So much happens when a wine region is born.  The landscape is altered.  Long-time crop fields are replaced with row upon row of unfamiliar cedar posts and wires, virtual factories of growth sprouting overnight.  Laconic farmers with squint-lined eyes, well schooled in the ebbs and flows of agriculture, politely listen to lectures on grape growing delivered by the new kids in the fields, winegrowers, if you please.  A buzz quickly fills the air: will the vineyards usher in a new era of economic prosperity and sophistication, or unexpected tax hikes for traditional farmers startled to discover they’re now living on prime grape terroir, for heaven’s sake.

As for the pioneer grape growers, we are like characters in a black and white movie who have entered one of those goofy car races across treacherous terrain, careening from madcap adventures to tragic mishaps.  And no one can predict who will cross the finish line, wherever that may be.  Would-be estate owners, thought to have crashed miles behind in their acres of weedy and stunted vines, keep popping back into the race as regularly as springtime budbreak.  Mostly urban professionals, we must seem an unlikely group of dreamers to succeed.  However, by now we have proven to be an intrepid company of strong personalities.

THE HOEING AND HEWING PERIOD

Starting a wine region from scratch, especially for those who planted in the late 1990s like us, was difficult.  We had no local grape growing culture to draw on, and were sometimes seduced to transplant Niagara methods.  “Thinking outside the box” has become our clichéd motto to deal with unique growing needs and tight budgets.  We had no local infrastructure.  Even twist ties to secure grape canes were imported from Niagara.  We also had no official framework to fit into as a new wine region to help governments deal with us, so that had to be constructed as well.

We walked around our vineyards, textbooks in hand, misdiagnosing mildews, oblivious to swarming pests.  We worked like beasts of burden while dreaming of mechanized equipment.  And when we got equipment, we decapitated vines with grape hoes while driving unwieldy tractors.  We even introduced Niagara grape specialists to new vineyard pests, such as Tomato Hornworms. Looking exactly like a child’s fantastical Play-Dough creation, these huge, lime green, plump, horned caterpillars that are gaily painted can be tracked by simply listening for their munching sounds as they devour every vine leaf.  We were advised to use the only pest control available: grab a rock.

STICKING TO THE CLASSICS

Sometimes we have been gently advised to plant the winter-hardy hybrid vines, which despite some fantastic offerings by skilled winemakers, are still considered poor cousins to the classic European vitis vinifera vines.  Not wishing to be sidetracked or outdone, collectively we have planted more than 90 per cent of our vineyards with vitis vinifera, such as Riesling, Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and Gewürztraminer.

A RUSH OF DREAMERS

What sets Prince Edward County winegrowers apart is the explosion in our numbers, unlike other viticultural pioneers who remain scattered anomalies in Peterborough or eastern parts of the province.  We now have more growers than the second largest Designated Viticultural Area (DVA), Lake Erie North Shore, and all in a matter of several years.

What brought us here, to uncharted vineyard territory, most without expertise?  Everyone has a story.  Most have long been entranced by wine.  Some are drawn to the land and its seasonal rhythms, perhaps seduced by many literary references to characters seeking the solace of tending a vineyard.  Some couldn’t afford land in Niagara, or were looking at ways other than low-paying cash crops to sustain the family farm.  Mostly it was just a hunch and a semi-conscious urge.  From then planting vines became addictive.  After a while, you need a winery.

A strange synchronicity occurred in Prince Edward County during the 1990s when hybrids were first planted in serious numbers and with serious intent in Waupoos, followed by vitis vinifera in Hillier, Ameliasburgh and South Marysburgh—and most growers were unaware of each other’s existence.  We finally met in the summer of 1999 and exchanged stories of hand planting, the first initiation rite of founding members.

INITIATION BY HAND PLANTING

At By Chadsey’s Cairns, we invited friends and family to help plant our first 3,000 vines on what turned out to be the coldest and wettest day that spring.  Soaked right through their yellow rainwear, aching from digging through sodden earth or placing vines into freshly dug holes, and caked with mud, people bonded as if they had been through a war together.  Halfway through the day a farmer brought over an antique single furrow walking plough, which we towed behind a tractor. The crew rejoiced with the advent of this technology and tossed their shovels.

The following year enough vines were going into the ground throughout the county that a planting crew from Niagara was enticed to take on the job with their laser-guided planting contraption, accomplishing in one hour what 30 inexperienced folk could achieve in a long day.  Unlike Niagara where springtime planting is a normal viticultural event, in the county the planting crew of Mexican Mennonites were wined and dined at each fledgling vineyard site. Newspaper reporters covered the event.  We were beginning to feel official.  The real estate rush was on.