7-25-2012    ...A day in Roseto.
    It's around 3:00 p.m. and I'm sitting on the front steps of Ruggiero's Market in the town of Roseto, PA, about 3 miles away from the trail. I just got to town and met Kevin, Jack and Pam, I told them about why I'm visiting and they gave me a ride to this market in the back of Kevin's truck. He gave me 5 jalapeno peppers too.
   Although this town is out of my way, I knew I had to try to get here. I read about Roseto in a book by Malcolm Gladwell called 'Outliers'.
   Back in the early 1960's a physician named Stewart Wolf discovered that people in this town were living well beyond the national average life expectancy. Wolf and his team conducted medical experiments and researched the towns medical records extensively trying to figure out why people were living so much longer than the average American. They found that it wasn't genetics or good eastern PA water or other physical variables that made Rosetans live long, but it was their Italian culture, still so present that kept them going. Three generations living under one roof, people always visiting with each other, nobody trying to get ahead of his neighbor, just a low stress lifestyle was what they concluded, explained their longevity.
    This town was founded by and almost whooly comprised of emigrants from the city of Roseto in the Foccia region in Southern Italy. If you read the intro to 'Outliers' on Amazon.com you'll more clearly understand why it intrigued me.
      Anyway, they're celebrating their Cent' Anni tonight and the rest of this week and I'm tempted to stay. I really didn't want to linger in PA, but I'm only 8 trail miles away from New Jersey. 'Should I stay or should I go now?' This is kind of like the time we ended up in Louisville on a whim, and looking for something to do asked the girl at Walgreen's, where I was buying shoelaces because my tent was being held up by my current ones, if anything was going on in town and she informed us that Louisville's most popular picnic was going on. I had a great time that night so maybe I should stay. Finding a place to sleep would be the next dilemna. I'm actually in the cemetary now in the shadow of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church (same name as the one in the original Roseto) Are living people allowed to sleep in cemetaries? There is a spigot here, just like in the woods I try to base my camp around water.
     It'd be nice to meet some people, I hitchhiked here and the lady who picked me up, Sheri, said I could shower and eat at her house. I declined awkwardly and I think she thought I thought the wrong thing, She said her husband and 2 kids were at home too. It was nice of her to offer but I wanted to get on with my day and also eat in Roseto, plus I just recently showered only 4 days ago, sooo...
       I'll be honest with you, here was what I was expecting to see when I got to this town. I was hoping the asphalt would turn to cobblestone once it hit Garibaldi Avenue and there'd be some old, heavy set Italian woman doing laundy by hand on the sidewalk. She scolds a group of young kids getting into mischief and they listen because they know she'll tell their moms. Then I was hoping to look across the street through a large window to see Sal, of Salvatore's Bakery taking fresh bread from a giant stone oven, with a big, wide smile on his face, shadowed by a giant white mustache. He smiles as if it's his first perfect loaf of bread ever, although it's probably his ten-thousandth perfect loaf. His door jingles and in walks a 12 year old Marco with money and orders from his mother to get 2 fresh loaves for supper because her parents are visiting. "Ah, young Marco!" Sal exclaims in a heavy Italian accent, "Whata can I do for you?" His hands fly through the air in wide gestures. "Two loaves please Sal." He sets the exact amount on the smooth counter. "Coming right up." Sal fluidly wraps the bread and hands it to Marco with a parting comment as he leaves. "And remember..." his words hang melodically in the air for a moment, "Straighta home and don'ta eat any on the way. For your mother will..." he slides his finger across his neck making a funny noise. Marco laughs and heads out, the door jangles behind him. All of a sudden he traps a soccer ball that flies at him from out of nowhere. Some other kids have a game going on in the street. He takes off dribbling while somehow managing the loaves; he dissects the defense of the better team and drains a goal for the younger underdog team. They go crazy running around chanting Marco's name as he heads home. He didn't even break a sweat.
    So that was a nice scene I think. This is a great town. Next, as I'm walking around for a deli or something, an ancient lady on a porch yells at me. "How far have you walked?" I tell her about 275 miles. She narrows her eyes to slits, seeing if I waver from my bold statement. I don't. So her face softens again and she says, "Come, come, lunch is almost ready." As I follow her inside the air is thick with the smell of Italian heaven. "My grand-daughter, Giada, she's veesiting for the week and a preety good cook. On TV show, Food Network or something I think, I don't know, she preety good though." As we almost enter the kitchen she stops, spins, and eyes me with one finger in the air."Not as good as me!...." She affirms; then softens again. "But she's preety good."
      So we enter the kitchen and who else is in there but Giada from 'Everyday Italian'. I'm speechless of course. She smiles at me but I'm too busy staring right at her perfectly shaped and proportionate...ciabattas; that she just pulled from the oven.
    We have a great meal and I can't believe my luck. It's good I came to Roseto.
     So, as you can see, I've kinda built this town up in the miles leading to it. The festivities to my left are starting to warm up as I sit here in the cemetary. I guess I'm staying. If I was heading on I wanted to be on the trail by 5. It's 5 til 5. Oh well, might be fun. Music is playing too and I really miss music. I'm going to roam around.....(time elapses)
    My roaming around got me right now on a very nice front stoop with wrought iron railing, flagstone deck, brick pillars, cast iron seating, nice flowers and vines and a beautiful elm tree shading it all. Ralph invited me to sit and talk, intrigued I think with my back pack. It's a good ice breaker. Soon I was sitting down chatting with a cold bottle of water. In a little bit his neighbor came out and was called over. "Hey J!, come get a load of this guy!" In not too long a time there were 6 or 7 people hanging out and just talking, J was a kinda hyper active 40 something guy still living with his mom and he couldn't sit still. At one point he was over riffing on his non-amped electric guitar, on his porch. That lasted 2 mins, then he was getting me some info on where to stop at the next town. "
    "HEY MAAaa!!.....MAAAA!!!" he yelled into the open door. "What's the name of that church in Delaware Water Gap!?!""
    It was funny. I appreciated and took his advice.
    So again, we all chatted on the porch, some were on the sidewalk. An older Italian lady was telling me how the town used to be; about all the shops and deli's and restaurants and all. She was just out of high school when they did the health studies on the town. As I listened, and munched on a home-made italian biscuit made by Ralph, I realized I was experiencing exactly what I had hoped for, and what made Roseto famous back then; just simple community fellowship.
    After an hour or so I was ready to head up to the festival. The local Catholic HS had pasta fizoli or a spaghetti dish you could dine in the closed of street. While eating and telling the waitress what I was up to, a guy nearby overheard us talking and as I was leaving he wondered if I needed anything. Here was my chance to get a ride back to the mountain.
   He said he could and we agreed to meet by the cemetary after he got his Jeep and I filled my water bottles. While I was waiting for him I asked a guy if I could charge my phone on his porch. Gordon was happy to let me do that and we made small talk about the festival and his upside-down tomato plants. Then Mark came by and I thanked Gordon, forgot my chocolate cake though, my dessert from the meal, but left for the mountain with a full stomach, water bottles, phone, and spirit. There was a shelter just a mile away and I was glad to be up there as opposed to sleeping in the town cemetary. I thanked Mark for his generosity of course, and headed North again with a very nice experience in Roseto to always remember. It was a good day.