Our name,“Erbadoro” means “golden grass”.
To me it is reminiscent of languid and lazy summer days, with the grapes ripening in the warm sun and the land lying immobile, but full of life, under the bright blue sky.
It is a nostalgic word that refers to a fertile season, when time moves slowly and the scents of nature are clear and intense.
It conjures up memories of a far-off time when I played with stones, leaves, fruit from the trees in my grandparents’ orchard, and long shining blades of grass.
I remember that this grass had an unusual almost orange hue, which transformed the meadows into a huge golden sea when the sun sank low and the evening shadows stretched out.
Where that vast swathe of undulating grass once lay there is now a garden full of flowers.
But a mysterious perfume still lingers in my memory: a strange blend of the scent of a dark and damp cellar, the dews and juices of an orchard and the rich cloying taste of the warm yolk of an egg.
For me this is a precious collection of memories and images, all of them evoked, enclosed and encapsulated by the one magic word: “erbadoro”