It is deepest night. The wind blows through the rows of vines. I hear nothing but the wind and the little owl hooting from the old tree. Just as well! This means that I can make myself comfortable at my lookout post, called 'Lueg' and close my eyes for a bit.

Not for long, though. Since before dawn my feet have been tramping in their short boots through the extensive vineyard, which is my territory for as long as I'm guarding it! Anyone who doesn't know this can see it from the paw-sign, the 'Pratze', that is clearly visible on the closed paths. Anyone still daring to trespass on my vineyards ('Riegl') with the aim of secretly stuffing grapes into their pockets who remains unaffected by my shouts and yells will make a swift exit thanks to my halberd ('Runggaun'). As long as I'm the 'Saltner' here, no grapes ('Weimerle') will end up in the wrong mouths! I’ll chase them all the way to the parish hall before that happens!

I swore this oath at the 'Saltner' elections held by the local council and promised to keep watch day and night and never leave the farmer's land unattended. After all, these grapes mean a whole year's income for the farm family! I bear this great responsibility with pride. Even if the months spent in the vineyards from St. Laurence's Day, on the 10th August, until the grape harvest are tough and involve little sleep, it is one of the most sought-after tasks for every young, honest man.

Every day, I brush down my trousers, put on my shirt and tie my apron around me – a personal gift from the farmer. I quickly don my three-cornered hat decorated with cock's feathers, put my watch into my pocket and take up the halberd from the floor of my 'Saltnerhütte', and I'm ready to start the day.

In the meantime, I have got to know every pergola and every corner of the vineyard and know just where the first ripe grapes are to be found. I also know the little routes that the rodents take to try to get at the juicy grapes now and again. But they have no chance, as I drive them from my patch. The birds are trickier, but they always lose out in the end.

I hear the occasional whistle from a corner of the vineyard that I cannot ignore! Then I know that the 'Riegler', the council official, has come to check if I'm at my post and going about my work. I reply by calling or whistling to let him know that all is ok.

The grape harvest means my work is done. I am paid directly by the farmer and, if we get on well together, I get invited to taste the new wine from Kaltern. Here's to a good harvest!