The Cornfield, the Snake & the Feeling Hand
Clos sur-Vivant is a micro-estate of barely 1.25 hectares tucked into the cornfields of Saint-Charles-de-Bellechasse, on the south shore of the Saint Lawrence River in Québec's Chaudière-Appalaches region. It is the passion project of brothers Jeff and Nicolas Roy — two pairs of hands separated by an ocean, united by a stubborn belief that Québec can produce wines of rare sensuality without a single input or grain of sulfur. Jeff lives in Berlin, where he has worked as a caviste for a decade; he returns to Québec only twice a year — for the spring pruning and the autumn harvest. Nicolas stays behind, tending the vines with their father, raising two young children, and working as a substitute teacher in Québec City's schools. Together, on a patchwork of young hybrid vines planted between rows of maize on Route 279, they craft wines that have bewitched sommeliers across Montréal and Québec City — reds of incredible sensuality, pét-nats of wild exuberance, and whites that taste like the boreal edge of the possible. The name is a play on words: clos (the walled vineyard), survivant (the survivor), and vivant (the living) — because every bottle is a survivor of humidity, frost, raccoons, and doubt. This is not industrial viticulture; it is viticulture as feeling, as family, and as a quiet miracle in a cornfield.
The Cornfield, the Brothers & the Roy Hand
The story of Clos sur-Vivant begins with a neighbour's vineyard and a feeling. Nicolas Roy, living in the agricultural heartland of Saint-Charles-de-Bellechasse, had watched for years as the Domaine Bel-Chas next door grew grapes successfully in the challenging Québec climate. The variety that thrived there was Radisson — a hardy hybrid bred for cold climates, disease resistance, and the short growing season of eastern Canada. If the neighbour could do it, Nicolas and his brother Jeff reasoned, so could they. In 2017, they planted their first vines on a 1.25-hectare plot bordered by cornfields and birch forest, along the quiet stretch of Route 279. The first vintage, a tiny cuvée called Punch, was made in their new cubic chai — built with white spruce from the neighbouring land, adjacent to an old farm building, surrounded by nothing but maize and sky.
But the true turning point came when Vanya Filipovic, then sommelière at Vin Papillon in Montréal, discovered their Aglyphe 2018 — a red wine with a hypnotic hand-painted label of a snake hidden in graphic vegetation. She declared, "Il faut que vous goûtiez à ça" ("You have to taste this"), and the secret was out. The wine was not merely good; it was envoûtant — enchanting, spellbinding, sensual in a way that few had thought possible from Québec hybrids. The Roy brothers had not used magic equipment or special containers. They had simply worked with gross simplicité — great simplicity — letting the grapes and the wild yeasts do the talking. The Aglyphe became a calling card, and Clos sur-Vivant went from a local curiosity to one of the most sought-after names in the Québec natural wine scene.
The brothers' arrangement is unconventional but deeply functional. Jeff Roy has spent the last ten years in Berlin, working as a caviste in one of Europe's most demanding natural wine markets. He returns to Québec twice a year — for the taille printanière (spring pruning) and the vinification automnale (autumn harvest and winemaking). Nicolas remains on the ground year-round, tending the vines with their father (a cultivator who knows the land intimately), raising his two young children, and supplementing the family's income by working as a substitute teacher in Québec City's schools. This is not a wealthy estate backed by investors; it is a family farm where wine is made between school terms and corn harvests. The first commercial vintage at any scale was 2021 — just 1,500 bottles. In 2022, a fungal disease decimated part of the crop, yet they still managed to produce around 1,200 bottles. The ambition is modest: perhaps 1,500 more vines and a ceiling of 10,000 bottles annually — but no more. "On veut vraiment rester tout petits, garder le contrôle et miser sur la qualité." ("We really want to stay tiny, keep control, and bet on quality.")
"On travaille en grosse simplicité. On y va beaucoup au feeling. On n'a pas tant que ça de ligne directrice. On veut garder nos belles levures sauvages et on travaille surtout les macérations. Je pense qu'au Québec, c'est beaucoup là que ça se joue."
