Polygons & Pressure Bombs

And balance and biodynamics and happiness at Hamel Family Wines

I sat down today to write about dry-farming and biodynamics, but then I was overcome with the need to tell you that I am happy. Like… really, deeply happy. On an energetic level, I feel reverberations of possibility and hope again. I am finally able to access joy again. It has been a long, long time since I felt that.

Um… errr… this is kind of awkward now. I mean, why am I telling you this? Aren’t we going to talk about dry-farming or something?

Well, first, it is because I just really want to say thank you for reading. Me deciding to start Resilient Wine and to write about the way I believe the wine industry — and the world, let’s be honest — ought to be, even while I was in the midst of a level of despair whose depths I’m still realizing, really did help save me. Writing Resilient Wine (and you reading it!) has helped me access joy again. This space has been profoundly cathartic, and it’s been deeply fulfilling to just… write… about what I think and feel and want and hope.

That clichéd Ghandi quote, “Be the change you wish to see in the world,” has never rang more true. Through my own internal evolution, my controversial and complicated departure from the beloved businesses I built, and my writing Resilient Wine, I have, it seems evident to me now, changed myself in the ways I desperately want the world to change. I have strived to tell you stories of wines and winemakers and sellers and drinkers and myself who are trying to be more pliable, softer, accepting, patient, exploratory, imperfect, vulnerable, open, uncertain, inefficient, less productive but so much more rich in diversity… less rigid, harsh, closed off, resolute, prolific, stoic and staunch.

And this is where we have landed in this moment: I’m rinsing off and discover myself shocked with the realization that I’m… happy?! In this day and age?! Countercultural like whoa. I want this manner of happiness for you, too. Perhaps some of this will encourage you to go after it.

That is all the gushiness for now. I’m sorry not sorry I made you read it. I’m very thankful you’re here and humbled that I can mumble and bumble on a bit. I’m going to tell you about dry-farming and biodynamics now. Okay! Whew.

I’m going to tell you about a wine estate called Hamel, which I feel embarrassed to admit I had never heard of until a few months ago when I met their associate winemaker, Maura Kinsella, and viticulturist, Saskia Tingey, at Napa RISE. Hamel is in the Sonoma Valley, not Napa, but no matter. Everything we talked about at RISE is everything Saskia and Maura told me they talk about and strive to do at Hamel, which made it even more awkward that I hadn’t heard of them.

I was clumsily and greedily shoveling beans and tortillas into my face at lunch when I overheard these two incredibly eloquent yet shatteringly humble young women talking casually about pre-work-day open-water swim sessions in the SF Bay WITHOUT WETSUITS. Then they neatly dropped that they’ve been biodynamically dry-farming their vineyards for nearly a decade. They were surprised by some of the day’s conversations about the challenges of dry-farming stony, well-drained vineyards, because they’d actually found the opposite to be true. I was intrigued and very badly wanted to be best friends. Where have these dreamboats been all my life? I wondered.

Fast-forward to last week, when I finally made my way to Hamel to meet up with Saskia and Maura, to walk their “polygons” (I’ll explain later) and to learn more about pressure bombs (also will explain) and drink the types of crystalline Grenache and Cab I wish we had more of in California. I learned that Hamel has been certified organic since 2013, certified biodynamic with Demeter since 2015, working with soil guru Pedro Parra since 2017, and 100% dry-farming their whole Nuns Canyon Vineyard for the past five years. Again the thought occurred to me: Where have you all been all my life?

I like to think of myself as a person who knows a lot about these kinds of things… an exuberant student of wine and (until very recently at least) an astute seller of exactly these kinds of wines, an evangelist of resilient practices just like this. I was straight-up humbled to learn — yet again — all I still have to learn.

In 2017, the Hamels began working with soil guru Pedro Parra, aka Dr. Terroir. If you haven’t heard of Pedro, you may have been living under a rock (pun intended!), but that’s okay, no judgement. Pedro is from Itata, Chile, and consults with straight-up HYPE estates all over the world (cough, Domain Roulot, cough, Biondi-Santi, cough, Commando G) to help them tease out the nuances of their terroir specifically based on micro-plots of different soil types. First he uses an electroconductivity scanner to map out the amount of moisture in the soil. More moisture = more clay in the soil. In a Wine Enthusiast article I found, Pedro explains, “I am like a vineyard shrink. I need to understand people’s personalities and preferences, the terroir’s typicity and try to find any problems to help them make better wines.” That same article made it pretty clear that Pedro poo-poos too much clay and would really very strongly prefer you’re farming on limestone, the “top of the quality pyramid” as the article puts it not so mildly.

Saskia and Maura told me that Pedro turns down most of the inquiries he gets because… Meh. No limestone. But he found a whole lot of volcanic soil at Hamel, specifically parcels of well-draining basalt, where they discovered, after digging big-ass holes 7-10 feet deep, that vine roots can penetrate and spread, weaseling their way through tiny cracks and crevices to seek water. And that was intriguing. It’s also conducive to dry-farming.

After his electroconductivity mapping and hole analysis, Pedro creates an intricate map, divvying the vineyard up into miniature “polygons,” with a legend identifying every different soil composition. The maps are intricate and definitely cool-looking, but I couldn’t figure out what use they had besides maybe discovering you had the wrong thing planted all over the place.

