Tom and Carol Miller—Jeff’s parents—shared a deep love of wine. Tom loved it so much that in retirement he became a wine sommelier and started a business leading tours to Europe, visiting wineries and shipping cases of what he cleverly labeled as “fruit preserves” (wine) back home to Maryland. I never had the chance to meet Tom; he left this world far too soon, just a few weeks after Jeff and I met in 2015. Carol was heartbroken, and she passed away three years and one day after Tom.

We have returned to the family home and farm with the intention of picking up where they left off and doing our very best to care for both. Tom left behind an extraordinary wine collection—and, as it turns out, one more surprise. While clearing heavy brush in a field behind the house, we spotted wild grapes growing in the very area where we had planned to plant a vineyard. The timing felt anything but accidental. We had just decided to move forward with a vineyard once we finished clearing years of overgrown trees and brush that had swallowed the old dairy barns. We like to think of those wild grapes as a quiet sign from Tom that this path is the right one.

Preparing the soil for a future vineyard has been both humbling and motivating. Before we can put vines in the ground, we have to address what’s already there, including a heavy nematode infestation that’s been quietly working against soil health for years. Rather than reaching for quick fixes, we’re taking a regenerative approach—building organic matter, increasing microbial life, improving drainage, and restoring balance so the soil can support healthy plants long-term. It’s slow, deliberate work, but it’s also foundational. As we plan the vineyard, every decision starts below the surface, with the understanding that strong vines begin with living, resilient soil. Clearing the land, healing the soil, and imagining rows of grapes where there was once chaos feels like the beginning of something lasting.

By late March, that careful momentum came to a sudden pause as the pandemic reached Maryland and the world ground to a halt. Non-essential businesses closed, social distancing became the norm, and uncertainty settled in everywhere. Life on the farm made isolation a little easier, and we felt fortunate for the space and quiet. Jeff remained on leave, and I worked long hours doing virus research via telework for Tulane University. Rainy weather kept us indoors much of the time, but when a sunny day finally arrived, we stepped outside to soak it in and watch Raymond disc the field that will one day become our vineyard.

The plan was set in motion: prepare the soil for a cover crop of rapeseed—also known as canola—which we’ll mulch and till in just after bloom to help knock back the nematodes. After that, we’ll plant acres of grass, allowing the soil time to recover and rebuild. Once the grass is established, we can finally put grapevines in the ground. Even in an uncertain season, the work beneath our feet gave us something steady to hold onto. We’re looking ahead to sunnier days, healthier soil, and—hopefully—the end of the pandemic.