My father had a beautiful garden in the backyard of our home on South Murray Street. Near the garden was an immense grapevine that formed such an arch that when summer arrived, he would carry the kitchen table from inside and place it under the arch for summer meals. Benches were mad for everyone to sit on. The tomato boards, stored throughout the years in his garage, were scrubbed and balanced over wood horses. This was an indication that our pasta-on-the-board parties would soon begin. My mother's homemade pasta, sauce, meatballs and bread complemented Pa's homemade wine. The enjoyment under his grapevines remain emotional recollections of family meals during the warm summer months.