The Sitio

This is a story about the place I grew up. The Sitio as we call it in Portuguese. I guess you could say it is a ranch. There are lakes, a barn with a grill and a pizza oven and a large table in the middle. There are trees with fruits. You can pick fresh mangoes to last you at least two lifetimes. Where I received countless bug bites, scratched knees, But most of all, this is a story about my family. The ones who came before me and us now.

My story begins when my great-great grandparents moved their families from Austria and Italy to Brazil circa 1910’s and 1920’s. Much like my father moved our small little family, just me, him and my mom, from Brazil to the United States in 2012. My grandma, Marizilda, Waldemar and Nahyr’s daughter, married Erwin, Karl and Maria’s son. They had two beautiful girls who I’m proud to call my mother and aunt. Their names are Niure, and Nivia. Niure, my mother, married Jorge. And Nivia, my aunt, married Alexandre. I, Rebeca, was the first grandchild, and the reason behind this land purchase. The story goes that on a Saturday afternoon my grandpa took my mom and dad to see a piece of land, they had been married for about 7 years and did not have children yet, he took them to the highest part of the land (close to where the big house is now located) and my parents fell in love with it. So, my grandpa told them, “if you promise to give me a grandchild I will buy the land.” That’s where I come in. Then, came William who is only about a year younger than I am and Nicole who was born in 2009.

There are two houses. The top house is big, and grand. It is my yellow house. It has a balcony on the top floor, beautiful wood ceilings and a cuckoo clock. There is always a jigsaw puzzle being done on the upstairs table, and the finished ones are hung around the house. My grandma passed down her love of puzzles to me. Now, I always have a jigsaw puzzle going on with my father in our house. For years the lower house was where my biso (great-grandpa) and bisa (great-grandma) lived. After they passed away it was unoccupied, until a cousin began living there. Eventually, the cousin left and the house was empty again. But then, unexpectedly, our family became fractured. My grandmother and grandfather divorced amid the Covid 19 pandemic and things changed. It was a shock, I still haven’t fully wrapped my head around it and I know my mother and aunt haven’t either. Love is a weird thing. We assumed my grandfather would move out, leaving my grandmother alone in the big house, taking care of this beautiful but massive and time consuming land by herself. However, he simply moved down to the lower, smaller house. My grandma and grandpa continue to coexist on their land. It’s weird for us, my mom and my aunt don’t understand or agree with it. We probably never will. But they are not in a place to tell their parents what to do.

The barn. Recently, my father was looking at old photos that he saved from when we still used digital cameras. Among these archives there are countless videos of me and my cousins and family in the barn, hanging out, taking naps, listening to music, talking, and cooking. My purest memories are in that barn. I remember large family gatherings with people who we were related to but also people from my grandmother’s church. I recall having over 100 people at the barn, and someone was always making pizza in the back. I remember the dogs, Menina (or Girl) and Rex, always following us and searching for any food we might drop.

The pool. It is situated in between the big house and the lower house. I could talk about this pool for hours. One of my fondest memories comes from a typical sunny afternoon, I was probably around 6 or 7. I was sitting in the shallow end of the pool, with my chest on the edge and my arms and hand out of the clear blue water. I felt something brush against my small hand and noticed an orange butterfly land on it. My dad inched close to me on his tiptoes and pulled out a camera to capture the moment. I felt so special. I honestly don’t remember if I noticed it right then, or if we only noticed after looking at the photo, but the butterfly had an “R” on its wings. This small detail made the experience even more special since my first name “Rebeca” starts with an “R.” Naturally, I also have memories of running around the pool with my cousin William, or begging my grandma to walk us down there as we couldn’t go alone.

The lakes. As I grew up, my grandpa began to teach me how to fish. We would walk down the long path to the two lakes on the property. Halfway to the lakes there is a shack that contains all the fishing poles, bait, buckets and fish food. We would stop there, gather our supplies and continue the trek down to the lakes. Once we arrived, we would set up our supplies on the grassy floor, and my grandpa would send me with a shovel to find worms in the ground at a place where the forest floor was moist. Meanwhile, my grandfather would be throwing fish food into the water in order to attract the fish closer to the riverbank. I would then return with four or five earthworms on my arms. My grandpa would grab them, put them on the hook and send it into the water. In a matter of minutes a fish would get caught, and my grandpa would pull the pole out of the water, take the small fish off the hook and throw it into a bucket. Eventually, he taught me how to hook a worm, and how it felt when a fish had bitten down on the hook, and later how to unhook the fish without hurting yourself. At one end of the riverbank there was a perfectly tilted tree. It leaned back just enough and thus, allowed someone to comfortably lean on it. This tree became “my tree” and everyone knew it.

After my parents and I left Brazil my grandfather decided that he would sell the Sitio. Since he is retired, my grandfather wanted to sell the Sitio in order to acquire more money so that he would be able to visit us in the United States more often. I hated the idea of selling the Sitio. The Sitio is a part of me, I am so connected to that land. When I am there, it feels like an extension of myself. My feet fit on the ground, my fingers fit every fruit I take, the air lives within me. I realize now that I don’t need the Sitio to keep these memories within me, they are here forever.

The house was always full, busy, and loud. My grandma’s love language is “acts of kindness” and hospitality. I have so many memories of her cooking for large groups of people, greeting everyone that came into her house by name, whipping up a last minute cake, and never sitting down to eat until everyone else had food on their plate. There were always people coming in and out. My grandmother loves to serve. Even now that her and my grandfather have gotten divorced, she continues to cook for him and do his laundry. My mother, my aunt and I disagree with this, we don’t think it’s fair to her, but we know that it’s in her nature and that we can’t change her as much as we try.

Although I no longer go to the Sitio every week like I used to growing up, it remains. The houses are still there, the barn stands strong, the pool is always filled to the brim. My tree is there too, it hasn’t eroded away or been taken down by rough rain and winds like many other trees at the Sitio. Nothing really ever changes at the Sitio. That comforts me. In a world of constant change, I know that when I have a chance to go back to the Sitio it will be just as I left it. My family is not without its flaws, or fights. We are not perfect. But the land we share in common is.