Every Sunday the family spends the afternoon at the grandparent’s (nonni) house in a neighbouring village. This is a routine I have become familiar with, having done it every Sunday last summer as well. Nonni’s house has an abundance of toys, farm equipment, fresh food, homemade wine, fruit trees, chickens, and rabbits. There’s not much that nonni doesn’t have. Nono (grandpa) and nona (grandpa) are two of the most spirited and quintessential Italians I have met. Nono is always working away on the farm and is usually up to no good when he tells you to hop into a wheelbarrow. He has a mischievous sense of humour and is always the first to offer me wine at the table, regardless of the fact that I always tell him that I don’t like wine. He scoffs in disbelief every time. Nona gives me three big kisses on my cheeks – left, then right, then left again – and then hurries off to whatever grandchild is closest at hand. She has mastered the ability to feed a hoard of grandkids, sons, daughters, husband, and au pair with apparent ease and satisfaction. She appreciates a bit of fat on her grandbabies, as her food so deliciously illustrates.Zia (aunt) Lydia with Angela. Spending Sundays with the extended family is always a time of refreshment. Their large property is perfect for strolling, reading, playing, and conversing. Their large table holds us all and I imagine it will only continue to expand as the years pass and more chairs are pulled forward. This is a place I have been fed and loved.