One day when I was small, we piled into "Old Beulah Blue Buick" and trundled up to Camarillo to visit my mother's paternal grandparents.
This was the sole instance of ever meeting my Great-Grandfather and -Mother. They spoke in such heavy French accents, I couldn't understand them. They were from Alsace-Lorraine.
Like my Grandfather, these great-grandparents followed their noses to North American, Southern California, to build a bread oven out back, which opened to a hillside planted with artichokes. At the dinner table, I remember they insisted that my brother and I enjoy watered-down red wine with our meal.
It was the old world tradition.
Thanks again to 
https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-29-5-minute-freewrite-prompt-great-grandpa-s-nose