Bollenberg Hill – Belenos Hill
Hill as emblem, symbol for winemakers as villagers. Sacred hill, the top of which adorns a chapel that time has ceased to envelop with mystery. Populated hill, crossed by ancient energies, nourished by intertwined stories, memory and myth. Hill with multiple, contrasting terroirs, as if it carried in it the opposites of the world.
She's always been watching. A place of Celtic gatherings, offering to invisible powers, it was also the land of Sabbaths, night lights and grave silences. An intimate bond connects her to the sacred, to what man cannot name, only sense.
His name comes from afar: Bollenberg, derived from Belen, or Belenos – the Celtic god of fire, light, pasture and passage between life and death.
Here, parties followed the sun race. Every year, February 2nd marks Imbolc, the moment-threat of the Celtic calendar: the promise of renewal, when the light gradually resumes the pace of darkness. On that day, the sun rises in the perfect axis of the mountains and comes to embrace the hill with a straight and pure light. A suspended moment, reminiscent of the ancient covenant between heaven and earth.
The Romans planted their stones and rites there. A villa set up. Then came Christianity. In the 6th century, a church dedicated to St. Martin's, divided between six villages — Orschwihr remained faithful until his death in 1838.
The 18th century, curious detymologies, connects Bollenberg with Apollo, the Roman solar god. Others see it as a woman's protection: Sainte Apolline, or Sainte Polona, the tutelary figures of the hill.And today again, at the top, stands the chapel Sainte-Croix.
She is also called a witch chapel. — remote echo to the vigils of another time, at the Sabbaths, these night gatherings full of rituals and mysteries, which the wind, sometimes, still seems to murmur between the vines.
The hill rests on an ancient, limestone base, veined here and there with strata of clays and marnes, as if time had inscribed on it some sediments of souls. This complex, fragmented basement offers a mosaic of terroirs, each vibrant with its own voice, revealing a singular identity, a particular breath.
Its climate, too, is beyond the norm. Protected by the high wall of the Vosges – especially the giants, the Great and the Little Balloon – it escapes the rains from the west. Thus, this limestone hill becomes one of the driest in France. Barely 400 to 500 mm of water per year lay there, as a discreet blessing.
And yet, in this rarity is born abundance. A rare flora and fauna have been established, coming from afar, unexpected horizons: Mediterranean species cross here plant forms from Eastern Europe, coming from the Hungarian or Russian plains. Between discrete fried, razed moors, rough pierriers, more than 270 plant species root. Some are discreet jewels: wild orchids, some fifteen precious varieties, tulips of vines, pulsatiles anemones, blood carnations, beautiful eleven hours...
The animals themselves have taken refuge in this landscape. The green lizard, bright and emerald, s Around him, lizards of the walls, Ephippiger of the vines, bulim snails striped, all find place.
And in the sky, or placed on a branch, sing the yellow bluish, the melodious linote, the fascinated huppe, the zizi bluish – so many voices that weave the living web of the place. Since 2008, this fragile balance has been ensured by Natura 2000, as a sanctuary to be preserved.
Triangular, erect like a limestone altar, the hill rises gently to 363 meters — modest in height, but grand print. Sculpted by wind, sun and centuries, it imposes its presence. It opens in three slopes: one looks east and southeast, wide and bright; another south, more intimate; The last turns west, watching the sunset.
