StaveOne stubborn family, one stubborn ridge.
It started with a barrel, a handshake, and forty-two acres nobody wanted.
In 1998, the Coopers bought a worn-out tobacco ridge in the Yadkin Valley that every sensible farmer had passed on — too steep, too rocky, too much work. That was the appeal. The first vines went in by hand that spring: eleven small blocks, one for each grandkid, cousin, and in-law who showed up to dig.
The name honors the family trade before wine — three generations of coopers, barrel-makers. A stave is nothing alone; bound together, it holds a vintage. Twenty-eight years on, that's still the whole operating manual: family, neighbors, and anyone who wanders up the drive, all welcome at the same table.
We never set out to impress anybody. We set out to make wine we'd be glad to pour for a friend on a Tuesday. Turns out, that's what impresses people.
Red clay, granite, cool nights, patient hands.
This is Blue Ridge foothill country — weathered granite under red clay loam that drains fast and forces roots deep. Days run warm, but cool air slides off the mountains each evening and the Yadkin River sends up morning fog, so the fruit ripens slowly and keeps its acid.
We farm organically, mow rather than till, and pick each block on its own morning. Nothing here is efficient; all of it is deliberate.
Cooper's Block
Our oldest merlot, planted 1998 on the windiest shoulder of the ridge. Small clusters, thick skins, the backbone of the house.
The Saddle
A cool east-facing dip that holds the morning fog longest. Chardonnay here stays taut and mineral, never heavy.
South Terraces
Hand-cut terraces on the warm face, home to cabernet franc and a half-acre of syrah. The last fruit picked every year.