother’s biggest fear of coming to America was not being able to plant a garden in the big city. Luckily for them, they were only in the city for a few weeks before heading upstate. Gardening and the love of growing things binds all generations and nationalities.

As they prepared to leave the train, Rosa took off her head scarf and let her hair down. There were her braided tails. She turned, smiled at me, and I could see that little girl in her eyes. “Wait till I see my sister at church on Sunday; she will have some explaining to do.” With that, down the aisle she went leaving behind quite a tale to tell.