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Freyburg vintner Lars Reifert runs one of Germany's most unusual vineyards: he has planted two hectares of vines on the flooded slag heap of the former Klobikau open-cast lignite mine near Buna and Leuna, against much opposition.

Vintner at the spoil heap: Lars Reifert

The rickety red BMW roars along the avenue. Two endless rows of trees to the left and right of the main road cut through the brown hills of harvested fields to the horizon. Lars Reifert steps on the gas, one hand on the gearstick, its knob long since broken off. "Sometimes I think it's like Dubai," the 29-year-old winemaker exclaims through the noise of the engine. The road leads from Freyburg, the wine town on the Saale, across the Saschen-Anhalt no-man's-land to Lake Geiseltal. Dubai? "My vineyard is on an artificial slope by an artificial lake. That's kind of crazy, isn't it?"

In fact, the part-time winemaker cultivates one of the most unusual vineyards in Germany: it is located on the spoil heap of a massive former GDR open-cast lignite mine, within sight of the factory chimneys of Buna and Leuna. The end of the GDR also marked the end of centuries of coal mining in one of Germany's largest coalfields. In 1993, rehabilitation began and the mine was flooded. Today the entire area is a nature reserve and recreational area. And Müller-Thurgau, Pinot Noir and Cabernet Mitos grow on the former slag heap.

Crossed mallets and irons are emblazoned on the bottles that stand in the Freyburg tasting room of the Reiferts: "Der goldene Steiger" is the name of the Müller-Thurgau with 11 percent alcohol from the overburden. "There are a lot of retired miners up here with good pensions who like to buy it," laughs the blond winemaker. He came up with the brand name himself and designed the label himself.

Ten years ago, his father Rolf, who had already been a winemaker in the GDR, came up with an idea that sounded strange at the time. Up there on the slag heap, more than 15 kilometres away from the vineyards of Freyburg, wine could grow after all. "There was no master plan or anything, we just looked around," recalls the wine autodidact Reifert, "there were still the old excavators standing around." A south-facing slope, stripped down to around 25 per cent inclination, seemed suitable: Excellent sun exposure, mineral-rich mixed soil. "We then compared the position of the sun there with sites in Freyburg and Kleina by mobile phone. We found out that we have one hour of sunshine per day more there than at home."

The red BMW brakes near the village of Mücheln at a large construction site. Excavators are terracing the terrain on the shore of a lake that didn't exist a few years ago. The Klobikau slag heap has become the Geiseltalsee. Lars Reifert points to the opposite shore far away: "Over there is the vineyard," he calls out. When the lake reaches its final water level in 2010, the sun's reflection on the water's surface should bring his wine even more Oechsle.

The idea from 1997 finally matured into a plan. The Reiferts wanted to buy the hillside and grow wine. Students mapped the terrain, later built a model of the vineyard and calculated the sun's incidence over the day and year. The plan looked good. But the matter was complicated. Lars Reifert made applications, received rejections, wrote new applications, received new rejections. "You always had to stay on the ball," recalls Reifert. His method, on the other hand: "Every civil servant has a superior. And he also has a boss," he laughs. "You have to present your concerns to them in the right way. Expert friends helped him to formulate letters and applications correctly and to draft legal letters. "That went all the way to Berlin," he says. The entire redevelopment area had been declared a nature reserve. This prohibits its use for winegrowing. Buying land was not an option either - because the open-cast mine rehabilitation company LMBV had to put the land out to tender. "We all hoped that no one with a big wallet would come and outbid us." No one came. Soon the Reiferts owned about 50 hectares of shore on a lake that did not yet exist. For a vineyard that only existed in their minds. In 2006, by the way, he was awarded the Viticulture Promotion Prize by BASF and Meininger-Verlag for his project.

The BMW continues past a condemned factory and industrial flat buildings on a path that is normally taken by off-road vehicle. The red BMW takes the crests, hollows and holes along the bank casually, with the shock absorbers sitting on top. "It knows the way by itself, I drive here almost every day," he says. Lars Reifert has a permanent job with a water management company and is often "at work" for ten hours a day. Nevertheless, he manages the two hectares at Geiseltalsee alone with his father and some seasonal workers.

