March 8, 2026
A Promise
My Grandmother’s Journey: From Ottoman Albania to an American Farm,
A Story of Strength, Sacrifice, and True Immigration
My grandmother was born in Albania in 1897. She grew up tending the family’s flocks of sheep and goats in the rugged hills of her village. She never learned to read or write, not even in her native Albanian.
As a child, she told stories of Turkish soldiers – Ottoman troops riding through the villages on camels, their hooves clacking on the stone roads. They came to conscript young boys into their armies and take young women as house servants. To escape, children were hidden in dugouts beneath the floors of their homes. The fear was real, and the sound of those camels stayed with her for life.
In 1913, she met and married the love of her life, George Kiriko Terzi (who later became known as Misrasi, a story for another day).
Two weeks after their wedding, my grandfather left his bride behind and sailed for America, the land of opportunity. His plan was simple: work hard, save money, then return to Albania and build a life together in the old country, the land of their fathers.
But even the best laid plans can be upended. World War I broke out not long after he arrived, stranding him here and making it impossible for him to return or for her to join him. For seven long years, he worked his way back and forth across this country, earning, saving, waiting for the day he could reunite with his wife.
During those years, he and his brothers settled in the small farming community near Corinne, Utah. Corinne was a rough and tumble railroad town in its heyday. Legend has it that there were more brothels than bars, and more bars than churches. The brothers were drawn to the fertile ground and the promise of raising a wide variety of row crops. They decided to stay, putting down roots in nearby Bear River City and purchasing land.
As soon as he could, my grandfather sent for his wife and his younger brother. Grandma arrived in 1921.
The years that followed were full: wonderfully, chaotically full. Nine children in twelve years. Buying their own farm. Raising all kinds of animals. Caring for her aging father-in-law. She became famous in the community for her cheese-making, and she passed down a deep wisdom to her children that still echoes in our family today.
She never spoke a word of English. She could not read or write her native language either.
Then, in 1943, tragedy struck. After only a two-week illness, George Kiriko Misrasi, my grandfather, the father of their eight living children, died.
Just 21 years after arriving in this new world, far from everything she had ever known, she was left alone to care for eight children, a home, a farm, and all the responsibilities that came with it.
All without speaking, reading, or writing a word of English.
There was no Social Security. No government programs to help widows or immigrants. No forms in multiple languages at the tax office. No product labels or signs in Albanian at the grocery store.
Yet this woman of immense strength and faith rose to the challenge. All of her children finished high school. My father served four years in the Korean Conflict. One of his brothers was a paratrooper. The girls all went to college and earned associate degrees. The oldest daughter, at just 4’11” and 90 pounds, served as a civilian naval secretary in Vietnam for seven years.
My generation thrived in the world my grandmother built. When I was 14, I asked my dad to teach me Albanian so we could honor our heritage. Without hesitation, he said no.
“You will speak English,” he told me. “We are Americans. My parents came here to be Americans, and you will speak the language.”
We were raised to believe that you work for what you want. That luck is nothing more than hard work meeting preparation. This great country was the land of opportunity, not the land of a free pass.
She arrived in 1921, unable to read or speak English, widowed after 21 years in a new land, and raised eight children on sheer will and faith. This is what America once meant.
Millions came here like my grandparents: legally, worked tirelessly, learned the language, and if they did not learn like my grandmother, they did not receive special treatment.
They made their mark on this nation.
That is what America is about. Or was.
Come here legally. Work hard. Be an American.
This is not politics, this is AMERICA, land of the free, home of the BRAVE.
God bless,
Senator Christy Zito
District 8
