WINE AND POETRY
Every wine has a life and a history.
It is a jewel: a topaz an amethyst.
Like the jewel it plays with light.
He lives, though. And here is the difference.
(from the poem “Festa grande” by Maria Giovanna Perroni Lorenzini)
THE MEANING OF A NAME
Our farm was born at the beginning of the sixties, on the initiative of Novilio Mariani, who settled with his family in Cervognano and precisely in what in the ancient cadastral maps is referred to as “Villa Elvira”, he dedicated himself, first of his family, to the production of wine. The area of Cervognano is in fact known since ancient times for its natural predisposition to the cultivation of the vine.
Then in two thousand sixteen the passion for this activity pushes Gabriele Florio, acquired nephew of Novilio, to take over the company with the purpose of continuing the business of the founder, but also to renew: for example the new headquarters of the winery, or the purpose of taking advantage of the new and more modern techniques of vine cultivation and winemaking.
The company name is “Combarbia”. The word literally means a “crossroads”, a place that is where multiple roads come together and from which they branch off, giving the opportunity to those who are in this confluence to choose the path to follow. But the crossroads is also the resting place, of conversation and rest of the wayfarer.
But the word “combarbia” also has a deeper meaning: when the farmers of the village said let’s “go to combarbia” it meant that they met, usually in rooms adjacent to the Church of the village, to spend a carefree evening in company, conversing between them and telling stories of fantasy or concerning personal facts. And obviously this happened in the presence of some bottles of our good Tuscan wine. And it is with this hope that we have chosen for our winery the name “combarbia”, the hope that wine, our good Tuscan wine, will become the occasion of meetings of serenity of brotherhood.
It’s cold outside, it’s all covered in snow. We add wood to the fire and the boy pours us the red wine of Montepulciano, from a bottle that has been sleeping in his cell for years: a glass of good wine, in front of a lively flame of fire, together with the sweetness of friendship, the joys of love, and the consolations of poetry, it fights the winter cold, chases away the troublesome thoughts and makes wisely live the mystery of human being. And then we entrust all the rest to a higher will
(Carlo Lorenzini, freely from Orazio)