An unpredictable, stubborn south west wind has become our strongest ally, unstoppable guardian of the uniqueness of our grapes: the Garbin
It was one of those evenings at the end of winter when you can almost taste the changing season in the scents in the air, in the earth wet from the rain, in the buds that are shyly opening on the branches.
My brother, my father and I had gone as far as that strip of plain that from the Marca Trevigiana slips down to the sea, in search of the ideal plot on which to begin a project we had cultivated for years: a modern farming enterprise based on a new quality concept, that could become the flagship of a wine business already active for three generations.
Like the wise men who, after so much wandering, found what they were looking for only as they were headed back to their starting point, so did we almost accidentally find ourselves in an area very dear to my grandfather: wonderful for red wines, he would repeat, especially for Raboso, his favorite.
My father was the first to sense that this land was waiting for us: with the uncertainty and disbelief of one who may have finally uncovered his treasure, he listed the wonderful features of the area, in an attempt to convince both himself and us
Then, already convinced of the authentic nature of the soil, we felt a strange hot wind getting up. At first light, then strengthening, it seemed to wrap itself around us in the affectionate embrace of a loved one, and bring us both voices from the past and a wealth of good omens.
We didn't know then that this unpredictable and stubborn south westerly wind would become our best ally, unstoppable guardian of the uniqueness of our grapes. We didn't know that it was this wind, the Garbìn, that gave the area a unique microclimate, stealing, regularly and punctually, fragrances and flavours from the Venice lagoon, transporting them to this corner inland, and then to the vines, the grapes and finally to our wines.
We felt immediately however, on that late winter evening, that we had found in that wind a friend who, in his blowing, suggested a truth as
magical as it was unmistakable: it was here that our idea had to take shape; this was the place we'd sought for so long. We were finally home.