Journal Entries
There’s something strangely poetic about looking out the window at weather that feels… wrong.
Rain arriving too late into spring. A cold snap that lingers longer than it should. Storms rolling through during weeks that are usually calm and warm.
Most people see inconvenience. A ruined lunch plan, heavier jackets pulled from the cupboard again.
But for people who spend their lives around vineyards, weather like this starts a conversation.
Because wine remembers.
Every vintage carries the fingerprint of the season that created it. Not in a technical, spreadsheet kind of way, but emotionally. The wine becomes a recording of what the vines experienced that year- the stress, the calm, the waiting, the relief.
And perhaps that’s one of the most romantic things about wine.
Not every year tastes the same because nature never repeats itself perfectly.
In Tuscany at the moment, it’s oddly cold for May. While many of us are reaching for coats again, the vines are quietly slowing down too. This little pause in the season may one day become part of the character of the 2026 vintage. Not necessarily better or worse, simply different.
That’s the fascinating part.
Wine producers don’t spend all year chasing “perfect” weather. They spend the year listening and adapting. A warm, easy season may produce generous, expressive wines that feel open and confident from the start. A cooler, wetter season can create wines with more tension, freshness, and structure… essentially wines that reveal themselves more slowly.
Like people, some vintages arrive loudly. Others make you lean in closer.
I remember hearing this described beautifully during a conversation about the 2019 vintage in Bolgheri. The year began early, only to be interrupted by a cold shock in spring. Then came rain, delays, uncertainty, and finally a summer that arrived almost cautiously.
The phrase that stayed with me was this: the vines had to wait.
And somehow, you could taste that patience in the wine.
There was balance, restraint, and a certain quiet confidence to it. The grapes weren’t rushed toward ripeness. They had time to develop slowly, finding their rhythm rather than being pushed into it.
That’s the thing most vintage charts never quite explain.
Weather doesn’t just affect sugar levels and acidity. It affects mood.
A vintage is less like a laboratory result and more like a personality profile.
One of my favourite ways to explain this to people is through the idea of upbringing. Think of the weather as the wine’s childhood. A hot, easy summer might produce a bold, extroverted wine. A cooler, more unpredictable year creates a wine that has to work a little harder, often becoming more layered, more thoughtful, and more structured in the process.
Neither is automatically “better.”
They simply tell different stories.
And right now, across many wine regions, the stories are becoming increasingly unpredictable. Strange cold fronts in Tuscany. Rain arriving at unusual moments. Heat spikes appearing earlier than expected.
For winegrowers, these shifts matter deeply because the vine is incredibly sensitive. A single wet week during flowering can influence yields. A cooler summer evening can preserve freshness and acidity. A heatwave close to harvest can completely change the energy of a wine.
It’s a little like changing the rhythm of a song halfway through.
The melody remains, but the mood shifts.
That’s why vintage variation matters so much in wine. Not because one year is “right” and another is “wrong,” but because each year captures a unique moment in time. A snapshot of nature, weather, patience, and human decision-making all colliding together in one bottle.
And perhaps that’s why people fall in love with wine in the first place.
Not because it’s predictable.
But because it isn’t.
