The dormant period that followed lasted nearly fifty years, but it was this silence that mattered. Because the old winery remained, the memory remained. Stories remained. Young Guill de Pury grew up among the dormant buildings, hearing his father speak about the old vineyard and the wines that once existed there. Not nostalgically, but more like a collection of thoughts begging for an editor. When Guill replanted vines in 1969 on the same northeast-facing slopes selected by his grandfather a century earlier, he was not reviving a brand, he was rewriting a story.

That distinction matters as many wineries speak about “legacy” as marketing language. At Yeringberg, legacy feels more like stewardship — an understanding that no generation truly owns the land, but instead they lease it. They care for it in the temporary world and then hand it forward, hopefully in better condition it was received.

Today, that custodianship continues through Sandra and David de Pury, fourth-generation siblings whose work feels profoundly modern, because it remains rooted in older agricultural values. Their farming rejects fragmentation and yet immense attention. The vineyard is not isolated from the farm; the farm is not isolated from the ecosystem; wine is not isolated from ethics.

The sheep graze beneath broad skies living off of native grasses and seasonal cover crops. The vineyard lives within a larger biological rhythmic balance. You sense that the goal is not to impose a signature upon the land, but to remove enough noise so the place can speak clearly for itself. This is holistic farming not as fashion, but as inheritance.

And perhaps this is why the wines possess such emotional resonance. They do not feel manufactured at all, they feel ‘grown’. That said, the wines are clean, squeaky clean and require patience – lots of it. Tasting through two decade old bottlings you feel the sense of whispers of the past. It is reminiscent of perfect remastered EP on 200 gram vinyl…each instrument is heard with pointed, articulate, and warm tones. Yeringberg’s wines are the antithesis of pop music, where the first listen is often the best. It requires slowing things down, sharing it with friends and letting the wine tell its story when it’s ready to – not you rushing time.

This all may be exactly the point of a multi-generational homestead. Because Yeringberg’s deepest lesson is not really about wine at all. It is about continuity in an age that has become suspicious of permanence. It is about being still enough to listen and learn the reciprocity relationship of the land and cellar. And somewhere inside that exchange — between history and hope, memory and renewal — the true character of Yeringberg emerges: not simply as one of the Yarra Valley’s great historic estates, but as a living, evolving expression of care.