Fellow Travelers,

I’m writing this somewhere between a punchdown, a forklift, and a walk through a vineyard.

Harvest is happening. And this one is wild.

Today, September 23rd, we will pick the last grapes for Sans Liege. If all goes according to plan, by tonight I’ll be finished picking for the 2026 vintage.

September 23rd.

That sounds like something that should happen in a different part of the world.

After twenty-three years of making wine on the Central Coast, I’ve come to accept that every harvest has its own personality. Some are slow and cool, some are hot and frantic, and some seem to drag on forever. But this year has been something entirely different. This is easily the earliest harvest I’ve ever experienced, nearly a month earlier than what I’ve come to consider normal.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

Harvest has a funny way of compressing time. Days are measured in bins, tons, degrees Brix, fermentations, and the number of hours until the next pick. There are forklifts, hoses, pumps, trucks, punchdowns, vineyard calls, coffee, more coffee, and the occasional realization that I’ve been wearing the same pants for far too long.

It is exhausting. It is exhilarating. And I absolutely love it.

There is a moment every year when the first fruit comes through the door and the winery changes. The smell of fermentation takes over. The cellar gets louder. Everyone moves a little faster. What has been growing quietly in the vineyards all year suddenly becomes our responsibility.

That part never gets old.

Winemaking is ultimately an exercise in surrendering control. We can farm carefully, choose when to pick, and obsess over every little detail, but once the grapes are in the cellar, they have a voice too. Our job is to listen.

Twenty-three years into this journey, I’m still learning how little I actually know. Thankfully.

While the 2026 vintage is just beginning its life in the cellar, the wines in this club release are much further down the road. They’ve fermented, settled, aged, and had time to reveal what they want to become.

There is something particularly satisfying about tasting them during harvest. The cellar around me is loud, wild, and unpredictable, while these wines are quiet and composed. They are a reminder of what time and patience can do.

I hope you enjoy this release as much as I’ve enjoyed watching these wines find their way. More importantly, I hope you find a reason to open them. A long dinner. A cool evening. A fire. A friend who stayed too late. Or maybe just Tuesday.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few fermentations to tend to.

To early harvests, long roads, and whatever comes next,

Curt Schalchlin
Sans Liege Wines