Late Winter at the Vineyard and in the Cellar
There is a particular quiet this time of year. Not silence exactly, but a softer rhythm. The vineyard breathes differently in late winter. So do we.
In the Vineyard
Jesus has been out pruning tirelessly, moving row by row with a kind of reverence that only comes from knowing each vine personally. Every cut is intentional. Every plant considered. He’s wrapping up the final passes today, which always feels like a small milestone. A line crossed. A season acknowledged.
Later this week, we’ll be bringing in a few trusted, experienced hands to help pull the pruned canes from the canopy. These are people who understand the rhythm of this place, who move thoughtfully through the rows. Together, they’ll gather the canes into neat lines where, in another week or two, they’ll be mulched back into the soil. Nothing wasted. Everything returned.
We did have a big snow recently, and it was breathtaking. The vineyard blanketed in white, the rows softened and hushed, the kind of stillness that makes you pause without meaning to. For a few days, everything felt suspended in light. It was beautiful in a way that only snow on vines can be.
Beyond that, it has been a generally warm winter. We haven’t seen many days below freezing, and we’ve had afternoons stretching into the 60s. With that warmth, small flowers have begun to push up in quiet corners. Butterflies, too. A few different species flitting about as if spring has already sent a whisper ahead of itself.
The vines are still technically dormant. There’s no visible sap flow yet. But if you look closely, you can see it. The buds are subtly shifting in shape, swelling ever so slightly. A quiet preparation. They know what’s coming, even if we pretend not to.
In the Winery
In the cellar, this is mostly a season of patience.
There are still a handful of 2025 white wines in barrel finishing the last stretch of alcoholic fermentation. A few reds are completing malolactic fermentation as well. Because we do not inoculate with commercial yeasts, our fermentations tend to move at their own pace. They take longer. They require trust.
But we know from experience that patience gives us depth. Texture. Wines that feel complete rather than hurried. So we wait, confidently.
We taste regularly, checking in on each barrel like you would on a sleeping child. We run analysis to ensure fermentations are finishing cleanly. We adjust temperatures as needed, warmer when a wine is actively fermenting, cooler once it has settled into rest.
February brought the bottling of our 2024 white wines, always a satisfying moment. This week, we begin blending the 2024 reds. Blending is one of those quiet joys. A return to the question of balance. Of harmony. Of what the vineyard has to say this year.
And this past Saturday, we had the immense pleasure of pouring our 2023 Viognier Reserve and 2022 Syrah Reserve at their release party. To share wines we are particularly proud of, face to face with the people who care enough to taste closely, is never lost on us. It felt celebratory in the truest sense. Not loud. Just deeply shared.
This time of year is subtle. Nothing dramatic. No sweeping gestures.
Just careful pruning. Slow fermentations. Snow falling softly over dormant vines. Buds quietly preparing. And all of us, waiting for spring.