Halfway through most vintages, I have more questions than answers. This year is no different. We’ve picked all our whites except a block of Petit Manseng with ambitions of becoming a late harvest. With 60 tons of fruit in the cellar, the sense of the vintage is both clear and murky. Quality has been very good despite the early August humidity and mildew scares. Fruit has been clean. Thus far, the weather has cooperated – we’ve picked everything right where we want it.

   It’s a high acid year for whites, with lower pH and higher TA than I would’ve expected considering the heat. It’s likely there were secondaries we didn’t identify in some vineyards, although the chemistry trends are similar in frosted and unfrosted blocks, and cluster sizes have remained average, bordering on large for Chenin and Albarino. Our winemaking has undergone a slow shift over the past five years, emphasizing higher acid whites, so I’m not complaining. The wines will have length and age better. They’ll be better on the dinner table.

   Low-lying blocks have had small yields as expected, but elsewhere the crops have been balanced. Chenin Blanc, Albarino, and Petit Manseng gave us some of their most interesting harvests to date, smaller berries packed with an unusual blend of ripeness and zest. Sauv Blanc and Viognier are scarcer, but the ferments have been equally exciting. The wines will likely be expressive and lengthy. Alcohols are moderate.

   As I write this, we’re starting on the reds. We’ve picked Tannat from Bethany Ridge and Hickory Wind and are about to dig into clone 343 on Russ Mountain the earlier-ripening section of the vineyard. Most other reds, however, have stalled. They need another 7 – 10 days of sunshine, which might be a tall order considering the current forecast. Next week looks overcast and wet, although the pattern isn’t a given. Combined with the late August humidity, potential wetness at this point increases the risk of mildew and delays ripening. Berries will soon soften and become vulnerable. Hot and cool, wet and dry, up and down. It’s been quite a season.

   I know growers who are experts at assessing a vintage from within the scramble. They have a sense of the quality of a thing as it unfolds before them. Not me. This year marks my 24^th harvest and while I can confidently say we’re in good shape with exciting ferments in the cellar, what I mostly am is curious. I’m curious as to the unexpected ways the wines are revealing themselves. I’m curious about the novel chemistries. I’m curious about what is to come from the lateness of our Petit Verdot and Cab Sauv blocks. I’m rarely certain. Each answer tends to lead to another question.

      Harvest used to approach gradually. In early August the upper canopies would slow as leaves settled into a dark green. Berries would swell and begin the slow process of ripening. Things slowed in late August as aromatics and tannins developed within cool, long days. The grass underfoot, the leaves above, the pokeweed and creeper along fencelines all slackened with the coolness, and, hopefully, the dry soil. Pre-harvest preparations included monitoring vine stress, organizing and reorganizing the cellar, and obsessively watching weather forecasts. It was the start of a long race for which we were hopefully well-trained.

      In the past ten – and particularly, five – years, the start of harvest has been more of a swift leap. Some of this is our fault: we cultivate varietals that ripen earlier; we receive early-season grapes from local growers; we make a few more barrels of sparkling each year. Each result in earlier picks.

     That said, it’s hard to ignore the quicker pace of ripening. Our average pick dates are getting earlier. Of course, we decide when to pick, and there can be a week’s difference simply based on pruning, crop load, and spacing of the canopy. The earliest five pick dates for Russ Merlot, for instance, have all been in the past five years; however, that’s more a reflection of changes in management than it is seasonal weather.

     That said, the weather is hard to ignore. We’ve had 2,520 GDDs as of September 1st, 8% more than the past 10-year average, which itself is 6% more than the past 100 years. Annual rainfall is down – we’re still technically in a drought – although timing is more important than amount. The summer has been pleasantly dry but early August was rough – 2.6 inches in the first week, which diluted berry sugar and pushed us back at least seven days.

