How to Rescue Canada’s Wine Supply

When I started my chemistry career in the ’70s, I studied organic synthesis, the science of producing molecules (like vitamins) for the purpose of drug discovery. I worked with Raymond Lemieux—a University of Alberta professor and the first person ever to synthesize sucrose—and was part of a team that developed tests for blood groups. Then, in 1978, I got a research associate job at the National Research Council’s Prairie Regional Laboratory, which focused on agriculture.

A seed was planted, so to speak, when I met Barry Milborrow, an Australian scientist who spent his time studying abscisic acid, or ABA. In every plant on earth, ABA functions like a hormonal traffic signal, controlling the opening and closing of stomata (or pores), which take in carbon dioxide. During drought conditions, ABA shuts the stomata to retain moisture and, in the winter, it triggers plants to go dormant. I soon realized that it would be possible to play with ABA’s structure to produce a more active version.

My team at the NRC worked on creating several ABA analogues that were later patented; they metabolized more slowly and, thus, protected plants for longer stretches of time. In the early 2010s, I moved to the University of Saskatchewan, and, along with my former colleague, Jerome Konescni, I founded ABAzyne BioScience to commercialize the invention. In search of the ideal test plant, we started with tomato seedlings, but eventually zeroed in on wine grapes, which are especially sensitive to temperature changes. After much experimentation, ABA Boost was born: a colourless, soapy solution that can be applied to grapevines’ leaves and buds to help them survive unpredictable weather conditions. There’s certainly no shortage of those nowadays.

Our spray always would have been a helpful insurance policy for the world’s wine producers, but the fluctuations of climate change have made it crucial. According to the International Organisation of Vine and Wine, droughts, fires, hail and heavy, mildew-spawning rainfall made 2023 Europe’s worst wine harvest year in more than six decades. In 2022, Grape Growers of Ontario estimated that roughly half of the province’s grapevines were harmed by extreme cold; for Niagara wineries specifically, it was the worst damage they’d incurred in 20 years. This past January, temperatures in the Okanagan Valley—another of Canada’s wine capitals—dropped as low as -27° C, killing almost all of the buds on the region’s vines. Wine Growers B.C. calculated that, this year, producers were only able to harvest between one and three per cent of their grapes, resulting in total revenue losses of up to $346 million. Then, in April, an oddly late frost hit the Lake Erie region, causing 471 wineries to lose 60 per cent of their yield. Even if destructive fluke weather events don’t happen every single year, the compounding consequences of these widespread crop deaths could be dire: vineyards could go broke, resulting in a major hit to Canada’s $1.6-billion wine industry and, of course, much less wine to drink.

Right now, grape researchers are testing our agricultural “antifreeze” on vines in the lab and in the field—in Niagara, in upstate New York and in Pennsylvania, all areas affected by too-cold winters and mercurial spring frosts. In small-scale tests like these, spraying is typically done by hand, after the grape crops are picked. Eventually, however, our ABA analogue could be mass-applied by boom sprayers, the same machines that farmers use to dole out fertilizers and pesticides.

So far, our experiments have yielded positive results: in springtime, the dormancy of vines treated with ABA Boost has been extended by a full two weeks, preventing the grape plants from opening early and accidentally exposing themselves to a sudden temperature drop. During winter, the vines are now surviving temperatures that are six degrees colder than normal. The spray also has no negative side effects, and the chemical isn’t detectable in the following year’s harvest. Best of all, ABA Boost won’t only help farmers; a steady grape supply will help keep costs down for wine-loving consumers.

ABA Boost’s applications might eventually stretch well beyond wine. It could be used to cold-proof any fruit: apples, cherries and peaches, for instance. (B.C.’s January cold spell also killed more than three-quarters of its stone fruits, forcing stores to ship them up from the U.S.) From a conservation standpoint, ABA Boost is a win, too. It can make tree seedlings more robust once they’re out in the wild, which would assist with the country’s ongoing post-wildfire reforestation efforts. In nurseries, growers have total climate control but, once those seedlings are replanted in Canada’s forests, there may not be enough rain to sustain them. ABA Boost could encourage the trees to use the available water more conservatively. Even on the golf course, the spray could be used to close the pores of turf grass, drastically reducing water usage and utility costs.

ABA Boost isn’t on the market yet, but we may be only a couple years away. Our next step is getting through the regulatory process. Any agricultural chemical that is sold for commercial use has to be cleared by the Canadian Food Inspection Agency, which mandates specific studies to prove that the product is safe and doesn’t leave any residue on edible products. After ABA Boost is approved, we can start mass-producing the spray in chemical plants and selling it (affordably) to wine producers all across Canada and the U.S. If it’s successful, we may be able to license it in Europe as well. At the moment, some French wineries are setting smoky fires to keep frosts at bay; ABA Boost is an environmentally friendly alternative.

After decades of circuitous scientific exploration, it would be satisfying to know I’ve had a hand in an invention that protects the wider biodiversity of Canada. It’s also been nice to imagine the life-saving applications of synthetic ABA in regular, everyday life, like when I run into beleaguered B.C.-based producers at the farmer’s market in Saskatoon or walk by the droopy, nearly dead little marigolds for sale in the parking lot of my local hardware store.

Of course, I have my own selfish reasons for keeping the country’s vast wine supply alive and affordable. My husband and I enjoy visiting Osoyoos, a town in the Okanagan. Every time we’re there, we spend part of our time sitting on terraces overlooking the vineyards. I usually enjoy a glass or two of Canadian cabernet sauvignon. Now, I won’t have to picture a future without it.

Sue Abrams is the chief scientist at ABAzyne BioScience and an adjunct professor in the department of chemistry at the University of Saskatchewan.