When Dominic and I were in a NZ, we ended up living in Hawke’s Bay for some time. I expected wine. I expected scenery. I expected skipping whimsically through rows of Sauv like some sort of fermentation fairy.
What I didn’t expect was to fall in love—with sheep.
And not just “aw, cute sheep in the distance” love. I’m talking “I named them, narrated their inner lives, and questioned whether they missed me when I left” kind of love.
Let me explain.
We weren’t just near the vineyard. We were living on it. Our little flat was nestled on Te Awanga Estate, perched just above the vines with a postcard view of the ocean and a symphony of native birds politely chirping us awake every morning.
We were there as it was going into winter, which meant there was no winery noise. No tourists. No cellar door traffic. Just us, the grapevines… and an unexpected daily performance from a few dozen sheep.
You see, outside our window there was an entire sheep-based economy. Every morning, I’d roll out of bed, coffee in hand, and watch them like some kind of deranged version of David Attenborough.
And these weren’t sheep shoved into a paddock at the back of the property. No, these sheep were in the vines. Part of the vines. Essential to the rhythm and ecosystem of the vineyard itself.
It Started With Casual Sheep-Watching…
At first, it was innocent. I’d sip my flat white and watch them shuffle through the vine rows, tidying the place up one mouthful at a time. It was peaceful. Meditative. Idyllic.
Then the obsession crept in.
Soon, I was naming them. Mr. Sheepy. Karen. Big Steve. Little Steve.
I’d narrate their movements in full nature documentary tone:
"Here we see Little Steve asserting dominance by gently headbutting a leaf. A bold move, given his size."
I once saw one sheep bite another on the butt and pretend it didn’t happen.
Icons, every one of them.
I wasn’t just emotionally attached, I was emotionally entangled.
And then it hit me: these sheep weren’t here to amuse the deranged American in the upstairs flat.
They had a job.
The Sheep Were Working Harder Than Me
Turns out, these sheep weren’t just ambiance. They were labor. Regenerative viticulture, in fact. A sustainable farming practice where sheep double as farmhands in wool sweaters.
These sheep were doing more than just grazing. They were saving the soil, the vines, and possibly the entire wine industry.
Let me count the ways...
1. They Mow Without Fuel, Fumes, or Complaints
Grass and weeds between vines can compete with grape roots for water and nutrients, harbor pests, and even pose fire risks in hot seasons.
That's where Mr. Sheepy comes in.
They keep the ground cover neatly trimmed without heavy machinery, fossil fuels, or underpaid interns. They're quiet, gentle on the soil, and their little hooves help naturally aerate the ground.
Honestly, it’s a full spa day for the dirt.
Also? They don’t complain about Mondays.
2. They Fertilize While They Graze (Multitaskers!)
Yes, sheep poop. A lot. But that’s not a downside, it’s a feature.
Sheep droppings are rich in nitrogen and other nutrients, helping feed the soil naturally. Which means fewer synthetic fertilizers. Which means better grapes. Which means better wine. Which means… you’re welcome.
Fun fact: One sheep can produce up to 2,000 pounds of manure per year. That’s a lot of terroir.
3. They’re Pest Patrol with Wool
Lower grass = fewer places for bugs to hide. And sheep are surprisingly good at cleaning up around the vines—eating fallen leaves, rotting fruit, and other debris that could harbor mold or insect larvae.
By removing pests, sheep help prevent fungal outbreaks and reduce the need for chemical treatments like herbicides or fungicides.
Think of them as tiny, fuzzy sanitation workers who eat their paychecks.
4. They’re Soil Whisperers
Healthy soil isn’t just dirt, it’s a living network of microbes, fungi, and bugs that help vines thrive.
Sheep help maintain that balance. They gently disturb the soil (without compacting it), increase water retention, and promote biodiversity...all without needing a single PowerPoint presentation on sustainability.
Plus, by rotating sheep through the vineyard seasonally, you’re mimicking natural grazing patterns, which keeps everything balanced and happy.
5. They Know When to Clock Out
The sheep don’t stay in the vineyard all year. They’re like highly specialized consultants brought in before budburst (when the vines are still dormant) and sometimes again after harvest.
Why? Because if you leave them in too long, they’ll eat the grapes. And they don’t stop at one. Sheep are not known for moderation.
But if managed properly, they fit perfectly into the seasonal rhythm of the vines. Like harvest interns, but with more wool and fewer hangovers.
So Why Don’t All Vineyards Do This?
Some do! Especially those embracing organic, biodynamic, or sustainable practices. France, California, Australia, and New Zealand all have sheep-savvy winemakers.
But not all vineyard terrains or climates are sheep-friendly, and it takes planning to rotate them safely in and out of rows without damaging vines or compacting soil.
Not every winemaker wants to manage a flock and fermentation temps.
Still, as climate change forces the industry to evolve, more are turning to these woolly wonders for help.
Meanwhile, back in my window…
Eventually, our time at Te Awanga ended. We packed our bags, said goodbye to the vines—and yes, I waved to the sheep like a woman watching her lover sail away.
I miss them more than I care to admit. I miss their judgmental stares. I miss the way they’d huddle dramatically in the fog. I miss the quiet sense that, no matter what, they were calm.
They knew something I didn’t.
They weren’t rushing.
They weren’t overthinking.
They were just…grazing.
And in doing so, making wine better.
So, next time you sip a glass of something lovely, especially if it’s from a sustainable or biodynamic vineyard—thank a sheep.
Better yet, raise a glass to them.
Because they did the work.
They fertilized the vines.
They protected the soil.
And, most importantly… they stole my heart.
Cheers, Little Steve. This one’s for you.