The Winemaker
Stories always start in a special place. Mine started right here, in Grancona, nestled in the Berici Hills (Colli Berici), between a house made of stones and a little vineyard framed by the woods around here, a forest of little oak and hornbeam trees. My grandparents spent there summers here and at that time it was, for me, the land of scents: the smells of old wood, of our own honey-jars which were stored in cupboards kept closed and safe from our mini-honey-hungry-hands, and the smell of green – which penetrated everything including the enormous walls.
It’s a story born from memories but which quietly and fluidly transformed into a desire, a goal and a project.