Bethany Ridge Sauvignon Blanc Harvest Dates

• 2017 – 8/30
• 2018 – 8/30
• 2019 – 8/27
• 2020 – 9/4
• 2021 – 8/30
• 2022 – 9/2
• 2023 – 8/25
• 2024 – 8/20
• 2025 – 9/1
• 2026 – 8/28

Bethany Ridge Sauvignon Blanc Average Harvest Brix

• 2017 – 2021 – 21.9
• 2022 – 2026 – 22.9

     For our wine style, we want dry, cool weather during the late stages, particularly at night. This was never an option in early August in Virginia, but it can be toward the end. The average low in Loudoun in the final two week of August is 64. The past ten-year average was 66.7. This year it was 67. My least favorite SB vintages (2023 and 2024) were the earliest picks we’ve ever had. The wines were bright and vibrant but lacked length and aromatic interest. They were also the two highest SB brix we’ve ever had.

     The number of days between the cessation of vegetal growth to harvest has been shrinking year over year. This year the condensing gap was exacerbated by the frost and, probably, the nutrients and compost we applied to offset lanternfly damage. Vines need a balanced crop to create an energy sink to stop growth. Many blocks simply don’t have enough fruit this year. The balance is off. Hedging is pushed closer to picking. Gone are the days of organizing and reorganizing.

     Granted, it’s early. At the time of writing, we’ve only picked Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay for sparkling, and, as I type, Gruner for our pet nat, which looks stunning. We’re at the start of the race, but we have a sense, at least, of how the first lap will feel.

“We can sow the seed, but the outcome rests with the skies; no skill of the farmer can compel the rain to fall nor command the sun to be gentle.” — Xenophon, (c. 370 BCE)

     August moves swiftly in Loudoun. Despite the relative dryness of late summer, the fertile soil, charged with water from afternoon storms, provides an exhausting abundance of green growth. Everything in sight is flourishing. Crown vetch and switchgrass choke fences, dots of chicory and black-eye Susan push blue and gold in ditches, and creeper clogs string trimmers trying to regain portions of yards lost to the incessant Virginia growth.

     This time of year, the quiet roads connecting our vineyards are invaded with tree-of-heaven and willow oak, their leaves brushing car windows and branches looming overhead. Canopies in the woods, in yards, in our vineyards, everywhere, are thick with dark green. Everyone with a mower wishes the grass would stop. The pleasure of cutting wore off a month ago. Virginia is stunning in August.

     Vine growth, however, is counter to its surroundings. Veraison began in late July; its “official” date varies vineyard to vineyard, block to block, varietal to varietal. This year it’s earlier and later than normal – earlier in unfrosted, primary clusters, later in secondaries. We are roughly 200 GDDs (~8 days) ahead of schedule, although frost-damaged blocks are equally far behind. Most harvests are particular; this one will be downright strange.

     The intense labor of spring and summer is coming to a close. If our diligence has been done, canopies will be open and full, clusters exposed, leaves mildew free, and nothing overcrowded. We have touch-ups to do, but the vintage’s fate is now in the hands of the sun and clouds. If Mother Nature listens, she’ll bring clear days, limited rainfall, and moderate temperatures. Growers talk about being “owed” a good vintage. After the frost, after the tiny yields of 2025, that belief feels slightly less illogical than usual.

     The unpredictability in farming has existed since the first farmer planted the first field with the first crop. The risk of the weather is shared with thousands of generations of farmers, hundreds of generations of winegrowers. Despite this, despite the millions born before me who watched uneasily as black clouds approached their delicate crop, there’s still a loneliness to the feeling. Maybe because modern communities include so few farmers. Maybe because when it comes to Man vs Nature, we know who’s going to win. It is something we bear alone.

“Farming is a silent gamble with the sky.” – E.B. White

     I love this time of year. I love the moment in the season when we hand the reins of ripening to the weather. Soon we’ll be raising bird nets and pulling fruit samples. Soon we’ll be tasting fruit that’s almost ready. Soon we’ll be managing ferments. I’d be lost if, year after year, I couldn’t look forward to harvest with an excited, cautious optimism