About.

Organic, radically natural English wine made in The Chilterns. Taste the seasons.

What’s in a wine?

Not all wines are created equal. The diagram below illustrates how the number of additives in wines can range from as many as 70+ in conventional wines, to ZERO additives in radically natural wines.

Our Purpose.

Pioneering, regenerative viticulture, with nature and community at its heart. 

Our Wines.

Our Credentials.

Our Art & Labels.

Our Community.

We aim to spend every pound we can in our local community: our artwork, graphic design, social media, printing and farming support all comes from friends within a one mile radius of the farm.

We connect with our local community through our customers, suppliers, outlets and volunteers. We have volunteers from the local community and societies that help with the chickens, fruit/veg, beekeeping, orchard, vineyard and winemaking. We attend local community events such as fairs, school/church group activities and markets.

In addition to our own wine, cider, honey and eggs, we also sell coffee beans supplied by a coffee roaster in our village, tea blended 5 miles away, charcuterie made less than a mile away and cheeses made here in The Chilterns. We take waste organic whey from our cheese supplier and use it as a biodynamic spray preparation for our vines to help us avoid use of inorganic chemicals… interconnecting the land of our two organic farms.

One of our volunteers, Huw, writes poetry in his spare time and penned the below for us after helping for a few months in the orchard, vineyard and with cider-/winemaking. Huw’s poem is a fabulous expression of how our land can connect with, and impact, those that spend time in this place.


Two Orchards

My father planted an orchard.
57 trees, positioned by Pythagoras.
They struggled at first --
The orchard was high and exposed;
Marine winds barrelled through.
He spoke of narrow trunks and weak branches;
Of strengthening stakes and steadying ties.
I nodded politely and asked nothing.
But when the apples arrived
They crowded every branch;
Half-grown trees sagged like willows.
My father meandered a path through the flowered grass
To walk alone amongst his regiment.
 
And now I pick apples.
Another orchard; another time.
Here too they grow dense as grapes;
Bows bend as if drawn by archers.
There is a tool for this. I set it down. I
want to feel the weighty spheres in my hands
And the vivid strength of stalks before they break.
My hands envelop the smooth green fruit
As his hands, impossibly large and strong
Once wrapped securely around mine.
Every apple picked asks a question.
Why did I not listen? Why did I not meander?
And why, in his army of trees so overwhelmed with life

Huw Jenkin