by Lori Vadala Bizzoco

Created on: December 13, 2008   Last Updated: December 28, 2008

Palermo: it's not just a city in Italy. When people hear that my fondest childhood memories were spent growing up in Palermo, the first thought that comes to mind is the beautiful Sicilian city. Although I am of Italian descent and my ancestors are from Sicily, the town where we lived bears little resemblance to the city bearing the same name.

It confused me as a child that such a prominent geographical location could have a duplicate tag in a completely different part of the world. But a few more years under my belt made me realize that this was common practice. My high school was in Mexico, my friends lived in Texas, my favorite carnival was in Phoenix, summer camp was in Cleveland and they were all within a ten mile radius of my home in Palermo. When the first settlers moved into these rural upstate New York regions and gave names to the land, apparently they didn't think anyone would notice.

So, although it's not Italy, let me tell you what Palermo is like.

It stretches for 25,000 acres, a majority covered in green rolling hills where once lay only vast amounts of timber. Large four-legged creatures colored in tan, brown, black or white two-toned bodies and chocolate chip markings take pleasure grazing in its bounty. Fields are cultivated with miles of abundant crops of sweet corn, beans, grain and hay. Deep, dark colored deposit travels row after row proudly touting that mucks are still in existence, though the soil is only moderately fertile.

Pine, oak and maple follow the route of the gray leveled concrete stopping only to disclose open areas where man-made architectural structures now sit among them. Single family homes, ranches, double-wide trailers, barns and stables are common dwellings. Young boys and their fathers peacefully ride along the earth's surface for hours with heavy machinery trailing behind them. The laughter of children can be heard outside playing hide and seek, cops and robbers, whiffle ball or soccer. They ride two-wheelers, ATV's, motorcycles, dirt bikes or sit happily horseback along the country trails built on their parent's property. Like a boomerang, echoes of sound can be heard in the distance. Hellohellohello. Passersby are greeted with a hand gesture publicizing familiarity or facial unrest signifying a questionable character.

When spring arrives, wide arrangements of white, pink or purple lilac bushes brush the nose ever so lightly with their delicious aroma. Although their priceless life doesn't last long, they are fondly remembered. For their fragrance helps conceal the bitter scent of wet compost and stench of skunk defense that commonly drifts through the air. In summer, shade from the trees prevents the scorching and sweltering effects of the sun. Fall invites open screen windows creating a natural breeze of fresh air enjoyment. Winter's wonderland of excitement brings feet, not inches of snow to those in its midst.

It was a peaceful paradise for a child.

This was my hometown of Palermo, formed in 1832 and named after the popular destination in Sicily. This is where I lived for most of my childhood years, until one day my parents decided to move to a much larger, more aptly named Italian city called Syracuse.

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