The earth is our immutable
and motionless joy.
The roots of our vineyards lie in the great red turfs,
unearthing the rock in search of nourishment.
There is naturalness in all of this, but in the heart of every great wine there is not only this. The wind intervenes to bend the vineyards that often thank it for having kept them fresh and dry; the rain intrudes, not always the salvation of torrid years, but sometimes also the dispenser of violent thoughts, that at night lead to quick and decisive decisions.
The strong hot sun intervenes, but sometimes too lavish in its affection. This is all changeable, this is the history of each specific harvest. This is how in wine the motionless and immobile hand of the earth is recognised, but above all the soul of everything that has furrowed, bathed, caressed, violated or loved it.
Salento is a real land,
a land that the sea has decided to soak on both sides,
the wind to stun far and wide,
the sun to dry up and make at the same time shine.
There are no lands so happy and sad at the same time, humble but rich, open to the new but linked to traditions.
Salento is everything but it is also nothing if one cannot understand it, if one does not respect it. The coasts are rich in hard rocks but also in fine thin sand of a golden colour. Underground, the caves inhabited as early as the Middle Paleolithic period hide treasures and preserve centuries of history. The sea is cobalt blue or maybe sky blue or maybe both. Certainly, it is clear, alive, unique in its being and unique in characterising this land.