My tiny (but not small) Sicilian grandmother used to give us kids a shot of Pa's homemade wine every time we visited. One of the great family times was when all the cousins, aunts & uncles would meet there each year to pick the grapes. Soil where he lived was nonexistent, basically crumbled shale, but he somehow had probably 20 rows growing behind his house.
Someday I'll tell you about the time Ma cooked my cousin's pet bunny.