Rosewood, lemon and sage soap
Aimé Lavigne was born into a French winemaking family. He loved nature and tradition. With his wife, Rose Labrise, he dreamed of one day taking over the family vineyards. In one of his many rituals, he would walk among the vines, reaching his hand out lovingly to each sun gorged cluster of grapes. In contrast, his father, Pierre Lavigne, was a pragmatic man of strong views who belonged to the PPP school of business: Profit Profit Profit. He pressed as much juice as possible out of his grapes – and out of his son. When Pierre announced plans to mechanize the operation, Aimé was beside himself. Many futile conversations later, Aimé left his father and his native land behind for Quebec, accompanied by his faithful love, Rose.
They settled in the fertile Eastern Townships, where a handful of obstinate winegrowers were proving that despite the hostile climate, you could make excellent wine in Quebec.
That summer, the couple toiled. A handful of vines planted by the former owner produced a smooth, earthy and slightly acidic wine. Rose also tirelessly planted varieties of exotic roses, prizing subtle combination of vine and rose, plants she considered to be divine. She may have given her all, because that winter Rose suffered in the cold and caught pneumonia. She wilted, withered and finally succumbed.
Aimé waited for summer to lay his Rose to rest in the garden among the vines. But without her, he was not up to caring for the vineyard. At the first signs of cold, when winegrowers light thousands of small fires to keep the grapes from freezing, Aimé felt a strange warmth emanating from Rose’s final resting place. Come winter, the snow melted more quickly in that spot.
That year produced a bumper crop, praise Bacchus. The vintage was delicious, round in mouth with a hint of rose musk.
It soon became clear to Aimé that Rose’s spirit would live on, daring palates and visiting traditional vineyards everywhere.