Romaldo Greco, VINE GROWER SINCE 1973
One day, I took her in my hands a handful of earth, smelled and felt the warmth and the energy of our sun brilliant; I felt the smell of the wind that carried the scent of old lilac, of orange blossoms and tubirose; I heard the rain to quench the summer drought; I tasted the tasty and wholesome.
I closed my eyes in freshly plowed field and I came chants and rhymes grandmothers while among the high tobacco plants, they collected the large leaves greasy. Memories, came fatigue, sweat, sacrifice grandparents that these clods loved and cared .. and an ancient world, almost nostalgic enlightened me mind.
They came the images of the harvest under the June sun. The golden ears and protruding bars beans ripened grain, while the straw for us kids became our bed.
I then came the harvest, the day of celebration and harvest, the comings and goings of pressing vats and baskets full and fragrant bunches of grapes from the firm and sweet that were gathering on the truck while a trickle of red juice and fragrant already dripping. And then came the break, when most expected by all to enshrine the day, grapes crushed, the juice became wine. The grandmother called everyone together, opened a strip of white cloth that covered the large basket and loaves with ricotta and Sardinia, became the most tasty meal you've ever eaten.
The land is life, I thought, is love, is hard work and passion ... and gave life to life.
I closed my eyes and my fields aired recently became vines. The rays of the sun, warming the land, donated sap the plants sprouted and the sprouts. The night wore off, the morning dew gave refreshment and while the verdant vines dangled the light breeze, the grapes ripened firm and inviting assimilating the scents and fragrances of our Salento.
When he opened his eyes, on my fields I had become life's passion. I sat under the pergola, uncorked a bottle, took a sip of my wine and I felt emanate the fragrance of the wind, the sun's heat, the strength of my land. Satisfied for having imprisoned in those bottles fatigue, tastes, memories and the goodness of the red earth, I called my children to pass the wine of the passion.