The chestnut harvest

October has another rhythm. The vineyard rests and the chestnut groves call.

Gathering is slow work, done with your eyes on the ground. You open the burr with your foot, pick the chestnut with your hand, and the basket grows heavy without you noticing.

There is always a pause in the sun, leaves falling, someone telling the same story as last year. Nobody is in a hurry.

In the evening we roast the first ones. A simple gesture, repeated for generations, and perhaps that is exactly what makes it beautiful.