Est. 2020
Some things you plan. The rest is pure luck.
Wine made in our own cellar, honey from our own hives, a garden that sets the table, and a sauna at the edge of it all. Come for an afternoon; leave slower than you arrived.
Winery · Apiary · Garden · Sauna
Four houses, one slow day
Pure Luck is a working homestead. Everything here is made in small amounts, by hand, in season — which means it changes, and some of it runs out. That is rather the point.
Small-lot wines made by hand in our cellar, bottled when they’re ready.
Enter →Raw, seasonal honey from our own hives — each harvest jarred apart.
Enter →Heirloom vegetables, herbs and flowers — what’s ripe decides the day.
Enter →A private sauna, heated for your party alone. Cold water, robes, stillness.
Enter →The almanac
This month at Pure Luck
The young wine settles. First tastes of the new vintage.
Quiet. The colonies cluster; we don’t open the hives.
Storage crops put up. Kale is sweetest after a frost.
Dark by five — exactly when the sauna is best.
The whole year
| Month | Winery | Honey | Garden | Sauna |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| January | Barrels resting. We taste them on still, cold afternoons. | The bees cluster and hum to keep the queen warm. We leave them be. | Seed catalogs by the stove; the year’s plan takes shape on paper. | Snow to roll in after the heat. The best month for it. |
| February | Racking day — the wine moved off its sediment, slowly, by hand. | On the rare warm day, the first cleansing flights over the snow. | Onions and leeks sown in trays by the window. | Long evenings, clear skies, steam rising off the bench. |
| March | Blending trials at the kitchen table; the vintage finds its shape. | First pollen from willow and maple. The colonies wake. | Tomatoes and peppers started; the house smells of potting soil. | Mud season outside, which makes the heat feel even better. |
| April | Bottling what is ready. Labels go on by hand. | Hive inspections begin; the queens are laying hard. | Peas, greens and radishes go into the cold beds. | The cold plunge at its coldest and clearest. |
| May | New bottles rest in the cool of the cellar before they’re poured. | Fruit bloom and dandelions. Swarm season — we keep watch. | Transplants go out after the last frost; asparagus is up. | Doors open between rounds; birdsong instead of snow. |
| June | First pours of the new releases for the letters list. | Clover flow. The honey supers go on. | Strawberries, peas and the first herbs for the tasting table. | Late light. Evening sessions end with the sky still pale. |
| July | Cellar quiet, doors open at dusk. Rosé weather. | The big summer flow. The hives are heavy and loud. | Garlic lifted; beans, cucumbers and the first tomatoes. | Heat, then the garden hose. Summer rules. |
| August | Tanks scrubbed, barrels checked — getting ready for harvest. | Summer harvest: the first jars of the year. | Tomatoes in earnest. The table is at its fullest. | Warm nights, a cool rinse, stars from the rest bench. |
| September | Harvest. The fruit arrives, is sorted by hand and crushed the same day. | Goldenrod flow — the hives smell of it for weeks. | Squash, apples, the last tomatoes. Seed saving begins. | The first cool evenings. Cold plunge season returns. |
| October | New wine bubbling in the cellar; barrels topped by hand. | The fall harvest is jarred; hives are readied for winter. | Garlic planted for next year; beds tucked under leaves. | Fire-colored leaves, steam, and wool socks after. |
| November | The young wine settles. First tastes of the new vintage. | Quiet. The colonies cluster; we don’t open the hives. | Storage crops put up. Kale is sweetest after a frost. | Dark by five — exactly when the sauna is best. |
| December | Gift bottles wrapped in the cellar; a toast to the year. | Wax from this year’s cappings is cleaned and saved. | Rest, and plans for spring. | Snow, stars, silence. The season to book early. |
The sauna ritual
Heat. Cold. Rest. A glass.
The sauna is private to your party. Every session can end at the tasting table, with honey from the hives and something from the garden. Build the afternoon you want and we’ll have it ready.
Twelve to fifteen minutes on the bench, until your thoughts go quiet.
A plunge or a cold rinse. Shorter than you’d think, longer than you’d like.
Wrapped in a robe, outdoors if the weather allows. The part people skip. Don’t.
Three rounds is the classic. Then water — and, if you like, a glass.
Visit
Visit by reservation
We are a home before we are a business, so every visit is arranged ahead. Tell us when you’d like to come and what you’d like to do — we’ll send the details.