Vie de Château Intense Nicolaï 2008

The castle is old, dilapidated, and has long been overgrown by ivy, climbing roses, and other creeping plants. Peregrine falcons nest on the roof, and European owls inhabit the ancient oaks. Foxes and martens hunt mice and rats. Nature has reclaimed la vie, and it’s a bit eerie, especially when bats circle at night and the moon brings the eyes of nocturnal creatures to life.

Next to the old wrought-iron gate, an ancient couple still lives in a small house. Their age cannot even be determined by radiocarbon dating. They are still a kind of caretakers, ensuring that the estate doesn’t completely fall into disrepair and chasing away youths who come to the castle at night to smoke grass and practice... uh, free love.
They still keep a few animals. Sheep that eat the worst weeds and a small flock of chickens, whose rooster is better than Cerberus, who guarded the entrance to the underworld, crowing every time the stoned hordes arrive. So at midnight.

Thus, Grandma ventured out at night, chasing the troublemakers away with loud shrieks and a pitchfork - she did look somewhat like a ribcage of the immortal - and collected the abandoned bags. The contents she replaced the next day with thyme, tarragon, hay, and real tobacco, placing them back in their spot, knowing that the young folks would return anyway.

The ancient Grandpa sat with Owl Sharp Eye on the old oak, both padding the creaky seat with soft oak moss, sharing a green vetiver pipe and blowing rings into the air. Together they croaked, “Life is beautiful!”
The young folks quietly crept back, rolled bags from Great Grandma’s herb mix, and exclaimed, “Ahh, so intense, intense! The best stuff we’ve ever had!”
And if they haven't died, the old folks live in a retirement home, the sheep are at a sanctuary, and the chickens are with Pollita.