Early Morning in the Vineyard
Early morning in the vineyards of Châteauneuf-du-Pape evokes a feeling of unmeasured time: sun drenched vines, crystal clear blue skies, peace and tranquillity.
Labourers have worked this land for hundreds of years. Passion and energy have fuelled their toils. Their knowledge, commitment and understanding together with the soil, sun, wind, and water interact together to form a recipe so profound yet so basic that success is their only option.
Life in Provence is meaningful and gutsy. It's where ideals meet reality and come to fruition.
On top of the hill, walking distance from the town, stands the famous Château ruins surrounded by vineyards - the Pope's legacy from the thirteenth century, and where this story began. Mont Ventoux rises up in the distance 'the giant of Provence' throwing a shadow of protection over the rich land and its people. It stands majestic and meaningful. It makes us stop in our tracks as we reflect on our inheritance and ponder into our future.
The sun is rising. Silence. In the valley a figure walks a narrow country track which winds its way through lush, emerald green, waist high vines.
The vines are perfect. They are where they should be - their noble roots buried deep in rich soils which have been turned by generations of knowledgeable families whose livelihoods have depended upon the fragility and strength of nature.
There is a distant sound - a tractor approaches, the driver sitting atop. He passes the lone figure on the track - a respectful mutual bowing of heads takes place, no words, they have acknowledged one another's existence at a bland meeting point in time.
The tractor driver is peaceful, he knows exactly what his tasks are for the day. His life is rustic, simple, dated, abundant. He exudes an aura of stability, serenity, he knows this life, he understands. His confidence is reassuring.
The land is rich but dry. The stones are ready to do their work. The lush green vines of Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre, Cinsaut and Bourboulenc sweep down to the majestic waters of the Rhône far into the distance. The river flows steadily through time - another pillar of life in Provence.
The early morning heat does not falter. The freshness and tranquillity quickly dissipates. The land starts to waken, a soft breeze rustles the leaves of the vines as they settle into their daily routine and fate begins to work its magic with nature.
Sarah Pernet
Labourers have worked this land for hundreds of years. Passion and energy have fuelled their toils. Their knowledge, commitment and understanding together with the soil, sun, wind, and water interact together to form a recipe so profound yet so basic that success is their only option.
Life in Provence is meaningful and gutsy. It's where ideals meet reality and come to fruition.
On top of the hill, walking distance from the town, stands the famous Château ruins surrounded by vineyards - the Pope's legacy from the thirteenth century, and where this story began. Mont Ventoux rises up in the distance 'the giant of Provence' throwing a shadow of protection over the rich land and its people. It stands majestic and meaningful. It makes us stop in our tracks as we reflect on our inheritance and ponder into our future.
The sun is rising. Silence. In the valley a figure walks a narrow country track which winds its way through lush, emerald green, waist high vines.
The vines are perfect. They are where they should be - their noble roots buried deep in rich soils which have been turned by generations of knowledgeable families whose livelihoods have depended upon the fragility and strength of nature.
There is a distant sound - a tractor approaches, the driver sitting atop. He passes the lone figure on the track - a respectful mutual bowing of heads takes place, no words, they have acknowledged one another's existence at a bland meeting point in time.
The tractor driver is peaceful, he knows exactly what his tasks are for the day. His life is rustic, simple, dated, abundant. He exudes an aura of stability, serenity, he knows this life, he understands. His confidence is reassuring.
The land is rich but dry. The stones are ready to do their work. The lush green vines of Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre, Cinsaut and Bourboulenc sweep down to the majestic waters of the Rhône far into the distance. The river flows steadily through time - another pillar of life in Provence.
The early morning heat does not falter. The freshness and tranquillity quickly dissipates. The land starts to waken, a soft breeze rustles the leaves of the vines as they settle into their daily routine and fate begins to work its magic with nature.
Sarah Pernet
