The Magic of the Grape Harvest in Abruzzo, Told by Roberta

Every year, the grape harvest returns like an ancient ritual.And yet, it’s never the same: the fragrance of the air, the light of the sun, the hands reaching for the grapes… everything changes, and yet everything stays.

The day begins early, when dew still lingers on the vines and the only sound is the snip of the shears. Cluster after cluster, bucket after bucket: the work is hard, but the heart feels light.

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Then comes the moment everyone loves: the break. A sandwich, a coffee, plenty of water to resist the sun. Around us, laughter, stories of old loves, family memories, jokes that make us laugh until our sides ache. Because the harvest is not only work: it’s life shared, bite after bite, smile after smile.

At noon, the shears are set aside and the race home begins. Pasta boiling on the stove, the table filling up, the fatigue melting into joy. It’s there, sitting together, tired but happy, that I understand what the harvest truly is: not just grapes gathered, but roots that keep us close.

The afternoon slips away quickly: crates overflowing, tractors heading to the cellar, hands that never stop moving. In the evening, when all falls silent, I gather the clothes stained with soil and grapes, wash them, hang them out. And every stain becomes a memory, an indelible trace of this day.

The harvest is tough, yes. But it is also a celebration of the soul.Every year different, every year special.Every year, ours.

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