Growing Legacy

Mum and Dad bought their bony, empty patch of dirt on Conders Bend Road back in 1989, when my big brother was just 18 months old – still in nappies and already supervising. True-blue Wellingtonians, they were like many 30-somethings in the 1980s – dreaming big, armed with nothing but a wine-fuelled vision, stubborn optimism and a questionable understanding of rural living.

What happened between then and my grand entrance? A lot of blisters and a heroic amount of hope – not to mention the occasional heated debate over whether to plant Pinot Noir or stick with something “less temperamental”. But by the time the long, golden evenings of January 1993 rolled around, so did I, four years before the first Bladen bottling in 1997, and five years before the cellar door opened in 1998.

The road I grew up on was once a grazing platter for childhood imagination; pine forests to get lost in, sweet stone fruit orchards for snacking, garlic fields that doubled as race tracks, and just enough farm animals to keep things interesting (but thankfully, given our name, not so many that our ragtag crew of pigs, hens and turkeys turned us into the local chapter of Old MacDonald’s Farm). I remember our eruptions of laughter when we would chat to the turkeys and the entire flock would gobble back at us.

Dave Macdonald does laundry on the new vineyard.

Of course, the chaos was only heightened by Dad’s complete lack of ‘farm-safe’ awareness out in the vineyard – usually right before Mum and my slightly more sensible (read: terrified) big brother Blair would jump in to tell us off for being silly. And all the while, we watched as the region slowly stitched itself into a patchwork quilt of vineyards, row by row, bottle by bottle.

around an industry, but grow up with it – side by side as it takes shape – it can be hard to truly see its magic. The wonder becomes woven into the everyday. Blair and I didn’t watch from the sidelines as Mum and Dad found their place in the wine world – we lived it, almost without noticing. From the kitchen counter over breakfast before school, we’d listen as their plans were made over coffee. The dining table, which doubled as a desk, would need to be strategically cleared of accounts before we set it for dinner at the end of financial year. And the home office would quietly come back to life with the soft tapping of keys after we’d been tucked into bed, as the dream kept growing.

Growing up like this meant we were front row for it all – not just the joy of the great days, but the tension of the hard ones too. We saw the quiet pride that came with a good vintage, the laughter shared over a successful harvest, and the clinking of glasses when things went right. But we also felt the weight of the late frosts, the long dry summers, the sleepless nights before bank meetings or big decisions. The stress didn’t always knock – sometimes it just slipped in with the evening breeze. But even in those moments of uncertainty, there was a strange kind of comfort in watching our parents navigate it all with grit, grace and more than a few deep breaths.

Eventually Blair and I each reached our first major life choice – should we get involved in the family business, or boldly forge our own paths? Naturally, and in our own time, we both did what every parent dreams of... we went and studied the arts. Blair ventured into music and I headed into photography – two famously stable and highly lucrative career choices, obviously. But hey, creativity runs in the family and while we might have started off in different directions, it turns out that growing up among vines, late-night spreadsheets and harvest dust has a way of sticking with you, whether you plan for it or not.

For Blair, somewhere between too many sunshine hours lost to windowless studio sessions and falling head over heels for his dream girl, the call back to the soils of Marlborough grew louder. The idea of creating something lasting – of building their own wee family, rooted in the same land that raised us – started to feel less like a detour and more like coming home.

I came back for a wedding in early 2020, after spending most of my 20s based in Dubai, photographing portraits across the Middle East. Then a global pandemic kept me here far longer than planned. Strangely, it was during that extended stay that the things I rolled my eyes at as a teenager became the very things I realised I’d been yearning for. Isn’t it wicked how age makes us so... boring? Although, to be fair, falling for a handsome Marlborough man may have had something to do with it too.

Blair Macdonald had a young start in viticulture at Bladen.

Blair had joined Mum and Dad in 2018, with discussions of how to take Bladen into its next chapter. Just as they started to find their groove, that sweet spot of synergy, along came me and our wee mate Covid, all in one go. Naturally, that meant tossing the new plan out the window and starting all over again, because what’s a family business without a few unexpected plot twists?

Let me tell you, it’s weird entering an industry you grew up in. So many familiar faces, so much that hasn’t changed; and yet somehow, absolutely nothing feels the same. There’s this strange balancing act of trying to find your independence while making every decision with a family business at its core. And don’t even get me started on the daily dance: do I say, ‘I’ll talk to Mum and Dad’ or go with the more professional, ‘Let me run that by the boss’? Now, five years down the track, we’ve definitely found our rhythm. There’s a strong understanding and a solid dynamic, mainly because we very quickly learned that we’re best when we stick to our own lanes.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, of course. Like any family business, there were plenty of growing pains – miscommunications, crossed wires, the occasional sibling eye-roll and more than a few passionate debates over everything from pruning styles to email fonts. But beneath it all was a shared love for what we were building together and a deep respect for the parts each of us play. Mum and Dad are still proudly at the helm. But every day we’re encouraged and supported to take Bladen in our own direction - even when it stretches their comfort zones.

Big brother B? He loves and cares for the vineyard like it’s part of the family – because it is. His eldest son, Pat, lovingly calls it “Dad’s garden” (though I do like to remind him it’s Aunty Awesome’s garden too). And honestly, there’s something truly magical about watching Blair and Sarah’s beautiful, wild sons run through a place that was once just a dream for Mum and Dad in their early 30s. If that’s not the definition of heritage, I don’t know what is.

As I write this, 36 years on from when Mum and Dad arrived in Marlborough, our 2025 vintage wines are tucked away soundly in the winery. It may be a vintage that enters a very different market, as the world continues to shift and reshape. But if there’s one thing we can count on, it’s that change always brings a fresh creative breeze with it.

Maybe it’s the fact I’m writing this at almost 4 o’clock in the morning while my husband George sleeps beside me... or that I’m 40 weeks pregnant and have already consumed two midnight Mint Slices. The fire is crackling, the house is quiet, and I couldn’t feel more proud. Proud of the bravery and boldness of our parents. And proud to continue what they started – alongside Blair, and now, with the third generation close behind.