In 2007, my current managers—a group of winemakers with more rock than patience—rescued me from oblivion. They decided it was time to take me out of the garage and bring me back to the stage, to dance and show off my best version.

I’ve felt the hail break my grapes, birds devour them, and bees prick them to sip the sweet juice I produce—despite my thick skin. I’ve even survived the relentless Manchuela sun. The world around me has changed, but thanks to that, I am who I am, with rock flowing through my veins. My winemaker thinks I’m old, but I’m younger than him. I’ve endured more hail, frosts, and cold nights than he has.