If the words polar vortex still strike fear in your heart, just think what they do to Holly Balansag. Balansag is the winemaker at Sandhill Crane Vineyards, about twenty minutes west of Chelsea. As we approach the harvest season when wine production kicks into gear, Balansag, like virtually every Michigan winemaker, has a big problem: Last winter’s prolonged visit by that polar vortex means there aren’t enough grapes in Michigan.

“We lost about 50 percent of the crop across the state,” says Linda Jones, executive director of the Michigan Grape and Wine Industry Council. Michigan boasts about 3,000 acres under cultivation in wine grapes. Wine production is an important driver in Michigan’s economy–its total impact is pegged at $286 million in revenue and wages. That includes $8.6 million from winery tourism, which attracts 800,000 visitors a year.

Winter grape loss depends on four factors: the vineyard’s location and topography; snow cover; the variety of grape; and vineyard management practices. Sandhill Crane grows only hybrid grapes, which combine the characteristics of Old World grapes with New World hardiness that makes them less susceptible to cold damage. Many of the vines were originally planted by Holly Balansag’s father, Norm Moffatt, eighty-seven, a former Detroit policer officer who established the vineyards and is still active in the business, now jointly owned by five family members.

While many of their vines bore fruit this year, Sandhill Crane has only about six acres under cultivation in grapes, not enough for the 4,000 cases of wine they produce each year. So they turn to other growers for about 90 percent of their grapes. Balansag uses only Michigan grapes and works mainly with three West Michigan growers. Some of the bigger Michigan wineries may be forced to bring in grapes from out of state.

“Last winter was the worst I’ve ever seen as long as I’ve been involved in this industry,” says Balansag. “Lake Michigan shore vineyards got hit even worse than we did. I’m going to be lucky to get even 10 percent of what I usually get,” she says. The cold-hardy varieties were the survivors, which limits the wines Balansag will be able to make this year. “I’m not going to get my Cabernet or Riesling–they just didn’t make it. So I’m doing different things. I’m doing a blueberry wine, and maybe some other kind of fruit.” The creative adjustments–and a cellar full of aging wines from better years–will tide them over.

Not far away in Grass Lake, Kip Barber, co-owner and winemaker at Lone Oak Vineyard Estate, is faced with winter damage of an entirely different magnitude. Lone Oak is an estate winery, which means that all of the wine bottled on the estate is made from grapes grown on the 25-acre property. Before Kip and his wife, Dennise, founded the vineyard in 1997, Barber spent months searching for just the right terroir. “I wanted to find property that was elevated and sandy,” and he wanted to be away from the “lake effect” in West Michigan because it would give him a longer growing season. Lone Oak’s well-drained, hilly site lets flavors concentrate in the fruit and invites the sun to ripen the grapes on its south-facing slopes.

Not only is Lone Oak an estate winery; Barber chose to plant none of the cold-hardy hybrid varieties. The flavors he was aiming for could only be reached with Vitis vinifera, classic French and German grapes like Riesling, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Pinot Noir long linked to great wines. And, why not? After all, Barber’s vineyard is at the same latitude as Bordeaux.

It has largely worked, but, “Boy, what a horrible winter. Not only in Michigan, but Ohio, New York, and Canada,” says Barber. “That polar vortex came down and hit a lot of fruit belts. People from all over the region are calling each other, trying to get grapes.” As Barber explains, grapes emerge from a complex of three buds on the canes of the grape vines. “This year,” he says, “it was so cold for so long that all three buds got burned.”

“I don’t have a single grape,” says Barber. “I lost everything. Everybody did. There is no vinifera, or very little.” At least his vines survived, blanketed under the snow.

