Earth. Family. Wine. The Soil Whisperers.
At Podere Concori in the hills of Garfagnana, a family vineyard reveals that good wine begins not in the cellar, but in the earth itself.
Table of Contents
A Slow Arrival.
The road to Podere Concori does not hurry. It climbs through the Garfagnana hills between the Apennines and the pale marble teeth of the Apuan Alps, the Serchio river somewhere below shaping the wind that touches the vines. This corner of northern Tuscany rarely appears on the wine maps that travellers carry with them, yet places like this often become tomorrow’s vineyards once the rest of the world remembers that altitude, forest and wind are sometimes better allies than fame. Marc and I made the climb in my blue Volkswagen California Ocean T7, the travelling base that now carries me slowly across Europe in search of vineyards and the people behind them. I call him Ocean George. Somewhere in my head the soft rhythm of Smooth Operator by Sade had begun playing quietly. The sort of soundtrack that belongs to an unhurried road.
First Greetings: Dogs, Hens, and Donkeys.
We reached the top at little more than walking pace. There was space to park, a wide view across the valley, and before any human voice greeted us a dog appeared. Not barking. Not suspicious. Just curious. A good beginning. Places reveal themselves quickly if you watch the animals. The dogs at Concori moved with the relaxed confidence of creatures that have never been shouted at. Hens wandered across the yard with quiet authority. Somewhere nearby a donkey named San Pietro, who had arrived here years ago as a five month old orphan, observed everything with patient indifference.
Family in Harmony.
Gabriele Da Prato greeted us with the easy assurance of someone who has spent his life outdoors. Bright eyes, generous smile, the presence of a man comfortable with land rather than performance. His family appeared gradually rather than ceremonially. His wife, lean and attentive, spoke about tai chi, balance and listening. Their daughter Susanna, twenty six, moved easily between languages and generations.
“I will be the bridge,” she said quietly. “Between tradition and the future. I will be here for my family.”
It is not something many twenty six year olds say anymore.
Life Among the Vines.
Around them the small theatre of daily life continued without fuss. Someone worked quietly among the vines. A boyfriend moved between tasks. No visible stress, no choreography, simply people doing what the day required. Then Gabriele took a spade. We had been speaking about soil and vines planted on Miocene schist and pebbled stone shaped by centuries of the Serchio river. Instead of explaining further he pushed the blade into the earth, lifted a slice of ground and held it out to us.
Not like dirt. Like treasure.
Terroir in Motion.
Podere Concori sits between 300 and 400 metres above sea level near Gallicano. When Gabriele began here in 1998 there were no vineyards within forty kilometres. It was not an obvious place to make wine. But the territory had its own opinion. Forest presses close to the vines, ventilation moves down from the Apennines, and the soils hold the memory of ancient seabeds and river stones. The vines grow in Guyot rows that feel less imposed than persuaded.
Biodynamics Without Doctrine.
Biodynamics here is not presented as doctrine. There are no lectures about lunar calendars or mystical preparations. Instead there is attention. Humus. Microorganisms. Cover crops. Forest and vineyard existing as neighbours rather than adversaries.
“Only with a conscious agricultural vision,” Gabriele said quietly, “can a winemaker bring honest grapes.”
It sounded less like a slogan than a rule learned from the ground itself.
Wine, Music, and the Flos Rosé.
Later we tasted the wines. One in particular stayed with me, an unusual rosé called Flos, delicate and alive, made with very little sulphite because, as Gabriele explained, when the soil is calm and balanced the wine does not need much intervention. He prefers to call his wines natural rather than biological. A gentle current of jazz and blues drifted through the room while we tasted, barely louder than conversation, the kind of music that lets wine and thought move at the same pace.
Generations of Dedication.
The story stretches further back than the vineyard. Generations of the family were carpenters, painters, innkeepers and cooks. Gabriele’s father Luigi bought the farm in the 1950s and wine was made simply for the tavern, stored in demijohns and shared across wooden tables. Later the direction changed. From quantity to quality. From conventional farming to biodynamics. From producing wine as habit to producing it as a deliberate act of attention. Marc said something as we walked back through the rows that felt exactly right.
“This is a place for exceptions. Not for rules.”
Ocean George and the Earth.
When we left, the dogs escorted us back down the track where Ocean George waited quietly, the metallic blue paint of the Volkswagen California Ocean T7 already carrying a light dusting of Garfagnana soil. The valley opened below us again. Some vineyards are organised experiences, carefully explained and politely remembered. Others work differently. You arrive slowly. A dog greets you. Someone digs up a piece of earth and shows it to you as if it were gold. And you realise that you have not simply visited a vineyard. You have stepped briefly into a living conversation between land, family and time. Podere Concori is one of those places. The best way to understand it is simply to arrive slowly, switch off the engine, and listen to the soil.
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