“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” —The New Colossus, Emma Lazarus

Meet my great-grandparents, Franco Scotti and Rosa Porcellana Scotti, two of thousands of Italian immigrants who bravely crossed tempest-tossed seas to build new lives in the US.

We were able to trace them because Rosa, “Granny Rose,” had polio and was labeled “lame” by the immigration officer who catalogued her as she disembarked in New York, on Ellis Island.

I see my eyes in my “Granny Rose’s” eyes; I sense my sense of adventure in them. I also credit them with my innate love of bold red wines, especially beloved Barolo, which is the town in Piemonte, Northern Italy, near where my great-grandparents were born. ~shared by @rachellacour

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