5 minute read
Yes, Virginia Does Have a Wine Country
by NANCY HELLMRICH
A good one, with over 300 wineries and an historically renowned native grape
When I arrive at the Chrysalis Vineyards manor house, I find Jenni McCloud reviewing plot maps in what should be her living room but has given way to the businesses at hand—an expansive vineyard, greenhouse, creamery, bakehouse, and tasting center. “This property is 412 acres; it came in two separate land acquisitions,” she says as she smooths out the map. “The first one, which we call Locksley, is right here. And then Caeli, down here, was added in 2008.”
I have traveled to Middleburg, Virginia, to interview the plucky vintner about a wine grape called Norton, which sounds decidedly un-French—and for good reason. Jenni started Chrysalis Vineyards in the mid-1990s after a series of character-building entrepreneurial efforts that culminated in the lucrative sale of a software business. “I’d heard those stories that you retire and then you die,” she recalls. Instead of retiring, she attended a viticulture conference and hired expert winemaker Alan Kinne. “Alan’s like: ‘What do you like?’ I say: I really like the fruit forwardness of Spanish reds. So he says: ‘Well, okay, let’s go to Spain.’ I’m like: All right. Let’s go to Spain.”
As Jenni powers her Jeep up a hill between blocks, she gives me the lay of the land. The varietals she and Alan planted, Albariño (ahl-bah-ree-nyoh) and Viognier (vee-aa-nyay), have already been harvested. But the Nortons are still on the vines. “So this is Norton,” Jenni says with her arm out the window, fingers outstretched as though she is tickling the wide, green leaves. “This is Virginia’s native grape, named after Daniel Norborne Norton.” Norton is a joy for Jenni to grow because, unlike imported European varietals, it is native to Virginia’s terrior.
Cultivated at a time when the newly minted United States were trying to break free of their dependence on the Old World, Norton (vitis aestivalis) is America’s contribution to the world’s fine red wines, hardy enough to withstand Virginia winters and remarkably disease resistant. Jenni experimented with the vines at first. But when the first wines came in, she quadrupled down, putting in 40 acres—the largest planting of Norton in the world.
“Hold on. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. This row right here?” She stops the Jeep and we get out. “I was doing a tour, coming up through the vines, this row was dead to the ground. I’m like, ‘What the--?!’ Row eight’s fine, ten’s fine? Lightning had struck this row and gone down the cambium of every single vine.” I scrutinize the lush, healthy, heavily fruited vines, looking for flaws. “The reason I’m pointing it out is: we did nothing. That row was dead in 2002; one or two years later, it all came back. Norton grows on its own roots.” With thick clusters of juicy, near-black grapes supported by strong vines, “Norton is incredibly versatile,” she says. “I can make all sorts of wines—from semi-sweet, juicy, fruity, to slightly spritzy rosé, all the way up to our flagship 25-year ageable Locksley Reserve Norton.” And she does.
Inside her tasting center, the mood is brighter and more optimistic than in the contemplative tasting rooms of Europe or the U.S. west coast. Outside, kids are doing cartwheels in the grass while adults share flights of wine, pizzas, and house-made cheeses. Jenni and I sit at a table overlooking her 412 acres of blood, sweat, and tears—productive acres that exist because a fearless entrepreneur had the sheer audacity to cultivate a sizeable vineyard specific to Virginia’s terrior.
On the table in front of us are the bottled fruits of her labors. Albariño and Viognier, yes. But also Norton. Norton wines that taste of the independence, resilience, and persistence that is the core of the American spirit. They are good, not like a California Cabernet or a French Merlot. They’re good like the United States. Earthy, true to their own character, adaptable, and enduring.
“Have you heard of malinchismo, the belief that things are better outside your own culture?” she asks. “That’s kind of how these wines are treated. But you know what? If it tastes good to you, it’s good wine. That’s all that matters. Remember, it’s a beverage.”
It does taste good to me. The Albariño Verde has an exciting effervescence and beachy citrus notes. The Viognier offers a creamier sensation with ripe peaches and cantaloupe. And the Nortons surprise the heck out of me. The Barrel Select delivers a bit of oomph and notes of mocha, cherry, and cloves. Sarah’s Patio Red is a refreshing strawberry and cherry semi-sweet rosé, light and playful.
As we sip, Jenni points to a spot in the distance and identifies the Bull Run Mountains, “as in the first major battle of the Civil War.” Closer to us, is a section of grassy acres where she plans to plant more vines. “Do you know what you’ll put in?” I ask. “Every once in a while,” she muses, “Nortons produce white fruit. So I’ve been after a white Norton with that acidity, you know, the fruitiness, it would be a great white wine.”
