Learning to Love a Mess

The vineyard was deep in the throes of withdrawal. Cut off from its fix of herbicides, pesticides and tillage, its veneer was cracked and peeling. Bursts of foxtail rent the formerly perfect lines of grapevines; broadleaf weeds erupted from the once-weedless soil. In the last few months, the entire gopher population of Napa Valley had swarmed over our land, gleefully screaming, “Lunch!” Now the plot was pockmarked with their holes. As my winemaker, Jeff Virnig, and I watched our vineyard become more haggard, we crossed our fingers that we were doing the right thing.

A few years before, Jeff and I had decided to do something radical to my family’s vineyard-go organic. What had led us to take this course-one that was scoffed at by many of my neighbors-were two apparently contradictory ideals. We wanted a better environment in which to work and live. And we wanted to improve the quality and character of the wines.

Even though I had first planted grapes on my land just 10 years before, the soil was already compacted (which meant that it could not hold water very well) and cracking (which meant that it didn’t have enough organic matter to hold it together). The ground was so hard that we couldn’t get a spade into it; I had to swing a pick or haul out the rototiller. And even when I did turn the soil, the results were disappointing. It was completely devoid of life: no earthworms, no insects, no roots from plants other than grapevines.

According to the then-prevalent school of thought, this lack of life was actually a good thing. It meant that we had taken control of the environment. We had created a blank canvas on which we could apply our chemical slurries. We could isolate every symptom of disease or nutritional shortage, treat them with special-purpose chemicals and fix them in a predictable way.

We had turned nature’s messy, chaotic system of biodiversity into rational, methodical engineering. So why didn’t we feel good about it?

There were too many questions: If my soil was devoid of life, then how was it going to be charged with nutrients? And if my soil had no nutrients, how was the vine going to get them? I knew the answer to the last question. I was supposed to buy mineral and synthetic nutrients at the store. I couldn’t help wondering if there was a better way.

The growth of plants-grapevines, for instance-is based on the fertility of the soil. When I manipulate that fertility by dumping in synthetic nitrogen-based fertilizers, my vines grow-immediately, dramatically. This looks good in the short term, but I was now realizing that grapevines need to be healthy for many years. Like athletes who make short-term performance gains from steroids at the cost of their long-term health, my vines were growing faster and greener to begin with but ending up with fruit that had less concentrated flavor and didn’t ripen well.

When I tried to pump up the flavor or improve the ripening, other problems emerged. Each miracle solution created the next problem, which required another miracle solution. Jeff and I wanted more consistency and fewer headaches. It seemed to us that if the land had proper minerals and nutrients, the vine would find its own balance by taking up what it needed when it needed it.

The simple observation that the soil was dead led us on a long but surprisingly commonsensical journey. Our first theory was based on the simple notion that insect infestation (in this case, the root louse phylloxera) is a result of weak or malnourished vines. Insects are nature’s clean-up team. It is their job to aid and speed up the rotting process. Healthy vines would have fewer insect pests. If I maintained the soil in my land, I would be building up the immune system, so to speak, of my vines. With less phylloxera, I wouldn’t have to spend as much time and money ripping out vines and replanting. The vineyard and I would both be better off.

The second theory was based on the elusive concept of balance. The idea is that the vine is looking to find its own state of equilibrium. Its above-ground vegetative growth is based on the fertility of the soil. But for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Big green growth usually equates to uneven fruit sets, less concentrated flavors and difficulty in ripening.

Then, whatever happens one year, you can almost count on the opposite occurring the next. We wanted more consistency. Once again, we theorized that if the proper nutrients existed, the vine would find its own balance. No more exaggerated growth, just steady as she goes.

The third theory was that the character of wine was becoming more generic as a result of this misuse of science. The unique qualities that differentiate one wine from another are becoming blurred as farmers and winemakers everywhere access the same technological toolbox. The French concept that wine should have a sense of place, or terroir, is not as apparent in New World winemaking as it should be. We believed that if most of the nutrients for our vines were created on-site (by the use of cover crops, organic compost and organic foliar sprays) the character of the wine would more accurately reflect the region it grew in.

Finally, we wanted to go organic because of a well-known fact: Cancer rates are higher in farming communities. Something is wrong when you are supposedly working with nature yet are surrounded by toxins. I no longer wanted to expose my children, my employees, myself or even my dogs to the chemicals of farming.

It has been 10 years. We have finally learned our craft well enough to apply for certification from the California Certified Organic Farmers. Next year, if all goes well, we will be certified. But what has happened?

The post-withdrawal vineyard is still not perfect. It never will be. We do not have the perfectly straight rows of identical vines and weedless aisles so common in the Napa Valley. But instead of looking like a soap-opera leading man, my vineyard has the rugged good looks of an outdoorsman with five-day stubble and grass stains on his knees.

Phylloxera still exists, but so do 40 of the original 60 acres of vines-not a bad record, by Napa standards. The new threat of Pierce’s Disease looms on the horizon. But if our other theories are correct, the vines, with their beefed-up immune system and nutrient-rich soil, will be able to fend off the blight with, to steal a phrase from war, “acceptable losses.”

Nature continues to seek its own state of equilibrium. Owls, hawks, eagles and coyotes have returned to eat the gophers and rabbits. A shovel can easily turn the soil to reveal a thriving earthworm population. Yields have become more consistent and the grapes have better color and more flavor. I believe that the wines are more expressive and unique.

But what is most satisfying is being able to walk through the vineyards with my 2-year-old and not be afraid when she puts a cluster of grapes into her mouth. There are far too many other things in this world to be afraid of. We shouldn’t be afraid of our food ... or our drink.

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Sinskey is owner of Robert Sinskey Vineyards in the Napa Valley.