The Name That Travelled & the Simple Things

The story of Domaine du Bois Rond is the story of a couple who chose simplicity over security, and wine over paperwork. Mélanie Dedron and Igor Denat came from Touraine, where in 2010 they acquired their first vine — a small plot whose name, Bois Rond, would travel with them across the Loire to their new home. She is Nantaise by origin, a former psychologist; he is Tourangeau, a former English teacher at the collège of Saint-Mars-la-Jaille. Their dream of making wine grew gradually, through encounters and tastings, until it became unavoidable. "You learn more by chatting with a vigneron than in several years of theory," Igor says, summarising the informal education that shaped their approach.

In 2017, they made the leap. They wanted to be closer to the sea, closer to family, and closer to good terroir — without straying too far from the Loire. They settled at La Petite Houssaye, a hamlet south of Maumusson in the Vallons-de-l'Erdre, and began planting vines on the prairies surrounding their house. The first 40 ares were bordered by organic pastures and crossed by three electrical cables — a detail Igor noticed immediately, because his first reflex upon arriving at any plot is to scan for threats to the grapes. "When I arrive on a piece of land, the first thing I see are the power lines," he admits with the pragmatism of a man who knows that natural viticulture leaves the vine more fragile and more precious.

Their beginnings were not easy. Frost and mildew struck. They spent a year navigating administrative procedures to establish themselves — "we almost had a burnout from the paperwork," Mélanie recalls. "We're just starting to breathe again. And we're here to do simple things…" The simplicity they sought was not laziness but clarity: work the earth without herbicides or fertilisers, treat the vines with nettle purin and horsetail decoction, harvest by hand at full maturity, and let the wine make itself without technological intervention. The complexity was imposed from outside — by regulations, by bureaucracy, by a system that suspects anyone who refuses certification labels even while exceeding their standards.

Today, their division of labour is clear and complementary. Igor handles the heavy machinery and the cellar work — pressing, racking, the physical labour of winemaking. Mélanie manages pruning, the seasonal workers, and commercialisation. Their wines are sold in Paris and for 75% to export — Belgium and Germany — though they would prefer to increase their local clientele. They are members of the Pinards et Jus d'Ancenis association, a collective of natural winemakers on the Coteaux d'Ancenis, and they participate in La Boire, the annual natural wine fair in Nantes. They are not isolated; they are simply selective about the world they choose to inhabit.

The winemaking philosophy at Domaine du Bois Rond is governed by a single, quietly radical principle: let the juice decide. Mélanie and Igor are low-interventionists, not absenteeists. They are present in the cellar, but they do not impose. There is no chaptalisation, no acidification, no exogenous yeast, no selected enzymes, no fining, no filtration, and no added sulfur in any cuvée. The wines are 100% fermented grape juice — what the French call vins naturels and what the couple calls vins sincères. "We often say natural wines, sincere wines. Not sectarian," Mélanie insists. The absence of dogma is itself a kind of integrity.

For whites and dry rosés, the process is gentle and slow. The grapes are pressed directly in a horizontal press, with slow and soft pressure to avoid extracting bitterness. The must is settled, then transferred to fibreglass tanks and/or barrels of 5 to 10 wines — old wood that provides micro-oxygenation without woody flavour. Alcoholic fermentation occurs at low temperature. Malolactic fermentation is absent, partial, or total — the juice decides. Ageing lasts from 6 to 24 months on fine lees, depending on the cuvée and the vintage. The rosé pétillants follow the same technique, bottled during alcoholic fermentation to capture natural CO₂.

For reds, the approach is equally restrained. Grapes are partially or totally destemmed by hand, then macerated for 8 to 30 days in tank. Pump-overs and punch-downs are gentle, applied only if necessary. Racking is done with a shovel — an old-fashioned, physical method that avoids pumping and oxidation. After pressing, the wine is transferred to resin tanks or CADUS barrels of 2 to 5 wines for ageing of 6 to 24 months, depending on the cuvée and vintage. The Cabernet Franc for Cabernox, the Pineau d'Aunis for Juste le Rouge, and the century-old Chenin for Juste le Blanc each find their own path, their own rhythm, their own moment of readiness.

Bottling is done by gravity during the descending moon, preferably on a fruit day, following the lunar calendar that also governs the vineyard work. Corking is manual, using DIAM French corks or stainless steel crown caps for the pét-nats. The result is a portfolio of around ten cuvées — whites, reds, rosés, and sparkling — that are alive, sometimes hazy, always sincere, and unmistakably marked by the varied soils and old vines of the Pays d'Ancenis. These are not wines for collectors who prize polish; they are wines for drinkers who prize truth.

To understand Domaine du Bois Rond, one must understand the former psychologist and the former teacher — two people who abandoned secure careers to begin a second life that was "not always tranquil" in the prairies of Maumusson. Mélanie Dedron is not a romantic who ignores the difficulties of viticulture; she is a pragmatist who manages pruning, seasonal workers, and commercialisation with the organisational skill of someone who once ran a psychology practice. Igor Denat is not a technician who follows textbooks; he is a self-taught vigneron who learned more from chatting with growers than from his BTSA diploma, which "mostly showed me what I didn't want to do." Together, they embody the autodidactic tradition of natural wine — the belief that the best education is the one that happens in the vineyard, between the rows, at harvest.

The anti-bureaucratic identity is equally central. Mélanie and Igor refuse to let administrative complexity define their project. They spent a year on paperwork, nearly burned out, and emerged with a conviction that simplicity must be defended against institutional entropy. They do not seek appellation status because "it has no sense for us." They do not seek organic certification as a marketing tool — they got it in 2020 only because they were already beyond its requirements. The anti-bureaucratic vigneron does not reject all structure; he rejects structure that obscures rather than clarifies, that certifies rather than proves, that creates paperwork rather than wine. The result is a portfolio that is honest, direct, and unencumbered by the regulatory theatre that surrounds much of French wine.

The future of Domaine du Bois Rond is tied to the maturation of the new plantings at La Petite Houssaye, the continued health of the century-old Chenin in Sarthe, and the gradual shift from 75% export to a more balanced local clientele. The Juste le Blanc will continue to be the estate's white flagship — a wine that proves Chenin can speak outside its appellation. The Juste le Rouge will continue to carry the peppery banner of Pineau d'Aunis. The Cabernox will continue to demonstrate that Cabernet Franc from the prairies can achieve structure. And the pét-nats will continue to fizz with zero-sulfur exuberance. The vines will continue to be treated with nettle purin and horsetail, the harvest will continue to be manual, and the bottling will continue to follow the descending moon.

In an age of increasing homogenisation in wine — of global varieties, engineered yeasts, and technological fixes — Domaine du Bois Rond stands as a compelling alternative, not because it rejects modernity but because it has embraced a deeper modernity: one that varied soils over monoculture, old vines over new plantings, ten varieties over one, zero sulfur over preservative crutches, the juice's decision over the enologist's recipe, sincerity over sectarianism, and the specific voice of Maumusson's prairies over the standardised replication of a global luxury style. Mélanie Dedron and Igor Denat are not merely making wine; they are proving that simplicity is possible — from the psychologist's office to the vineyard, from the English teacher's classroom to the cellar, from the burnout of paperwork to the breath of harvest, from the power lines overhead to the glass in your hand. The name that travelled, the century-old Chenin, the ten varieties, the nettle purin, the descending moon, and the label that says nothing but Vin de France: all united in one bottle, one slope, one unanswerable argument for the possibility of authentic, place-specific, career-changing, naturally honest wine from the prairies of the Pays d'Ancenis.