Heirloom table grapes grown on a single hillside in Sonoma County — picked at sunrise, sorted by hand, on your table within thirty-six hours.
In 1958, Augusto Bellini planted his first forty Concord vines on a south-facing slope above the Russian River. He sold them at a roadside stand for ten cents a pound. Sixty-seven years later, we still farm that same slope — only now the stand has a name, the vines number twelve thousand, and our grandchildren do the picking.
We grow for flavour, not for shipping. That means no gassing, no cold-storage holds, no three-week supermarket detours. Just grapes that taste the way grapes tasted before grapes had to survive a truck ride across a continent.
The original 1958 slope, still in production.
We don't chase trends. Each variety was chosen for how it tastes off the vine on a warm August afternoon — not how it looks under fluorescent supermarket lighting.
The grape that started it all. Slipskin, intensely aromatic, with a labrusca “foxy” sweetness that defined American grape juice for a century. Ours are left on the vine ten days longer than commercial growers dare — the skins go dark as ink and the sugars double.
A pink-skinned relic from the 1800s, Catawba ripens late and rewards patience. Bright strawberry notes with a clean, almost citrus finish. We grow fewer than two hundred vines — they sell out every September within nine days of harvest.
The oldest grape we grow — cultivated since the time of Pliny. Pale green, almost translucent when ripe, with a perfume so intense you can smell a ripe bunch from three rows away. Eat it once and you understand why the Romans built temples to it.
Plus six more: Delaware, Niagara, Isabella, Thompson Seedless, Black Corinth, and Chelois. Each in limited supply.
Join the waitlist for this season
Our vines draw their water from the soil itself — no irrigation since 1994. Dry farming stresses the vine gently, which means smaller bunches, thicker skins, and concentrations of flavour you simply cannot get from irrigated fruit.
The vineyard is open to a small number of guests each season. No bus tours, no tasting-room queues — just you, the vines, and whoever's pruning that day.
Walk the Concord rows at dawn and pick the first ripe bunches of the season. Breakfast is whatever's ripe — usually grapes, bread, and a wedge of aged cheese.
Join the full crew for a day of picking, sorting, and pressing. You'll leave tired, sun-stained, and with a box of grapes you picked yourself.
The Muscat and Catawba come in last. Sit under the walnut tree, taste all nine varieties side by side, and learn why heirloom grapes don't taste like the ones in stores.
“I didn't know grapes could taste like this. The Concord was so intense I had to sit down. I'm not exaggerating — I actually sat down in the row.”
“Augusto walked us through the vineyard like he was introducing us to his children. By the end of the morning we were pruning alongside him. Best day of our trip, hands down.”
“The Muscat smelled like a garden in full bloom. My seven-year-old ate an entire bunch standing in the row and still talks about it three months later.”
We harvest only what the hillside gives us. Membership reserves your share before the vines even bud — priority on limited varieties, first invitation to harvest days, and a box of grapes delivered the morning they're picked.
No spam. Two emails a year — one when the list opens, one when the grapes are ready.