AMANDA McHARDY

When I was young, I would always get yelled at for rummaging through Nonno's garden and weaving through the plants. Growing up at Nonno and Nonna’s house, there was one major rule: Stay out of the garden. 

Nonno tended to his garden with unconditional love; I didn’t think there was anything he cared about more than that patch of dirt and weeds. Justifiably, he sculpted this garden with his bare hands. He put his time and effort into it and watched it grow year after year.

As all the grandchildren got older, Nonno’s main rule changed from no garden trespassing to monthly Sunday lunches. Only him and his grandchildren. He would cook us pasta, we would sit at his kitchen table, and eat. Nonno always served himself last and wouldn’t sit down until we had everything we needed. 

These Sundays consisted of him telling us stories from his youth and asking if we wanted more food. At the end of the lunch, we would all leave with bags full of vegetables, jars of tomato sauce, or bottles of wine (and sometimes all three!) to bring home to our parents – his way of making sure we were all taken care of.

On Sundays, Nonno would share about himself, but at big family gatherings, he loved bragging about us. Being the youngest of the 7 grandchildren, he would introduce me as “baby.” As I got older, it was only said with more and more satisfaction.

Nonno took pride in his family growing up and getting bigger; watching us grow year after year. I always thought the garden was his pride and joy, but Nonno’s garden was just another member of the family; a piece of him that will continue to grow and comfort us when he is no longer to do that himself.

As You Grew Older is a collection of documentary and archival photographs of my Nonno, Carmine Martiniello. 

This project began at a time I, admittedly, felt guilty for not spending enough time with my Nonno and, realistically, felt that time slowly slipping away. To ease both of these anxieties, I began documenting him and his space — the house my whole family grew up in. 

Because Nonno couldn’t speak much English, understanding and connecting to him was difficult at times. However, there came a point when every goodbye was accompanied by tears welling up in his eyes. And though it was heartbreaking, every time, to have to wait until I was out the door to let my first tear drop, I knew in those moments I understood him completely. 

Having this time together to make these photographs connected us in a way that words never could. In his final days, I came to realize that we had built a connection that only the two of us understood; a connection that will forever be captured within these photographs.

We Grew Too                                              Monograph