— Nicolas Roy, Clos sur-Vivant
Saint-Charles-de-Bellechasse, Chaudière-Appalaches & the Boreal Hand
The Chaudière-Appalaches region sits on the south shore of the Saint Lawrence River, a vast agricultural plain that rolls eastward from Québec City toward the Maine border. It is a land of corn, dairy, and stubborn farmers — a place where the growing season is short, the winters are brutal, and the humidity is relentless. For viticulture, it is a frontier — not the romantic, sun-drenched frontier of the Okanagan, but a humid, unpredictable, borderline impossible frontier where only the hardiest hybrids survive and only the most determined growers persist. The Saint Lawrence moderates temperatures slightly, but the region is still subject to late spring frosts, early autumn rains, and the constant threat of fungal disease in the muggy summer air. The soils are a mix of clay, loam, and glacial till — fertile but heavy, requiring careful drainage and vigilant canopy management.
The Clos sur-Vivant vineyard is a patchwork of small parcels hidden behind the rows of corn that dominate the local landscape. The vines are young — between 4 and 14 years old — and planted at a density that would make a Burgundian vigneron laugh: just 4,400 plants across 1.25 hectares, a number more suited to a large garden than a commercial estate. The varieties are all hybrids — grapes bred not for prestige but for survival. Radisson is the star red, chosen because it had already proven itself at the neighbouring Domaine Bel-Chas. Bel-Chas (a white hybrid), Frontenac Blanc, and Osceola Muscat provide the white and aromatic components. Marquette and Swenson add further diversity. These are not vinifera grapes; they are North American hybrids, bred from crosses between European Vitis vinifera and native North American species, selected for their ability to withstand -30°C winters, short seasons, and high humidity without chemical intervention.
The farming is as minimalist as the winemaking. The Roys work the vines with horse traction (travail à cheval) when possible, avoiding the compaction and fossil-fuel dependence of tractors. There are no synthetic inputs — no herbicides, no pesticides, no chemical fertilisers. The vineyard is not merely organic; it is SAINS (Sans Aucun Intrant Ni Sulfite) — a French natural wine designation that means zero inputs from vine to bottle. The challenges are the same as every Québec vignoble: excessive humidity, raccoons (ratons laveurs) that devour the crop, and the constant threat of frost. Protective nets shield the fruit from birds and mammals. But there is no complaint in the Roys' approach — only adaptation. The vineyard is listed with Demeter, Biodyvin, Nature et Progrès, and the S.A.I.N.S. charter, reflecting a commitment that goes beyond certification to a way of life. This is viticulture as agricultural realism — farming what the land allows, not what the market demands.
Chaudière-Appalaches is a vast agricultural region on the south shore of the Saint Lawrence River, stretching from the outskirts of Québec City to the American border. It is a land of cornfields, dairy farms, and small towns where the climate is humid continental — hot, muggy summers and winters that plunge to -30°C. For wine, this is one of the most challenging environments in North America: the growing season is short, the humidity is relentless, and fungal pressure is constant. Yet it is also a region of extraordinary agricultural resilience, where farmers have learned to work with the land rather than against it. For Clos sur-Vivant, Chaudière-Appalaches is not a handicap but a teacher — a place that demands humility, creativity, and hybrid varieties that can survive without chemical crutches. The vineyard sits among the cornfields of Saint-Charles-de-Bellechasse, a tiny island of vines in a sea of maize, proving that wine can grow wherever there is stubbornness and soil.
The Saint Lawrence River is the great artery of eastern Canada, and its influence on the Chaudière-Appalaches climate is double-edged. On one hand, the river's thermal mass moderates winter temperatures slightly and extends the autumn, giving grapes a few extra days of ripening. On the other hand, the river creates a humid microclimate that is a paradise for fungal diseases — mildew, botrytis, and rot are constant threats that require vigilant canopy management and, in conventional vineyards, heavy spraying. At Clos sur-Vivant, the response is not chemical but agricultural: open canopies, organic farming, and hybrid varieties bred for disease resistance. The river is both the vineyard's blessing and its curse — the source of the moisture that makes the land green, and the source of the humidity that makes winemaking a gamble. The Roys accept this duality as the price of farming on the edge of the possible.
