I want to remember waking up before my alarm and tiptoeing into the other bedroom to use the bathroom before anyone else woke up. I want to remember the stillness in the air when I stepped outside our apartment. I want to remember us all working around each other in the tiny kitchen, preparing eggs, toast, tea, coffee, and yogurt with fresh fruit and nuts we’d picked with our own hands. I want to remember Dario’s chipper “good morning!” and how clear it was he had already been up for hours working on some product or another. I want to remember Heleri quietly coming up behind me and, almost embarrassed, asking me for a morning hug. I want to remember all five dogs coming up to greet us every morning, whining in the excitement of their humans finally being awake. I want to remember hacking at a particularly deep and thick root for what seemed like forever and finally feeling it give under my tugging. I want to remember just finishing our morning work, hard labor in the grueling sun, being covered in mud and sweat and scratches, feeling sore even in my fingertips. I want to remember sitting on the deck outside the kitchen, sun in my face, waiting for my afternoon coffee to boil. I want to remember Anette lying on the ground with all five dogs around her whining for attention and her cooing in a low, baby voice, giving each one her love and affection. I want to remember Renars juggling oranges he found on the ground, and then teaching Henry, too. I want to remember Dina yelling for Dario from the upstairs kitchen door, and Dario responding, also in a yell, from somewhere on the property. I want to remember the lazy sun hanging low, just before dipping down behind the trees, making long shadows and orange air. I want to remember Vito coming home from work and putting on his work boots to spend the afternoon in the garden. I want to remember the full dinner table, five workawayers and four family members, five if Marco (Eleanor’s boyfriend) joined. I want to remember English being spoken and translated to Italian, and Italian being spoken and translated to English. I want to remember how loud it became by virtue of the fact that two or three different conversations in two different languages were going on at the same time. I want to remember Dina always forcing us to eat seconds, more, more, more, have another. I want to remember the look on her face when Henry said something sweet about her cooking, or when he said something in Italian correctly. I want to remember the smell outside late at night, the smell of cows or horses or some type of farm animal, transporting me back to my childhood, summers spent on Uncle Tony’s farm. I want to remember Anette dancing by herself, glass of wine in hand, and sporting a straw hat and one of Dario’s many red jackets. I want to remember sitting in the kitchen with Anette, Heleri, and Dario, the three of us girls laughing our asses off at Dario’s expense, and Dario taking it like a champ. I want to remember Dina cupping my face with both her hands before I left and telling me something in Italian I didn’t understand, but knowing she had said something beautiful and full of love. I want to remember group hugging Anette and Heleri in the train station, the look of genuine sadness in their eyes, and knowing I’d see them again some day.