Reaching through the years the thirtieth vintage, I still bow before your age, my millenial marn laying on steep slopes of the mountains, where nothing can be tilled and I could relate about the ideal conditions of life for the growth of the chains and where I could be proud of that inimitable microclimate, of the place which is a cru, as if having the highest dignity, respect is guaranteed.
I've been dreaming of it for years.
I just wanted it as it is now, because it was like this in my heart, a desired and cuddled plan in my own hand.
My cellar is like a of monastic simplicity for me, spacious to keep the wines I respect, built to work inside and able to shelter. It's strong as made of natural and old materials: brick, stone, rock, wood, glass and iron, which can stand the shaking of my land, which is often, alas, struck by earthquakes.