The grapes of Clos sur-Vivant are not vinifera; they are North American hybrids — the product of decades of breeding programs that crossed European wine grapes with native North American species to create varieties capable of surviving extreme cold, short seasons, and high humidity. Radisson, the estate's signature red, is a complex hybrid developed in Minnesota and refined in Canada, capable of ripening in 1,000 growing degree-days or fewer. Frontenac Blanc and Osceola Muscat provide aromatic whites that retain acidity even in humid conditions. Bel-Chas is a local white hybrid that has proven its worth in the Québec climate. Marquette and Swenson add further diversity. These varieties are often dismissed by the international wine establishment as inferior to vinifera, but in the hands of growers like the Roys, they produce wines of startling originality — wines that could not be made anywhere else on earth. The hybrid revolution is not a compromise; it is a liberation from the tyranny of ill-suited grapes.
Clos sur-Vivant is committed to the S.A.I.N.S. charter — Sans Aucun Intrant Ni Sulfite — meaning no inputs of any kind from vineyard to bottle, and no added sulfur. The vineyard is worked with horse traction when possible, avoiding soil compaction and fossil fuel use. No synthetic herbicides, pesticides, or fertilisers touch the soil. No commercial yeasts, enzymes, or additives enter the chai. The wines are bottled with zero sulfites — not because it is trendy, but because the Roys believe that healthy grapes from living soils carry their own microbial destiny. This is farming as covenant: a promise to the land that nothing will be taken that is not given, and nothing will be added that is not already present. The result is wines that are alive, unpredictable, and deeply specific to the humid, challenging, beautiful terroir of Saint-Charles-de-Bellechasse.
Feeling, Maceration & the Lasagne Hand
The winemaking philosophy at Clos sur-Vivant is summed up in a single word: feeling. Nicolas Roy does not follow recipes, spreadsheets, or enological textbooks. He follows intuition — tasting, touching, smelling, and adjusting according to what the grapes and the wild yeasts demand each year. "On travaille en grosse simplicité. On y va beaucoup au feeling. On n'a pas tant que ça de ligne directrice." ("We work with great simplicity. We go a lot by feeling. We don't have that many guidelines.") This is not negligence; it is a deliberate rejection of industrial precision in favour of a more ancient, more responsive relationship between grower and ferment. The only non-negotiable is the preservation of the vineyard's indigenous yeasts — the microbial fingerprint of the Chaudière-Appalaches that makes every cuvée unique.
The techniques are as varied as the vintages. The Roys have experimented with direct press for fresh, delicate whites; classic carbonic maceration for juicy, low-tannin reds; whole-bunch infusion for textured, stem-spiced wines; and their signature lasagne — a layered maceration that alternates whole bunches and destemmed grapes in the tank, creating a "mille-feuille" of extraction levels that produces wines of extraordinary complexity and sensuality. The semi-carbonic mille-feuille has become something of a house method, allowing the Radisson to express both its fruity, carbonic side and its deeper, more structured destemmed character. Fermentation takes place in the simple cubic chai — no fancy equipment, no magic containers, no temperature control. Just grape, yeast, time, and the cold Québec autumn.
What emerges from this process is a style of wine that defies conventional categories. The reds — especially Aglyphe and the Radisson-based cuvées — are described by critics as possessing an "incroyable sensualité" — an incredible sensuality that is rare in cold-climate wines. The whites, like Flo (based on Osceola Muscat), age with surprising grace, developing honeyed, floral complexity over years in bottle. The pét-nats and piquettes, like Accros, burst with wild, untamed energy. And none of them have seen a single grain of sulfur. The labels, painted by Nicolas Roy himself, are original artworks — the Aglyphe features a snake (couleuvre) hidden in graphic vegetation; others are abstract, colourful, deeply personal. Each bottle is a diary entry, a painting, and a microbial ecosystem — sealed with a crown cap and released into the world with no safety net.