He also buys grapes from other Freyburg vintners - Pinot Blanc and Pinot Gris, Kernling, Traminer, Dornfelder, Regent - which he vinifies and sells under his own brand name. His working day is long: first the job, then the vineyard, finally processing internet orders and packing parcels. But he wants to make a living from winegrowing at some point. "You have to keep at it, otherwise it won't work," he says.

The first grape variety% planted: Müller-Thurgau

We stop at the top of the slag heap, which is now a vineyard. 4.000 vines of Müller-Thurgau have been standing here since 2000. Only after a long back and forth did he get permission to grow grapes under the conditions of contractual nature conservation: no use of herbicides, fungicide use only on an organic basis. "I suspect we only got the permit because the officials thought we would give up in a year anyway." The vine quotas that are now still needed also had to come. After all, vineyards are strictly regulated within the EU. But somehow we managed to do that, too.

"It was June, the hottest day of the year 2000, and we wanted to loosen the soil," the vintner recalls of planting the vines: "Everyone expected the soil to be loose - but after a depth of 30 centimetres, that was the end. The safety bolts flew out of the plough!" he reports. Thinking, trial and error, until the vines were in the ground. Now they still had to solve the irrigation problem. Lars Reifert and his father constructed their own system with pipes. But water has a lot of power on the slope. Rain and erosion caused the slope to slide dangerously, taking many vines with it. "We had to do many things again and differently from the textbook, find our own solutions."

He mentions in passing that the tractor fell over once and the Pinot Noir burnt in the first year because of unexpectedly high heat. "You just have to take it one step at a time," he says. There was no time for far-reaching plans back then. "We took care of the vineyard and the vines. "We were busy enough with that," he says and grabs one of the plump Müller-Thurgau umbels: "It looks good this year!

This is how it used to look...


In 2004, 2000 vines of Pinot Noir were added, a year later another 2000 vines of Cabernet Mitos. Why this new variety, of all things? "There wasn't much analysis there. We were able to get them free of charge from our vine grape breeder after a trade fair. We dragged them out of the exhibition hall one by one in pots and watered them at home. Let's see what comes out". Now Reifert is thinking about planting more vines: Bacchus or Riesling, they'd love to be drunk. But there is no vine quota yet: "Let's wait and see". He invites his customers to his lignite slope for the harvest. Not to taste, but to harvest. They come instead of harvest workers, get a picnic and a bottle of wine. "It doesn't pay off, but it's a great experience for my customers, and that builds loyalty," he says.

He does not process the grapes on his own estate, but in the cellar of fellow winemaker Stephan Seeliger from Naumburg. "Financing all the expensive technology ourselves doesn't pay off with our small quantities," says Lars Reifert. Anyone who listens to him quickly realises that he belongs to a new generation of winemakers who have different priorities than the traditionalists. He thinks in terms of networks, contacts, connections to people "with whom you can do something". He and some of his colleagues share expensive machinery for cultivation. "No one takes anything away from each other, in the end everyone benefits," he says, explaining his view of things.

But in Saale-Unstrut he is more of an outsider: "There are not so many who think like that." Most young winegrowers leave - to the West, where skilled workers are in demand in viticulture. Reifert was born here, wants to stay and succeed. A group of bicycle tourists cycling along the cycle path around the lake are invited to the Federweißenfest. "You have to talk people up, otherwise it won't work out"

...and so today!


He has long since expanded his network, he says in his humming red BMW on the way back to Freyburg. Next to the vineyard, Galloway cattle are to keep the plant growth small. Dessau architecture students are currently designing an avant-garde pilgrim's hut for the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela that runs directly along the vines. With wine served to thirsty hikers? "Sure, but first we have to get the hut financed. Then we'll see." This year, he hopes, his vineyard will pay off for the first time. He steps on the gas, the trees along the country road cast long shadows on the fields. Lars Reifert says his Müller-Thurgau still needs to improve: "It needs a little more minerality, more zest. You just have to keep at it. Otherwise it won't work.

Link:
www.weinbau-am-geiseltalsee.de

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