A long time ago, in a land far, far away, there was a magical valley. Lush purple grapes hung from twisted vines and the olive trees' silvery leaves glittered in the afternoon sun. This was over two thousand years ago in a place called Tuscany, and the people who lived here were known as Etruscans.
But then things changed, as things often do. Over the centuries, different peoples passed through this enchanted valley, each cultivating the vineyards, harvesting the grapes and drinking the fruits of their labor. During the Renaissance, one of the wineries grew to twice its size, and a grand palazzo was built. The wine was so delicious, so pure, so delightful, that by order of Cosimo III de'Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany, the region of Carmignano became one of the first in the world to have its own denomination of controlled origin (DOC) ensuring that it could never be copied or altered. More years went by, and the land was passed from family to family. They were noble dynasties with names such as Cantucci, Bourbon, Medici, Morelli and Franchetti-Rothschild. By then, the winery too had a name of its own—it was called Capezzana.
One day a man named Count Alessandro Contini Bonacossi brought his wife and children to Tuscany. And the valley, with its majestic rolling hills and beautiful flowers, cast a spell over the Count's son, Augusto Alessandro. He began to care for it and love it as so many had before him. And then the winery grew. And grew. And grew. Until it was one of the loveliest wineries in all the world.
Not long after, Augusto Alessandro had a son, a son named Count Ugo. Like the Etruscans, the noble families and his father and grandfather before him, Ugo fell under the spell of the winery. He devoted his life to perfecting its wine, working with his children to create masterpieces such as Villa di Capezzana Carmignano and Barco Reale, as well as overseeing the olive oil press and the family art collection, portions of which had been donated to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. By the time Count Ugo had a family of his own—including his grandson, the handsome painter shown on these pages with his girlfriend—the magical winery had grown to 670 hectares.
Sitting six hundred feet above sea level, the land basks in the sunshine by day, and cool breezes drift through the vines by evening. The Apennine Mountains are close, protecting the delicate grapes from bitter winds and storms. Looking over the Eden that has been passed down to him, Count Ugo becomes reflective. "One must not lose the identity of the wine," he says, surveying the bounty that lies before him. "Tradition is the accumulation of improvements over centuries, passed down for generations. We should continue to change for the better." In other words, there is every reason to believe that this magical valley will itself live happily ever after.
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