But Barber is sanguine. If last winter was a disaster, the wine-friendly weather of 2013 produced a bumper crop that will tide them over. “Because we are a vineyard, I have a lot of wine in storage that I’m aging. We’ll be fine,” he says. Lone Oak generally produces more reds than whites, and could eventually run low on white wines. Next year, if all goes well with the harvest, they should rebound swiftly because “whites turn over much quicker, meaning that wine will be ready in six to seven months. If I run out, it won’t be for very long, and I have plenty of red.” There just won’t be a vintage 2014. “Not here, not estate vintage.”

To offset the fickle nature of farming, both Lone Oak and Sandhill Crane Vineyards have developed a serious tourism component to their wineries. Last November, Barber enlarged his repertoire by adding Tootsie’s Brewery at Lone Oak. Their welcoming deck, where summer tastings take place, is shaded with leafy chartreuse ropes of hops vines. Creating inviting spaces and holding specialty events from food and wine-pairing dinners to candlelight concerts in the cozy tasting room will keep Kip and Dennise Barber pouring their aromatic and distinctive wines through the next winter.

Two years ago, Sandhill Crane added an expansive cafe, whose menu emphasizes local produce. It is open every day, year-round, and overseen by Holly Balansag’s sister, Heather Price (full disclosure: Heather Price and I both serve on the board of the Legacy Land Conservancy). They also have a tasting room in the popular Dexter Cider Mill. Lone Oak and Sandhill Crane are both part of the Pioneer Wine Trail, a group of nine southeast Michigan wineries that stages regular events and supports self-guided tours.

Despite the current challenges, both Kip Barber and Balansag exude the joy of winemaking, typical for their craft. “Winemakers are very quirky people,” says Balansag. “We follow our own thing. You have to absolutely love it because it is very hard work. In the fall, when it’s harvest time, I am here three to four months every day, no days off. That’s a critical time in the life of the wine. It’s rough. It’s physical work. You gotta love it.”

Wine Dogs

The vine-canine connection

Visitors to Lone Oak Vineyard Estate will most likely be greeted as I was with a full throated “woof” from wine dog Ozzy, a squirrel-obsessed Lab (is there any other kind?). As I sat in the car collecting my gear, he woofed again.

“He’ll keep that up until you say hi,” called Kip Barber from the deck, where he was entertaining a group of wine tourists from Australia. I opened the door and Ozzy thrust his distinguished gray muzzle into my palm, accompanying me up the stairs as if we were old friends. This felt like a real winery.

Over the years, for personal and professional reasons, I have visited scores of French vineyards. And there has been, almost invariably, a dog at each one. It seems that if you want to make wine, you need a canine.

I was not imagining this–I found documentary proof at Lone Oak. Stacked up along the bookshelves in their tasting room were hard-bound copies of Wine Dogs USA 3: More Dogs from North American Wineries. And its coverboy is none other than Ozzy. Kip Barber will sell you a copy, and Ozzy will personally pawtograph it for you. I bought two copies.

Over at Sandhill Crane, winemaker Holly Balansag’s home dog, Rusty, has his own label. Balansag and Rusty met at the humane society shelter, which had rescued him at the last minute from the county pound. Rusty is a “lovable, huggy dog” and his wine is called Abrazo, Spanish for “hug.” A picture of his smiling doggie mug looks out from the label. A portion of the proceeds go to the Cascades Humane Society that saved his life. Sandhill Crane can’t have a wine dog on the premises anymore since they opened their cafe (the kind of health department edict the French would scoff at). But their late Airedale, Rosie, charmed visitors in the vineyard’s early days, and is immortalized on the label of their Sassy Rose. Rosie was also pictured in Wine Dogs USA, volumes one and two.

My wine-canine special-bond theory was further supported by a visit to a winery in Saline. I stopped by during their off hours as part of early reporting for this story. As it turned out, they weren’t included in the article, since the whole Michigan polar vortex thing is not an issue for them–they source their grapes from all over the world. Still, there’s that name: Spotted Dog Winery. And that logo, a stylized Dalmatian. And that mighty “woof” as I approach the door.

I don’t know how the wine is, but they sure got one thing right.

–M.A.E.