As spring returns to the Barolo and Alta Langa hills, the vineyard awakens.

Slowly—like someone opening their eyes after a long, deep sleep—the first buds begin to emerge between the carefully pruned shoots. Tiny, still fragile, yet full of promise. It happens every year, and yet it never fails to move me. There’s something deeply touching in this quiet, timeless gesture that repeats itself with undiminished power.
And I always wonder—are we as ready as they are?

Across the hills of Barolo and the breezy ridges of Alta Langa, the rhythm of life picks up again.
Days grow longer, temperatures slowly rise, and so does the pace of work. It’s time for green pruning, the fine and precise kind—done more with the eyes than with the hands.
The soil is gently worked too. No rush, no force—it’s more about guiding an awakening than shaking it.
Here, the land listens, but only if we speak in a whisper.
And in this spring in the Langhe, every gesture feels more vivid.

Now is when we lay the foundations for everything to come. We use light tools—often hand-operated—to avoid stressing the soil and to preserve the natural balance among plant species.
We manage spontaneous grass growth through selective cutting, letting it do its job: protect, nourish, breathe.
We avoid chemical weed control and rely on mechanical methods, choosing each intervention with a care that feels almost like affection.
This approach—technical but also deeply ethical—is part of how we make wine: our philosophy starts from the soil, and its dignity.
It’s the same spirit that guides us both through Barolo’s historic crus and the high-altitude vineyards that give rise to the elegance of Alta Langa DOCG sparkling wines.

I’ve just come back from Vinitaly. Intense days, wonderful encounters, wines from all over Italy. It’s a key moment in our work—where we gather relationships and taste ideas.
But I’ll admit: coming back has its own special flavor.
Kicking off the elegant shoes, pulling on the boots, feeling the mud tug beneath the soles.
There are no booths here, no spotlights—only the scent of wet grass in the morning, and the soft sound of pruning shears. This is home.

Every spring is a new beginning. And I don’t just mean the vineyard.

Lately, I’ve started running again. Nothing heroic—just a few stolen kilometers at dawn, between making breakfast for six and unpacking a suitcase. But it’s my small ritual, my way to feel alive and moving forward, along with the nature around me.
There’s a kind of poetry in that too—knowing that every year starts over, that everything returns, yet always with a different nuance.
No two seasons are the same. No harvest can be repeated.
There’s always something to learn, something to let go of, something to protect a little more.

This is also when the vineyard starts to shine—inviting you to walk through, to experience, to live it for real.
I often think spring in the Langhe is the perfect season to visit: the grass is tall but soft, the buds gleam in the sun, and there’s that kind of silence—so full of life—you only find here.
When we walk with guests through the vines or welcome them in the cellar, I feel they’re stepping into something bigger.
It’s not just a wine experience. It’s a little journey into a different rhythm.
Step by step, row by row—you start to listen.
If you’d like to walk with us and witness this awakening up close, you’ll find everything here: Our vineyard experiences.

And then there’s Easter, which in the countryside always arrives hand in hand with the first warm sun.
We don’t take big holidays here, but we still set the table with care. We bring boiled eggs into the fields and raise a glass of our best wine.
Because every spring that comes is, deep down, a small rebirth.

We live in a world that rushes forward. But spring, here among the Barolo vineyards and the woods of Alta Langa, is never in a hurry.
Maybe that’s what it teaches us—to make space. In the soil, yes, but also within ourselves.
To let things be born in their own time, not when we expect them to.
So yes, happy new beginnings to all.

May it be gentle, full of good choices—and stubborn little buds.

Sara