What memories. Of days when my father decanted his wine and then had time to celebrate with his friends and a bottle of wine.
But the other day I thought of that: and for us today we’ve no time at all, not even to drink. I don’t mean tasting, but just a glass of wine with the right friends and some peace and quiet.
I think I’d always decided to produce wine, to live in the country.
Here they are again, those memories. When I went to playschool, and that was very young, less than six, the best days I remember were when I didn’t go at all, but could go to the country.
At ten I used to go alone, without a second thought, there was no obligation but there was nowhere better.
I think the passion, this type of ancestral link, is fundamental; and it weren’t there and felt, we wouldn’t do this job.
I’ve always worked in Vallagarina and this my land is not just land but also the people who live here.
For me, industrial agriculture cannot work, I feel myself a craftsman wine grower. A craft lets us live our personal interpretation and live in person, without protocols, listening to sensations.
Work in the country must be learnt, we have to be capable of it but it brings the gift of the chance to interpret what we do.
What counts though, is personal relationships, often forgetting even those nearest under the pressure of a thousand obligations.
And to give all without demand, as a simple gesture so that the circle closes.