“What do you do with the maps, then?” I asked.

Saskia’s eyes got mischievous and excited… “Then we use that to farm, vine by vine. We can fine-tune the exact amount of irrigation, when we harvest each vine, even how we prune each vine depending on how much fruit each one can handle to create the best wines. Some vines can manage a heavier crop load; others need less.”

“And then we vinify every polygon individually,” Maura chimed in casually before carrying on about something else that I totally blocked out because my brain was trying to wrap my head around what she had just said.

“You vinify INDIVIDUALLY?” I was sure that couldn’t be right. “But aren’t there, like, 100 polygons or something?”

“Yep. Every year we have about 90-100 different fermentations going.” She was so nonchalant that I, once again, was embarrassed by myself for asking, for being so surprised. Saskia was talking again, and I tried to focus back on what she was saying, but my brain was stuck over in the 99th fermentation vat.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted her. “Can we just… go back for one second. 100 different fermentations?? Every year?!”

“Mmhmm.”

“But…” I sputtered, feeling like someone may as well have told me some Chardonnay was red… “Is that… normal?? I feel like that’s… a lot. That’s a lot, isn’t it? For most wineries?” I was looking around for validation from someone else, but it was just the three of us. “I mean, I am sorry. I haven’t really worked harvest. Silly, I know. I don’t know how things go in the winery. It just seems like that would be… a lot of work.”

Maura and Saskia laughed, Maura’s face continuing to appear inappropriately calm (she does open-water swimming in the SF Bay sans wetsuit, remember… apparently there’s not much that shakes her); Saskia’s eyes doing that twinkling evil genius thing again.

“It’s not normal. It’s a lot,” they confirmed.

Also “a lot” are all the biodynamic preparations employed at Hamel, which instead of simply purchasing online, Saskia locally forages and personally prepares by hand. More “a lot”: the many rounds of harvesting, sure, but also the pruning, again, fine-tuned vine by vine. And we haven’t even talked about pressure bombs yet! There was, indeed, A LOT going on at this little Hamel estate I’d never heard of.

“Pressure bombs look like a weird big metal suitcase,” Saskia said. I Googled them later; this is true. I imagine Saskia trying to take one through TSA and getting immediately flagged for further investigation, insisting to the agent in the creepy curtained room that she’s just a viticulturist. Mmhmm, that’s what they all say, the agent tisk-tisks. Anyway. Pressure bombs are used to check how much moisture is in the plant at a given moment — you snip a leaf or stem and quickly stuff it into the suitcase, then crank up the air pressure inside until the vine starts oozing any water its got, dictating whether it’s legit thirsty or just capping. Pretty sure Queen and Bowie’s “Under Pressure” intro also plays inside, for thematic effect. “Mmm num ba de / Dum bum ba be / Doo buh dum ba beh beh…” The stem finally caves! In this way, rather than just blanketly irrigating, you can ascertain if a vine truly needs water or not. “Most people use pressure bombs in the daytime,” Saskia explains, “but it’s, like, 100 degrees out at 4pm and I’m literally wilting; of course the vine is asking for water. I mean: Same!”

So shortly before harvest, when the Sonoma Valley is at its hottest and driest, Saskia sets her alarm clock for 3am and begins her work day then, lugging her suspicious bomb out into the dark field to squeeze her darlings and get the truth. If they’re really actually in fact dry, they get a little drink. The Nuns Canyon vines haven’t needed a drink since 2019.

On our way back inside to taste (Maura is going to show me how she expertly blends those 99 fermentations into their whopping 10 total wines!), we visit the winery and barrel room, cool and dark and carved into the ground. Huge cut-outs in the stone walls show off the volcanic soil variations naturally ebbing and flowing along the 12,000 square feet of caves. Some portions of the walls are veined with red; others are darker, brown and black, and it might just have been the display of cow horns in the corner reminding visitors of Hamel’s biodynamic practices, but I was sure I could feel the energy change as we moved from one side to the other. Maura pointed out their barrels, sourced from a single forest that, importantly, grows on limestone soil. Why? Hamel has a preponderance of fire in their soil; limestone is from water. The oak trees carry that energy; the barrels can then balance that fire in the wines, cooling and tempering them energetically.

I am floored. I start thinking deeply. I think about my happiness. I think about my energy lately; about the change in my mood and manner and outlook since I stopped scrambling to hire and manage and promote and proliferate ALL. THE. TIME. Since I started writing again. I think about the reverberations moving from panicked and manic, incessant, like continuously fueled flames, into a more comfortable, calm, sustainable and soothing rhythm. I think about the things, practices and people that have cooled my own fire as well as what’s beautifully been able to light up my previous lethargy. I think about balance. About how it’s not “bad” to not grow on limestone soil… it’s only sad not to acknowledge that reality and not give your plant the correct, corresponding nutrients, the tailored pruning, encouragement and energy it needs. I guess that’s biodynamics for you.

I realize that I needed to write to tell you this… to acknowledge it for myself. And I am glad for that discovery. I am also glad for the Hamel Cab Franc I drank delightedly that evening, both vibrant and fiery and cool and composed at the same time. In impeccable balance.