The Langa autumn paints the woods and hills a golden color; the maples and wild cherry trees take on a lively red hue under the pleasant sun of a Saint Martin summer.
In the vineyards, near the Partisan Shrine, the vine leaves have taken on warm red-orange hues: the last flickers of light and color before the icy northern wind removes all the leaves from the branches and creates a precious carpet for Mother Earth, which is ready to rest during winter.
On Saint Martin’s day the must becomes wine
When crossing the winery’s threshold, under the old brick vault, a penetrating aroma of new wine strikes the face and invades the nostrils: after a hectic harvest, the pressing of the grapes, vigils and trepidations, the must has turned into wine.
It’s now time to decant the wine, which releases strong hints of berries; it’s time for the first tastings, it’s time for hours on end of calmness in the silence which envelops and watches over the precious nectar that is resting and evolving.
Waiting for spring, which will blossom after winter… waiting for the first bottle to be uncorked for a toast.