The Last Vines of Sonoma: Sebastiani Winery Faces Rezoning
Vines don’t scream when you uproot them, they crack softly, collapse slowly, and then they’re gone.
In Sonoma, one of California’s oldest and most storied wineries, Sebastiani, stands on the edge of a future it never asked for. The land may soon trade barrels for blueprints, and rows of Cabernet for cul-de-sacs.
The city is considering rezoning the property for housing, and if it goes through, another piece of wine’s memory will be paved over.
This is about what happens when legacy meets a developer’s pen and zoning is suddenly the enemy of the grapes.
A Century in the Bottle
Founded in 1904, Sebastiani isn’t just a winery…it’s a pillar.
Its founder, Samuele Sebastiani, was an Italian immigrant who made wine with grit and faith and a deep belief in the soil of Sonoma. He built stone cellars by hand and he survived Prohibition by making sacramental wine. He outlasted world wars, droughts, and market crashes.
Sebastiani is the story of resilience, of land passed through hands that knew it, and of vines that had no reason to believe they’d be bulldozed. Now it’s real estate.
Wine country is changing. Younger generations are drinking less wine, production costs have soared, labor shortages and droughts squeeze margins, land values skyrocket as housing demand rises, and in a heart-breaking turn of events, big wineries (like Sebastiani) are worth more for where they are than what they make.
In 2024, the current owners began discussing rezoning for residential use. The plan was to turn the property into a mixed-use development with hundreds of housing units. The tasting room’s fate was unclear at the time. The vineyards would be suddenly gone.
What Happens When Wine Country Becomes Suburbia?
Rezoning is a shift in identity, not just a technical change. Grapes are seasonal, but people are permanent. Vines need time while housing needs return. Wine is art brought to life by the sunlight, gentle hands, and time, while cookie-cutter developments work to dismantle all of those things faster than you could blink.
When a winery becomes a neighborhood, we lose historical architecture, agricultural ecosystems, jobs tied to hospitality and wine tourism, and the quiet romance that brought people to Sonoma in the first place. While that last bit might not seem as drastic, it feels urgent to my soul.
Here we are though, the pressure to build is undeniable.
Supporters of the rezoning claim that Sonoma needs more affordable housing. Personally, I’m not sure why they can’t find somewhere other than a beloved winery to build, but that’s neither here nor there. The winery isn’t profitable enough to sustain itself is another argument I’ve seen being thrown around online. Understandable that if they’re in fact, drowning in debt, maybe they need to have someone come in and consult on their finances. It really seems such a shame to bulldoze a century old winery for the safe of housing. A new development could boost the local economy is the last pro-development claim I saw, and yeah, sure it can for some people, but isn’t that the argument for any business, including a winery?
Sebastiani is one of the few wineries that links modern California winemaking to its immigrant roots. To tear it down is to tear out the first chapter…just as wine’s story is getting harder to tell. What good is growth if it forgets who planted it?
The community is split. Some residents want the land preserved, turned into a public space or museum, while others want the jobs and housing the development promises.
Wineries nearby are nervous. “If Sebastiani goes, who’s next?” said one small producer.
It’s not just about one property, it’s also about the precedent and the domino effect that can be set off at any moment in time.
If a winery that survived Prohibition can’t survive a zoning meeting…what chance does romance have?
The Sound of a Vineyard Going Quiet
Have you ever walked a vineyard at dusk? It’s one of my favorite joys in this life.
The soil is still warm, the vines sway without too strong of a breeze, and the barrels sit in silence in rooms that smell like history.
Sebastiani still has that magic to it, but it’s growing fainter.
If the rezoning passes, those rooms will be flattened. The magic will be replaced by HVAC systems, the soil covered in concrete, all of the stories silenced forever.
All for something more permanent…but somehow far more temporary. Wine doesn’t just nourish our souls, it remembers. Every bottle is an echo…of weather, of hard work that caused sweat to drip down the backs of those who labored, countless hands picking and sorting the best grapes of the bunches, land, and love that’s captured into liquid form.
Sebastiani’s possible erasure is more than a local loss, it’s a global pattern. We are currently watching history get priced out while craft get outpaced by capital. Place is getting flattened into profit and the taste of the land is vanishing.
But if we tell these stories…if we remember the names and the cellars…we resist the idea that memory is worthless. Memory makes flavor, and wine without flavor is just red liquid in a glass.
If this is Sebastiani’s last vintage, then let us toast it with reverence.
To Samuele, who built stone by stone, the vines that grew for 100 years, and to every bottle that carried a century in silence.
To all the places like this, who are still standing, until someone decides they’d be worth more if they weren’t.
