Clarity

One of the remarkable things about tending these acres in all season and conditions, is getting to experience the subtleties of each season.

We often perceive winter in Northeastern Ohio as an undifferentiated blur of salt-stained gray.

But a shift in the clouds, however fleeting, can reveal startling colors and clarity, especially on a single digit December afternoon, when ice crusted snow sparkles beneath a startling clear blue sky, and the competing textures of flowing water and solid ice create a stunning backdrop for our avian vineyard friends.

The Vineyard Sleeps

For several months we have had occasional hoarfrost in the morning, crystalline frost on dying foliage, a smattering of flurries and squalls.

But one day the first heavy snow of the season arrives, and stays, and the vineyard finally slumbers.

There is something remarkably peaceful about the first snowy vineyard sunrise of the season. The snow muffles all sound, the ground is covered, the lake partially frozen.

That is our signal that the post-harvest work of the vineyard is mostly finished. What did not get accomplished will wait until another season, for these are the days when we start to look ahead.

In a few short weeks the crucial work of pruning begins, when last season's growth is removed and we choose how many buds to leave on woody spurs. Latent in each bud, is next years's life: rampant shoots, lush foliage, delectable fruit, for these few months slumbering in a quiet, snowy vineyard.

November Slant of Light

Strong weekend winds whisked the last of the dry leaves from the vines.

A full November moon gave way to a brilliant orb at sunrise, and suddenly, standing on the sunny slope of the South vineyard, or beside the lake on the North, there are clear lines of sight.

A five acre vineyard somehow seems a lot smaller, no longer contained by green walls of leafy trellis.

Today's wind crests in white-peaked waves across the spring fed lake. The swan family, resident ducks and passing Canada geese bob along in the current, nonplussed. A spindly legged doe, perfectly camouflaged against tawny apple tree trunks, munches contentedly from late-ripening fruit, lingering yet on denuded orchard boughs.

These are days to catch up on trellis repair, to inspect the growth and development of woody trunks and cordons, and to think back on the season that was, and look ahead to the one yet to come.

Somehow, something as simple as the grape leaves finally being clear from the trellis wires opens the mind from day-to-day concerns, and clears space to reflect back, and to look forward.

There is something about a November slant of light: it changes by the minute beneath rapidly advancing clouds. Neither as intense as the full summer sun nor as austere as winter's meager yet welcome rays, it colors newly opened vistas, illumining a brief pause from the immediate needs of hundreds of vigorous vines.

A Perfect November Tree

Give a child an especially vivid box of crayons, and ask her to draw a perfect fall tree. She might come up with something like one of the small maples bordering our North Vineyard lawn.

Maybe because the sky was gray today, yet with open pockets where the sun shone through.

Maybe because for being so late in the season, it is surprising such brilliant colors linger.

Maybe because it's a perfect lollipop of a tree canopy, a dollop of bright orange from a distance, yet in close range, individual points of crimson, gold and orange.

Maybe it is the growing carpet of shed leaves at its base, a reminder that nothing gold (or crimson or orange or scarlet) can stay.

For whatever reason, this is the tree that captured my eye this fall.

My third autumn in the vineyard, and I anticipate the seasonal change: The startling scarlet of Virginia Creeper climbing gnarled tree trunks, harbinger of all the colors yet to come.

The buttery yellow and gold and red of the shrubby sassafras, with its cheerful mitten leaves.

The corky bark and brilliant foliage of the otherwise inauspicious sweetgum.

Every year, I anticipate the vistas surrounding the vineyard, watching one species steal the thunder from the last, taking mental photos of the perfect fall vista, when everything seems at its peak.

For whatever reason in this wet and wacky growing season, the colors did not seem to change in their usual succession.

The vistas I anticipated never seemed to arrive, as the cottonwood lost all its leaves before the tamarack turned tawny. 

So, I had pretty much written off this fall's foliage season. 

Until November 1, when this perfect maple chose to reveal itself.

A Difference of Five Months

Memorial Day weekend vineyard temperatures dipped into the mid-twenties.

It is not unusual for temperatures in May to flirt around the freezing point.

