After the Frost: Why We Uprooted to Replant for the Future
There are few sounds more unsettling than silence in a vineyard after frost. Last spring, walking through our parcels close to the river, we found ourselves surrounded by blackened buds and brittle shoots, the smell of burnt greenery hanging in the air. It wasn’t just damage, it was a message.
The frosts of 2017, 2019, 2021 and then 2024 were brutal across Cahors and the Lot. Some vignerons saw 100% of their harvest vanish overnight. These weren’t isolated freak events anymore; they’ve become part of a pattern. For years, we told ourselves: “maybe next spring will be better.” But climate change isn’t a passing visitor. It’s here to stay, and we have to adapt.
The Dilemma: To Hold On, or Let Go?
France’s national uprooting scheme forced many of us to face a difficult decision. The government offered compensation, up to €4,000 per hectare, to pull out vines permanently in parcels where the risk outweighed the reward. It wasn’t a directive; no one told us which vines to uproot. It was left to us, the growers, to decide: do we cling to every parcel, or do we have the courage to rethink our vineyards?
At Domaine Bout du Lieu, we chose to rethink.
Our Pivot: From Riverbanks to Higher Ground
The parcels nearest the river, beautiful as they are, had become heartbreakingly vulnerable. Year after year, cold air pooled in those low spots, turning tender shoots into cinders. So we let them go.
Instead, we’ve secured land on the third terrace and on the Causse : higher, breezier, with soils and exposures better suited to the unpredictable swings of climate change. These are not just “safer” parcels; they’re places where the vines can breathe, ripen steadily, and resist the extremes.
Why Uprooting Isn’t Defeat
Uprooting vines feels counterintuitive in a world where we associate vineyards with permanence, roots with heritage. But viticulture has always been about renewal. Every winter we prune to give the vine new energy. This is pruning, just on a grander scale.
By letting go of parcels that no longer serve the future, we’re giving ourselves, and Cahors, the chance to thrive. This isn’t shrinking. It’s sharpening. It’s about ensuring that every vine we farm, every bunch we harvest, and every bottle we make reflects not just resilience, but intent.
Planting for the Next 50 Years
We didn’t uproot for 2026. We uprooted for 2076. The decisions we take today will shape not only the wines we’ll make in the next decade, but also what our children and grandchildren will inherit. Our terraces and Causse parcels are investments in that long view. They’re places where Malbec (and perhaps one day, other complementary varieties) can find balance under warmer summers, colder snaps, and drier seasons. They’re where Cahors can continue to be Cahors, not in spite of climate change but in dialogue with it.
Over the coming seasons, we’ll share glimpses of this renewal: photos of parcels being pulled out, shots of young vines taking root higher up, and updates as these new plantings find their rhythm. It won’t happen overnight — vines take time, and patience is part of the craft. But each step feels like a promise kept to the land we love.
The roots of Cahors run deeper than any single parcel. While some vines may be gone, our purpose, to make wines of authenticity, strength, and beauty, remains firmly planted.
To everyone who opens a bottle of Cahors, thank you for walking this journey with us. Frost may have forced our hand, but it also gave us clarity: to uproot is not to give up, but to grow differently.