We come from a land blessed by the sky and by men's love nurtured by their frenzy of giving it sustenance where a dividing stone wall does rise to protect the life of ust one tree.

We come from a place that did and still does need all the tenderness men can bestow where a single grapevine line represents the pentacle of the score of a song that is millions of years old and the sad melody of men and women this contains or at least this is what we used to say.

Those men and women were used to walking on this land trying not to tarnish its fate as light as the air and like the wind, they stroked the ground singing their thanksgiving chant.

The same men and women today have directed their voices towards a different passion a new way of being cilentani,with no more sadness in them they now laugh, as laughing is their new chant to Life.

Ours is a story with no ending about a gentle link between the present and the past a story rising from dreams.

A story of unions and bonds friendship and kinship sharing understandings and misunderstandings.

An echo of far away languages and cultures resounds in this far corner of the world from people having drifted here out of necessity, or just out of curiosity.

Accents of Arabic, Polish even Scottish or Australian and Argentinean can be heard in the dialect intonation of the Cilento region all of them mix in the same chorus and rise in one harmony.

What we produce is our fruit we gave birth to it by celebrating this land Our Land With its pace, its timing and its seasons.