Loreto Aprutino is one of the most important and ancient towns in the province of Pescara. The ancient agricultural vocation has over the centuries modelled the territory into this peculiar landscape. The traditional olive tree groves and vineyards are alternated with vegetable plots and arable land, with sudden areas of wild maquis shrubland, while badlands contrast with a landscape that is mostly composed of gentle hills that look very suitable for human settlement: important archaeological findings are witness to stable forms of living already by 4500 B.C.
Despite the smooth landscape and the privileged position as a junction between the mountain areas and the Adriatic coast, industries and concrete have spared the beauty of this part of the world until now, and agriculture is still the main activity.

Torre dei Beati, Loreto Aprutino
Human beings cannot exist without a place, and few places have any meaning for most of us unless someone is there to give them life. Wine is the witness to this natural alliance and to an aspiration toward perfection even within the context of eternal change.

Loreto Aprutino
A charming village boasting an ancient history, in which agriculture has left an indelible mark on the landscape and on human culture. Here we walk through the countryside and pass both tilled fields and untamed nature; the echo of our steps in the narrow alleys of the town center or as we pass along silent brick walls; the village festivals that bring new life to ancient traditions; the world’s events resound in the conversations of acquaintances in the local cafés. Far from the noise and tumult of the world, this unique, rural civilization lives on.

For the winemaker the greatest challenge of them all. In his short span on earth, he pits himself against not commensurable scope of his land, his vineyard, his wines. Each year, he is compelled to say "this is the day" even when he would prefer to delay in the hope of something better. He must give an interpretation as necessarily incomplete as it is inevitable, placing his own small, changing bookmark between the pages of the memories of his place.