Via Santa Maria, n. 14  - 73050 Seclì (Le) Italy    +39 392.0436276  

Romaldo Greco winemaker since 1973

Onetime I picked up with my hands a handful of my own soil, I smelled it and I sensed the warmth and the vitality of our sparkling sun. I smelled the aroma of the wind, which gave to me the fragrance of old lilac, zagara and tuberose. I smelled the rain which quences the summer aridity, I smelled the taste of delicious and natural fruits.

I closed my eyes in the freshly plowed field and I remembered the grandmothers' songs and tales, as they sang while they were amidst of tobacco plants, and they collected the big and greasy leaves.

From the memories came to my mind the labour, the sweat, the sacrifice of grandparents which loved and cared for these clumps… and an ancient world, nearly nostalgic lit up my mind.                                                                                                                                                     

The images of harvesting came to my mind, under the sun of June. Grains of mature wheat came out from the golden spikes, while the straw became for us children; our couch.

Then arrived the grape harvest, the feast and harvest day, the pressing comings and goings of full vats and baskets that smelled of bunches from the sweet and swollen grape, which amassed upon the lorry while a rivulet of red and perfumed must dropped.

Then arrived the break; the moment most awaited by everybody, that ratified the day from the pressed grapes, the must became vine.

The grandmother called everyone, she opened an edge of the pure white tablecloth that covered the big chest and the sandwiches, with strong ricotta and sardine became the tastiest meal that anyone ever had.

I thought, the soil is life, it's love, it's labour, and passion and I gave life to life.

I closed my eyes and my own freshly plowed fields became vine varieties. The sun rays, warming the ground, gave the sap to the plants and the spouts bloomed.

The night gave a break, the morning dew donated refreshment and while the verdant vine leafs swayed to light wind, the solid and tempting bunches ripened and at the same time absorbing the fragrances of our Salento.

When I opened my eyes, on my fields there was the passion became life. 

I sat down under pergola I opened a bottle, I drank a sip of my wine and I smelled the emanating fragrance of the wind, the warmth of the sun, the energy of my soil.

I felt gratified because I had captured in these bottles the labour, the tastes, the memories and the goodness of the red soil. I called my children to hand down the passion of the vines.

Romaldo Greco



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