Feeling, Maceration & the Zero-Sulfite Covenant
The guiding principle of Clos sur-Vivant's cellar is that the wine knows what it wants to be, and the winemaker's job is to listen. The zero-input farming provides healthy, complex grapes from living soils. The hand harvest ensures that only pristine fruit enters the chai. The wild fermentation — initiated by indigenous yeasts from the vineyard itself — captures the microbial soul of the Chaudière-Appalaches. The varied maceration techniques (direct press, carbonic, whole-bunch infusion, lasagne) allow each variety to express its fullest potential. The absence of sulfur, commercial yeast, enzymes, and additives preserves the raw, living, evolving character of the wine. The simple cubic chai, built from neighbour's spruce, is not a deficiency but a liberation — proof that the most profound wines sometimes come from the most humble cellars. And the hand-painted labels are not a design flourish but a moral statement: this wine was made by a human, not a corporation.
Aglyphe, Accros, Druck & the Serpent Hand
The Clos sur-Vivant portfolio is a gallery of experiments and emotions — each cuvée a different technique, a different mood, a different answer to the question of what Québec wine can be. The wines are united by zero sulfites, zero additives, wild yeast, and the hand-painted labels that have become the project's visual signature. The reds are the estate's most celebrated expressions — sensual, textured, and deeply original — while the whites, pét-nats, and piquettes demonstrate the breadth of what hybrid grapes can achieve when handled with creativity and restraint. Production is minuscule: 1,200 to 1,500 bottles per vintage, with a long-term ceiling of perhaps 10,000. Every bottle is a rare object, a survivor, and a piece of the Roy brothers' ongoing conversation with their land.
The Survivor, the Smallness & the Feeling Hand
Clos sur-Vivant is not merely a winery; it is a proof that the most profound wines sometimes come from the smallest places, with the least equipment, and the most feeling. In an era when the wine world is obsessed with scale, technology, and prestige, Jeff and Nicolas Roy demonstrate that a 1.25-hectare plot in a cornfield, worked by hand and fermented in a wooden chai, can produce wines of international intrigue — wines that have seduced sommeliers in Montréal, captivated natural wine bars in Berlin, and proven that Québec is not a wine backwater but a frontier of originality. The same Radisson that was dismissed as a "hybrid" has become the raw material for reds of incroyable sensualité — wines that carry the humidity, the cold, and the stubbornness of the Chaudière-Appalaches in every sip. The same Osceola Muscat that was bred for cold hardiness has produced whites of age-worthy complexity. And the same zero-sulfite approach that conventional winemakers fear has become the project's signature — a guarantee that every bottle is a living, evolving ecosystem, not a sterilised product.
The legacy of Clos sur-Vivant is the legacy of the small, feeling hand in North American viticulture. The 2017 founding is not a distant memory but a living declaration — a reminder that the best wines are made by families who stay rooted to their land, who accept the constraints of their climate rather than fighting them, and who trust their intuition more than their instruments. The lasagne technique is not a gimmick but a philosophical core — a recognition that complexity comes from layering, patience, and the acceptance that every vintage is different. The hand-painted labels are not a design choice but a moral absolute — a refusal to outsource the soul of the bottle to a marketing agency. And the S.A.I.N.S. commitment is not a certification but a way of life — a promise that the land, the grape, and the yeast will be allowed to find their own balance without chemical intervention.
The future of the project is tied to the future of the Québec natural wine movement — to the growing recognition that the most authentic wines come not from the most famous regions but from the most committed hands. As the Aglyphe continues to find its way into the cellars of collectors who understand the value of zero-sulfite, hybrid-grape natural wine, as the Accros pét-nat introduces a new generation to the joy of ancestral-method sparkling, as the Druck proves that wild apples and hybrid grapes can create wines of unexpected poetry, and as the Flo demonstrates that Québec whites can age with the grace of great European wines, Clos sur-Vivant remains what the Roy brothers have always intended it to be: a tiny, stubborn, feeling-driven estate in a cornfield on Route 279 — structured not by fashion or technology but by family, intuition, and the eternal reminder that wine, like the snake on the label, is a wild thing that must be approached with respect, not domination. The story of this winery is the story of two brothers who looked at a plot of land between cornfields and saw not a limitation but a possibility — and who proved that the best Québec bottle is sometimes the one that has been made with no guidelines, no sulfur, and no plan except to follow the feeling.
"On travaille en grosse simplicité. On y va beaucoup au feeling. On n'a pas tant que ça de ligne directrice. On veut garder nos belles levures sauvages et on travaille surtout les macérations."
— Nicolas Roy, Clos sur-Vivant