Page 93 - Dez2017

Er hat Jahre erlebt, in denen er gewartet hat und seine Trauben genau die Sonnenstrahlen abbekamen, die sie brauchten, um perfekt zu werden. Er hat Jahre erlebt, in denen er gewartet hat und ihm die Ernte verfaulte.
Er öffnet eine Seite auf seinem iPad. Wiltingen: Mittwoch 60 Prozent Regenwahrscheinlichkeit, Donnerstag 80 Prozent, Freitag 70 Prozent, Samstag 20 Prozent. Ab Sonntag: Sonne. Jetzt steht alles auf der Kippe: zwischen einem großen Jahrgang, mit Ausleseweinen und vielleicht einer
Edeka - as the most expensive honey on the shelf. Müller hopes that his son is on the right path. „In the end, that‘s what you work towards - handing it over to the next generation.“
The next morning, on the third day of the harvest, it is dry again. A yellowish light penetrates cloud cover. They are still harvesting raisins in the Knipp garden, a windy plot of land underneath the scrubby hilltop. The juice made the day before was not sweet enough for a Trockenbeerenauslese. The grapes would still need three or four sunny days to develop the necessary sugar content. It‘s Tuesday. From Sunday on, the weather is expected to improve, and up until then, they will have to weather the rain.
“We have to choose and inevitably you will also make mistakes.”
After lunch, Müller stands in the courtyard and looks at the sky.
„What‘s the weather forecast?“ Andreas, the Polish foreman, asks out of the window of the van.
„Rain,“ says Müller. „One hour. Then a shower.“
„Shower“ repeats Andreas, for the Poles sitting behind him in the van. They know the most important grape harvest vocabulary: Shower. Bucket. Scissors. Boss.
At half past two, it starts raining. It takes Andreas an hour to work his way up the muddy path, 50 metres steep uphill, time in which he can talk about the condition of NATO, why Qatar does not accept refugees, and nally about his time as an excavator driver in Krakow in the eighties. At the top, he puts a few last grapes into the bucket and says: „Think positively. And drink wine.“ From somewhere Müller calls, „time to nish work!“.
Shortly afterwards, he is sitting at the table in the big kitchen, opposite the wood-burning stove. „We‘re sitting between a high pressure over Eastern Europe and a low over France. We won‘t be able to avoid rain.“
Harvest or wait?
He has seen years where he waited, and his grapes received exactly the sun‘s rays which they needed to be perfect. He has also lived through years where he waited, and the harvest ended up rotten.
Trockenbeerenauslese – und einem verregneten Jahrgang.
„Man muss sich entscheiden“, sagt Müller, in der warmen Küche sitzend, „und zwangsläu g macht man dabei auch Fehler.“
Nachmittags um fünf beugt sich auf der Ostseite des Bergs Max von Kunow über seinen Computer in seinem Büro, das zugleich auch Verkaufsraum ist. „Wetter.de bringt’s nicht“, sagt er. Er verlässt sich lieber auf die Website proplantana, von der „lieben P anzenschutz-Industrie“. „Ich guck das während der Lese dreimal am Tag an. Das beruhigt mich.“
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