
Pinot Noir
The flagship. Red cherry, dried rose, and the fog it grew up in.
A working estate and cellar journal — terroir, fermentation, and the long quiet of aging — published from a hillside in the Willamette Valley.


Three words, one long year.
Seven estate blocks, dry-farmed on a foggy hillside. The fruit comes first, and it comes from right here.
Night picks, gentle crush, native yeast. Slow ferments that never hurry toward a deadline.
Eighteen months in French oak, then a quiet rest in glass. Released only when it's ready.
Four grapes, one hillside.

The flagship. Red cherry, dried rose, and the fog it grew up in.

Lemon curd and chalk, aged on its lees. The patient one.

Bright, easy, and gone too fast. The wine for a weeknight.

Dry, electric, from the highest block. The outlier we love.
Shot where the wine actually happens.






The estate, year by year.
A winery is a long argument with the weather, and every year the weather wins some. Here's how the argument has gone so far.
Six acres of pinot, planted by hand, by a couple who'd never made wine.
A borrowed press, a rented tank, and a vintage no one would buy for ten years.
Dug into the hillside — the same cool dark where the barrels live now.
Every bottle, for the first time, from our own fruit and no one else's.
We start writing it all down — the growing, the crushing, the waiting.
Two weeks, one cut at a time.

I took over this vineyard in 2016, the year we went estate. The first thing I learned: a vine doesn't care about your plans. It cares about the frost in April and the heat in August and whether it rained at harvest.
So the journal is our attempt to show the year as it actually happens — the brix numbers, the bad decisions, the barrel that turned out better than it had any right to.
Here's the invitation: watch a harvest with us. Then drink the result. That's the whole thing, grow, crush, bottle.
Live, from our backend.
Notes from the cellar door.
"The 2024 pinot smells like a rainy garden and tastes like a long dinner. I ordered a case before I finished the first glass."
"I don't know wine. I know this one made me slow down and actually pay attention to what I was drinking."
"The estate tour is the real thing — no gift shop, just dirt, tanks, and a winemaker who can't stop talking about clones."
Four seasons, one cycle.
The first green push, and the nervous weeks of frost watch.
The grapes turn color and the sugar starts to climb.
Night picks, brix checks, and the race before the rain.
Pruning, cellaring, and the quiet that makes next year.
grow, crush, bottle.