Domaine Minhaé
Saint-Étienne-des-Oullières, Beaujolais
Rhône Valley, France

Since 2021, Lan Bertrand has been quietly tending two hectares of vines in the rolling countryside north of Villefranche-sur-Saône. An accountant by training and a mother of two, Bertrand didn’t become a winemaker until she was 45—at an age when many might hesitate to chart a new course, let alone one in the demanding world of  viniculture. Her path, however, is anything but conventional. During our recent visit in 2024 at her new cellar in Saint-Étienne-des-Oullières, she shared her story with the warmth and unguarded enthusiasm of someone deeply in love with her craft.

In Blacé, a charming commune northeast of Villefranche, the summer vines have yielded small bunches of great concentration. It’s mid September, and Bertrand, her face bright and wind-chapped, gestures to her “favourite plot.” Between two neat rows of Gamay, field grasses and legumes are taking root. "That’s rye and phacelia," she explains, crouching to run a hand through the cover crop. “The idea is to de-compact the soil, bring in biomass, and make it hospitable again—for insects, for bees, for earthworms.” She flashes a grin: “I don’t plow. It saves time.”

Her practical approach belies a poetic sensibility. Bertrand's work is steeped in respect for the vine and the ecosystem it inhabits. She speaks with quiet reverence about feeding her soils and drawing life back into them. Her inspiration? The teachings of Masanobu Fukuoka, the Japanese pioneer of “do-nothing” farming. It’s an ethos she embraces with fervour: minimal intervention, maximum care.

And yet, Bertrand’s roots in winemaking are remarkably fresh. Born in Laos and raised in France, she worked for two decades as an accountant before fate—along with a stint at a local winegrowers’ cooperative—led her to reconsider everything. “I saw stars in the eyes of the people there,” she recalls. “I wanted to feel that too.” At 45, she enrolled in viticulture studies, trading spreadsheets for soil chemistry, and later apprenticed with Philippe Viet in Villé-Morgon.

One day, while pausing to catch her breath amid the vines, she fell for them completely. “I had never felt more at home,” she says simply. Today, Bertrand manages a patchwork of parcels scattered across northern & southern Beaujolais: a sliver of Moulin-à-Vent here, a bit of Régnié, Blacé and Beaujolais-Villages there. With no tractor and just two hectares to her name, she works entirely by hand. “I like to take my time,” she says, an understated nod to her meticulous nature. And though she’s often seen lending a hand to fellow members of the local Vignes Blaciennes association, Bertrand is self-taught in many respects, particularly when it comes to winemaking—an aspect she admits she finds less rewarding than caring for her vines.

In the cellar, her ethos remains firmly naturalist: little SO2 if any at all, no filtration, no unnecessary intervention. “It’s not about chasing certifications,” she says of her mostly organic plots, “but about doing what feels right.” She’s even experimenting with non-écimage—avoiding the common practice of trimming the tops of vines. “It helps the roots go deeper,” she says, noting the occasional eyebrow raised by neighbours who find her methods eccentric. “But it’s all for the well-being of the vine,” she adds with a laugh.

For all her ingenuity, Bertrand is refreshingly pragmatic. Her ambitions are modest—just two hectares, small yields, and everything bottled, labeled, and packed by her own hands. “It’s enough,” she says. And as she surveys the verdant landscape of Blacé, one gets the sense that it truly is