But a deep freeze this late, when the trees are fully leafed out, and spring flowers in full bloom, is not something we expect.

(Or maybe we should coming off of our third season of "unprecidented" weather.)

That May weekend, hoarfrost on the newly-emerged grape leaves was not a beautiful sight, no matter how lovely the ice crystals sparkled in the early morning sun.

As the sun rose and the ice melted, the eternal hope of the gardener: maybe everything will survive. The leaves are still green.

But as morning progressed to afternoon, droop progressed to wilt.

Another cycle of the sun, and it was clear that most of the leaves, and nearly all the flower clusters, were toast. By the next day, brittle scorched leaves fell to a grave of soft spring turf.

Fast forward five months:

This October morning ice crusted leaves are a lovely sight.

Summer is ending as it should.

Buttery yellow leaves will crisp to brown, then drift to the ground, then disperse in the wind.

The vineyard sleeps, and all is as it should be on this October morning, when frost kissed the vineyard goodnight.

Frosty Vineyard Roses

Every vineyard morning at sunrise, something catches my eye.

This morning it is the roses.

There are reasons to plant roses in a vineyard:

Tradition

Roses do well in sunny well drained soil, as do grapes. Someone figured that out a long time ago, and somehow, the two just complement one another. On certain sunny summer days, when the roses are a radiant red, and the sky a beckoning blue, this corner of Canton, Ohio really does feel a little bit like Tuscany.

Canary in a Coal Mine

Suited to dry and sunny climates, the two plants can succumb to blights and mildews and pests that thrive in our borderline tropical summer climate.

Blights on the roses indicate that our vines may be at risk. A romantic notion, perhaps, in an age of scientific viticulture, but there is something to be said for interspersing a second species, among acres of thousands of the same plant.

A Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose

I have yet to use a rose bush to diagnose a serious ailment in the vineyard. (And regardless, the rose varieties we grow are modern disease resistant hybrids.)

A vineyard rose has a far more important function: It is a rose.

A thing of beauty, resplendent red amongst acres of green. Rampant vines with inconspicuous blossoms but laden with abundant showy fruit, contrasted by thorny shrubs with luxuriant blossom but subtle fruit.

Terroir

Another romantic notion, with some base in science, is that of terroir, that the grapes of a vineyard reflect the local micro conditions of climate, soil, air flow, quality of light, and minerals that are endemic to a particular spot on the earth.

It stands to reason, therefore, that somehow, someway, the visual beauty of the vineyard landscape finds its way in to the wine it produces: the soul of the vineyard in the taste of its wine.

And this being an Ohio vineyard, it stands to reason that the roses we grow should not just look resplendent  under a Tuscan summer sun, but should array themselves beautifully in our full range of Midwestern seasons.

On this October vineyard morning, I think our frosty vineyard roses pass that test.

La Vendemmia, Canton-style

Our Festa Gervasi harvest wagon is a transformation of the Italian La Vendemmia tradition, when the last grapes from the vineyard are ceremoniously hauled to the village in a decorated wagon, traditionally borne by oxen. Grape stomping and festivity ensue.

Our wagon celebrates not just the bounty of the harvest, but tells the story of this place, from virgin oak forest to dairy farm to tree farm to vineyard.

Instead of a team of oxen, our Canton harvest wagon is borne by our antique McCormick Farmall, refurbished and used to till our vineyard rows.

Baskets of apples and pears from our orchard, and walnuts from our fence rows (standing in place of Tuscan olives), speak to the rural heritage of this corner of Canton, Ohio.

Colorful sweet gum and maple boughs mark the years a tree farm stood on these grounds, and are joined by asters, goldenrod, and rose hips from our meadows, which are nearing their peak of fall color.

Wooden signs represent the six varieties we have chosen to nurture to fruitful maturity in our young vineyard: Marquette, Frontenac Gris, Aromella, Arandell, Vignoles, and Petite Pearl.

An oak wine barrel from the Canton Cooperage company commemorates the virgin oak forest that once stood on this site, remnants of which can be seen in the restored oak beams of our Bistro, a renovated 1823 Ohio bank barn.

