We’re shaped by Northern Michigan — not just as a place, but as a way of life. Growing up here, you learn that good things take time — and that nothing real can be rushed.



We learned to stay close to what matters. When we had a choice between lucrative careers or a life of winemaking with family, we chose getting our hands dirty and our hearts wide open.

In our lives, farming builds relationships:  with the soil, our family, and the world around us. The same principles that guide how we farm — with intention, with patience, with respect — guide everything we make. This is what helps us stay grounded. Honest. Connected.

That’s what our wine carries: not something to be saved, but something to live with. A bottle you open when friends come by unannounced. Or when dinner takes longer — and that’s a good thing.

The Leelanau Peninsula is shaped by Lake Michigan, creating a rare microclimate: long falls, slow ripening, deep snow blankets in winter. The grapes take their time, and the extra week of warmth at harvest makes all the difference.

Our vineyards are planted close to the lake, across elevations and slopes chosen for their natural rhythm. Some are tucked into quiet south-facing hillsides. Others sit just above the shoreline, where the air moves freely and cold nights come later.

This land gives us something rare: fruit that ripens slowly, develops character, and holds the memory of each season. 

Our roots here go back to the 1950s, when our family began farming cherries on the Leelanau Peninsula. In the 1980s, our parents planted the first vines by hand — not for prestige, but for the simple love of good work and good wine. We grew up among the rows, learning that wine isn’t just made — it’s raised. Today, as the second generation, we carry forward what they began: a belief in this land, in each other, and in making wines that feel like home.