The Geese, the Bishop, and the Glass

In much of Europe, November 11 begins in silence. At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, bells ring and ceremonies pause to mark the Armistice that ended the First World War. Names are read. Wreaths are laid. Even in wine country, the day often starts in stillness.

But November 11 also holds an older meaning. It is the feast day of St. Martin of Tours, the patron saint of winemakers, whose life and legacy still echo through vineyards and cellars at this time of year. The date was chosen not for the harvest, but because it marks the day of his burial in 397 CE - an event that drew mourners from across Gaul and began his veneration as a saint. In many parts of Europe, the day became known as Martinmas - a seasonal turning point that marked both the end of the agricultural year and the first tasting of the new wine.

St. Martin (c. 316–397) was a Roman soldier who became a monk and, eventually, though reluctantly, a bishop. He is remembered for one simple act: cutting his cloak in half to share with a freezing beggar - that moment of humility and human connection became a lasting image of compassion. After leaving the army, he founded Marmoutier Abbey near Tours, where prayer and agricultural work shaped daily life. Though he lived more than a century before the Rule of St. Benedict, Martin’s rural monastic model helped lay the foundation for what came after.

Anyone who has studied wine knows the role religious orders played in shaping viticulture and preserving vineyards. Benedictine and later Cistercian monks expanded Martin’s legacy - clearing land, cultivating vines, and passing down viticultural knowledge across Europe. The Benedictines made wine a part of daily life and liturgy; the Cistercians refined the idea of terroir, carefully tending vineyards in Burgundy and beyond. One of my favorite stories to share is how the Cistercians were said to taste the dirt in Burgundy to understand the land better - and in doing so, began to map out the legendary parcels and vineyards we still know today.

Because his feast comes just after harvest, it naturally aligned with the time when the year’s first wines could be tasted. Over time, Martinmas became both a religious and seasonal marker - a quiet, annual ritual in the cellar, the moment when a young vintage first made itself known and a community gathered to mark it.

In Austria, St. Martin’s Day is celebrated with Martinigansl - roast goose with red cabbage and dumplings - paired with young red wines like Zweigelt or Blaufränkisch. The goose recalls a legend: Martin, reluctant to become bishop, hid in a barn, only to be betrayed by honking geese. The timing also made sense—geese were fattened after harvest and traditionally eaten before winter. Under Austrian wine law, fully fermented new wine from the current harvest - called Heuriger - may be sold starting November 11, marking both the saint’s feast and the official start of the new wine season. In Vienna, where vineyards still grow within the city limits, local taverns open their doors and pour what’s just come from tank or cask. In the federal state of Burgenland, he is their official patron saint, and the day is a public holiday.

Elsewhere in Europe, fresh wine is paired with seasonal foods. In Germany, it’s Federweißer-still fermenting, cloudy - served with onion tart. In Portugal, vinho novo and jeropiga, a fortified wine,  are enjoyed with roasted chestnuts, often eaten outdoors around bonfires. Italians have vino novello, which appears by late October - made through carbonic maceration, bright and fleeting. These are not wines built for aging; they are made to be enjoyed now.

In the U.S., November 11 is recognized as Veterans Day, honoring those who have served in the armed forces and carrying forward the legacy of Armistice Day. Martinmas itself is rarely observed here, though a few wineries with European roots may quietly acknowledge it. Among sommeliers and wine shops, attention begins to shift toward Beaujolais Nouveau, released the following week. Still, the rhythm holds; the harvest is over and the cellar is quiet. Something new is beginning to take shape.

So, November 11 carries two kinds of remembrance: one marks the somber end of a war and the other listens for the start of something else - a new season, a young wine, the quiet promise of what’s to come. If you can open a wine from the most recent harvest or enjoy the treat of a cellared bottle, pour a glass to think of those who served and think of St Martin being outed by loud geese and forced to become a bishop. Thank those geese, because of them – he was set on the path to founding that abbey and setting the standard for how to nourish the land and vines.