Garlands of wild grape vines from our woodlands wrap the wagon, in homage to Ohio's vineyard heritage, and the American lineage of some of the French-American hybrids we grow.

The wagon itself is made of scraps of lumber from our new Crush House, and a few boards from the old barn which housed our initial wine cellar, in celebration of vintages past and future.

Baskets of summer flowers from our meticulous grounds, recently pulled to be replaced by fall plantings, are another marker of seasonal change.

The work of the vineyard goes on through all seasons and conditions. When harvest and its vibrant colors arrive, it is more than just a pretty scene, but a celebration of life and abundance.

Veraison

The season of veraison is upon us in the vineyard.

As the days grow perceptibly shorter, the vines shift their energy from shoot production to the ripening of the fruit. The color deepens, the berries soften, flavors and aromas develop.

In a challenging viticulture season, neither unusual late season frost nor ravenous geese nor periods of near biblical deluge can keep our resilient Marquette vines from bearing at least some fruit.

The view above is from the North Vineyard, after we removed excessive leaf growth encouraged by our abundantly wet summer, in preparation for installing bird netting.

This is the season we expose clusters to the sun so they can fully and evenly ripen, and do our best to protect the sweetening fruit from bird and beast.

All it takes now is sunshine and time. One by one, the berries turn. 

A simple thing, but startling and amazing nonetheless. One day the vineyard is nothing but green. The next day it is not.

Our Vineyard

Our estate vineyard consists of nearly six acres, carefully sited on our historic fifty-five acre farm property. We’ve chosen six exceptional wine grape varieties, well-suited to our terrain and climate, to patiently nurture to fruitful maturity in our Canton, Ohio vineyard.

Our varietals, clockwise from top:

Marquette, Frontenac Gris, Arandell, Petite Pearl, Aromella.

Center: Vignoles

The North Vineyard

Entering our property from the front gate, you’ll see our picturesque North Vineyard on your left, situated on the west shore of spring-fed Lake Gervasi.

A stunning backdrop for lakeside and Pavilion weddings and events, and the site of our popular seasonal Vineyard Dinners, the North Vineyard was planted in 2009 and 2010, with a limited first harvest in 2012.

In the North Vineyard we grow Marquette (a grandson of Pinot noir), which bears a dark purple grape producing a ruby-colored wine, and the intriguing Frontenac Gris, lovely bronze-hued clusters which produce a lively, aromatic white wine.

The South Vineyard

Petite Pearl grapes, August 2013

Just past our orchard and along the roadway to Gervasi Village and the Crush House, our South Vineyard arises from a wooded creek bed on a sunny east-facing slope.

Planted in 2010 and 2011, here we are nurturing our newest varietals: Aromella (an apricot-hued aromatic white), Vignoles (a late harvest white), Arandell (a Cornell-bred dark purple grape with dark berry aromatics), and Petite Pearl (a late harvest red, producing a dark garnet wine.)

From the balcony of our newly-opened Crush House eatery, you can enjoy a panoramic vista of the South Vineyard and surrounding landscape, and watch us nurture a young vineyard into fruitful production.

Meticulous Care

Marquette tendril, May 2012

During their formative years, our vines require meticulous hands-on attention.

Our work in the vineyard is to channel the grape vine's rampant growth tendencies into a uniform, consistent trellis structure. We also limit the grape crop severely, to channel the plant's energy into healthy roots and trunks. Because we are growing wine grapes, we want the highest quality, most flavorful fruit, so each year we limit the crop to produce the quality our hand crafted wines require.

Terroir

No matter how carefully the vines are tended, however, the grapes grown must be suited to the unique characteristics of the vineyard terrain from which they arise. That's a concept the French call terroir, the particular qualities of geography, geology and climate, that interact with the vine's genetics, to produce a grape and eventually a wine that reflect the "sense of the place" of a particular vineyard.

We can't help but think that somehow the particular beauty of this old farm, with its spring fed lake and pebbly vineyard hills of loamy soils formed by glacial outwash, will produce exceptional wines from the six grape varieties we've carefully selected and lovingly tended.

In the coming years, as each variety in our estate vineyard matures to offer its distinctive fruit, we look forward to exquisite additions to our portfolio of singular wines.