But it’s in 1951 where Vescio’s life first takes a turn: a cardboard suitcase, a farewell to the familiar streets of Puglia’s San Marco in Lamis and a leap into the unknown land of Australia.
She’s just six years old. With her are her mother, her brother Sam and sisters Angela and Grace. Her father has been waiting for them in Gippsland, Victoria, for two long years. After three harsh winters apart, the family is finally reunited.
“I don’t remember much about the journey,” Vescio begins. “I was just a child. But I’ll never forget the people on the ship who were so sick.”
The language is a wall. The customs, a maze. But Vescio adapts quickly. She translates, helps her family navigate this new world and immerses herself in the culture.
“I learned English at school,” she says, “It didn’t take long, after a year I was already quite fluent.”
At seven, Vescio is already a pillar at home - washing dishes while standing on a stool, cooking and ironing. Then in 1952, her youngest brother Frank is born. The family is now complete.
Life plods along between long days in the fields and evenings in front of the TV as English gradually becomes her new native tongue. Sundays are spent picking beans in the fields, often riding in the back of a ute, nibbling on fresh peas and dreaming of ice cream after the matinee. The night would end with Zorro and Doris Day films, all black and white tales of fantasy and courage.
At 14, Vescio steps into the working world. Her first job is in the deli section at the local supermarket. It doesn’t take long before she’s promoted to manager.
Then in 1963 comes the big move to Melbourne, to the working-class suburb of Coburg. It’s a new city and presents her with new challenges, but Vescio is made of strong stuff. In 1965, she lands a job at Fletcher Jones, where she discovers her passion for sewing. She trains as a precision tailor, specialising in bespoke menswear. Her work becomes art and her work ethic a source of pride.
Then comes the love of her life. His name is Frank, just like her little brother. Day after day, he waits for her outside work. They marry in 1966. Two hearts, one home and a thousand dreams. Laurie, Cathy and Luci are born. Her mother Lucia, now “nonna”, lends a hand. Even the neighbour, “nanna Delaney”, becomes part of their little village of support.
Vescio works part-time, raises her children and the world spins blissfully on. “My family is everything,” she says. “When the people you love are there to support you, you don’t need anything else.”
In 1975, the family moves to the new neighbourhood of Craigieburn, their future slowly taking shape.
In 1980, Michelle, the youngest, is born. Vescio shares her Italian heritage with friends and family, teaching them how to make sausages and cooking up rich Bolognese sauces they enjoy during celebrations and bonfires.
“Italian food is food from my roots. I want to keep the traditions of my ancestors alive and pass them on to the next generation,” she says with a smile.
“My daughter often asks, ‘Why don’t you make lentil soup?’ It’s such a simple recipe, but everyone in the family loves it.”
She’s also deeply involved in community life, ferrying her kids to tennis, athletics, netball, basketball and cricket. Between training and matches, she never stops.
Then, darkness falls. In 1989, Vescio is diagnosed with cancer. Radiation therapy, fear and a long, hard battle follow.
But Vescio wins. Then in 2008, another challenge: lymphedema. New treatments, a new routine. But again, she faces it head-on: hydrotherapy, swimming, joining a volunteer group.
Three mornings a week, she rises at dawn, leads exercises and prepares tea for the group.
“Lots of friends, chats and biscuits,” she shares. These are the small, daily rituals of quiet resistance.
What’s her secret to maintaining this resilience?
“I always think positively,” she reveals, “Even when things are hard, I tell myself it’ll be okay. You have to hope for the best.”
Today, Vescio is the proud nonna of ten grandchildren. She crossed an ocean in search of hope, she’s faced illness, sweeping change and everyday hardships. She’s sewn garments and raised a family, cooked with love and built a life with hardworking hands and a generous heart.
“You have to do your best in life,” she says, “Never give up; tomorrow is a new day and it might just be better.”
On July 19, Vescio turned 80. She still keeps the same habit of waking up, looking in the mirror and saying, “I feel lucky. And I can’t wait for a new day to begin.”
