The call came out of nowhere—from Jonathan Sauer, Mike’s son. I mean, really, what were the odds? I never expected to hear from them again. After all, what interest would one of Washington’s most iconic vineyards have in a scrappy little startup winery down in Longview,
“Hi Marc,” he said, his tone calm but professional. “My dad mentioned he spoke with you at the conference. He said you might be interested in some Dolcetto grapes.”
Luckily, I began researching the grape the moment I returned from the Valley; I dove in headfirst. As it turns out, Dolcetto is a red grape native to Piedmont, Italy. Its name charmingly translates to “little sweet one,” though the wines are anything but sweet. Cultivated in the region since the 1500s, Dolcetto ripens earlier than its showier cousins, Nebbiolo and Barbera, making it well-suited for sunny hillside vineyards.
And the wines? Juicy black cherry, ripe plum, medium acidity, and delightfully low tannins—soft-spoken, food-friendly, and deeply satisfying. Just what I love in wine.
I responded with “Yes, yes—we did talk! I didn’t actually believe I’d get a follow-up call!” He chuckled, sounding uncannily like his father, but with a more serious businesslike tone. I’ll admit it made me a little nervous. What exactly had I just walked into?
He explained the situation: why the grapes were available, how things had shifted. Only later would I learn a hard truth of the industry—growers are just as anxious as winemakers. If a winery suddenly pulls out of a contract, growers waste no time lining up a replacement. It’s a dance of mutual nerves, and one that would come back to haunt me later.
Still, that day, the conversation was warm, even easy. There was something familiar about talking with Jonathan. Maybe it was his age—roughly that of my son Zak—or maybe it was the quiet understanding between people on the same long, uncertain road. He struck me as the heir apparent at Red Willow, and over the coming months, as the vines grew and the harvest crept closer, we’d talk often—about the grapes, the season, and everything in between. Slowly, those conversations began to feel less like business and more like a beginning. The family are devoted Catholics and I could feel the devotion that they had for their faith and their profession.
Fast forward a few years, and that unexpected phone call from Jonathan Sauer wasn’t just a lucky break, it became a cornerstone of who we are at Roland Wines. That early connection to Red Willow Vineyard and their Dolcetto grapes quietly wove itself into the fabric of our winery’s identity.
Each fall, as harvest approached, our friends and customers would start asking the same question: “When’s the Dolcetto crush?” It had become a tradition, a celebration, and, quite honestly, a bit of beautiful chaos.
In those early days, our "crush pad" was quite literally our driveway. We were still making wine at home, which I’m sure raised a few eyebrows (and maybe blood pressure) among the neighbors. Imagine a giant truck and trailer rumbling into a quiet residential street, attempting a turn to avoid taking out mailboxes, hedges, and the occasional grandchild!
But then the crew would arrive—family, friends, kids in tow—and that brisk fall air would suddenly feel electric with purpose. I can still see the Roland kids, eyes wide and feet bare, plunging into the icy juice with Ezra and India directing the charge The driveway would fill with laughter, steam from coffee cups, and the unmistakable scent of freshly picked fruit.
Everyone gathered around the trailer, sleeves rolled up, ready to sort. Each cluster was inspected with care and curiosity, stripped of any M.O.G. (material other than grapes) like leaves, stems, or the odd hitchhiking insect . Then, one by one, the clean clusters were tossed into the destemmer, and just like that we were on our way.
That Dolcetto crush wasn’t just about making wine. It was about community. It was about roots, both in the soil and in our relationships. And months later, when we poured the first glass of that vintage at our annual release party, it was more than a wine unveiling. It was the unveiling of memories, of laughter, of tradition.
Looking back, I realize that those early Dolcetto harvests didn’t just make wine—they made us.
