Spring came to us slowly this year, as if time reluctantly withdrew from the sweetness of winter’s hibernation. The vineyard awoke lazily, which meant we finished pruning with time to spare. The weather oscillated from warm to cold, never quite making up its mind. Consequently (and thankfully), bud break was delayed, sparing us from the devastating spring frosts that just keep happening. Our thoughts are with all of our friends farming fruit in the Northeast, some of whom lost their entire crop in just a couple hours on the morning of April 21st. Here’s a sobering reflection from Tom Croghan at Dodon Vineyards in Maryland.
Though we escaped the worst of it, we did see some damage from a radiation frost on May 21st. With clear skies and no wind, the soil, warmed all day by the spring sun, loses heat quickly to the atmosphere and cold air from above is allowed to settle. On mornings like these, temperatures can be 3-4°F warmer just a couple feet above the ground. On May 21st, our frost line was around 6” so only our renewals were damaged. This is one of the reasons why we train our vines five feet off the ground – to let the fruit grow in the incubator of warm, chest-level air.
The frost was preceded by a brief stretch of mid-80s, which sent shoots into overdrive. On Sunday, May 17, we had half-inch swollen buds; by Tuesday, May 19, the shoots measured six inches. It was cinematic. You could have set up a lawn chair and watched them grow. Mowing and shoot thinning became a priority almost overnight, and so we got to work writing new choreography to Mother Nature’s rhythms. Our vocation demands agility and improvisation, as we learn new steps to a new dance, season after season.
As any Vermonter knows, spring is a sacred passage from dark to light. After months of cold days and long nights, the return of spring buzzes with limitless light and life. We feel the shift in our bodies, like our cells are responding to a higher frequency, to a more social sun. The yeast feel it, too. Many of our wines, having retreated into dormancy after being tucked away for winter, come alive once again. The textbooks say it’s because the cellar is getting warmer, but we’ve kept it warm all winter. Maybe it has more to do with the light. Maybe it’s the reawakening of the world, the pheromones of plants, the songs of birds and bees, the lingering of light that make the difference. Frontenac Blanc suddenly resumes its fermentation, ending dry as the yeast eat the last grams of sugar. A stubborn and tired barrel of Marquette gets spritzy, then softens and begins to taste whole. It’s hard to see it as pure coincidence.
As we shed the layers of our long wintering, as we celebrate the staying sun, so do all living creatures. We’re reminded every spring of our gratitude to work so closely with the earth and to notice these subtle shifts. We’re sure you’ve noticed them, too.
In light of the turning of seasons, our tasting room has transitioned to summer hours, and we have plenty of events on the docket! We hope you’ll join us soon for a Friday Night Music concert and a glass of wine, or a relaxing Sunday afternoon on the porch, enjoying the soft return to a little more light.