LMy name is Toni.

I am 13 years old and I live at the Welser Hut in the Dead Mountains of Austria.

My dad is the hut keeper.

And if you ask me,

he is the best craftsman in the world.

Today, my older sister and I are hiking up the steep trail to the hut.

The climb is brutal.

The sun is burning from the sky.

Sweat runs down my forehead.

My backpack digs into my shoulders.

And my legs feel like cooked noodles.

“Can we take a break?” I ask.

“Just a short one,” my sister replies.

We sit down on a rock and drink some water.

Only two hundred vertical meters left.

Not much.

But right now it feels like two thousand.

“Do you think Dad has everything ready?”

My sister laughs.

“Of course.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s Dad.”

That seems like a good enough explanation.

And somehow, I suddenly find new energy.

Switchback after switchback, we make our way up the mountain.

The last section is steep and rocky.

Then I finally see the hut.

And standing in front of it, waving both arms wildly, is a familiar figure.

Dad.

A few minutes later he wraps us in a big hug.

“Welcome home!”

But then he leads us behind the hut.

And there, waiting for us, is a surprise.

A huge dark sail stretches between the rocks.

Beside it stands a small pool filled with crystal-clear water.

“Allow me to introduce,” Dad says proudly,

“Version Seven.”

“Version Seven of what?” I ask.

“My cloud catcher.”

My sister and I exchange glances.

Then we look back at the enormous sail.

“Can we jump in the pool?”

my sister asks.

“Of course!”

Ten seconds later we splash into the water.

It is wonderful.

Cool.

Fresh.

Perfect.

“Do you like the new sail?” Dad asks.

“It’s amazing!” I shout.

Dad grins.

“This one collects twice as much water from the air as the old version.”

That’s what Dad does.

He is always building something.

Sometimes pipes.

Sometimes water systems.

Sometimes cloud catchers.

Later he helps us out of the pool.

“Now I need to get to the kitchen.”

“Why?”

“Because even brilliant inventors have to cook dinner.”

An hour later we sit together in the dining room.

The air smells of herbs, fresh bread, and vegetable stew.

As we eat, Dad tells stories from the time when he was a young hut keeper.

Back when many hikers and climbers came here.

When people climbed the summit of the Großer Priel.

And continued on to the Prielschutzhaus.

“Back then,” Dad says,

“there was still enough water in the valleys.”

I try to imagine it.

“And then what happened?” I ask.

Dad looks out toward the mountains.

“Then it became drier and drier.”

“Water disappeared from the valleys.”

“Springs dried up.”

“And people needed new ideas.”

“And that’s when the sails arrived?”

Dad nods.

“Austrian scientists had a crazy idea.”

“They wanted to milk the clouds.”

My sister bursts out laughing.

“Milk the clouds?”

“Exactly.”

Dad points toward the mountains.

Together we step outside.

Huge gray sails cover the ridges and slopes.

On the Schermberg.

On the high ridgelines.

Even on the summit of the Großer Priel.

From a distance they look like a strange forest of giant trees.

Between them run long tubes carrying water down into the valleys.

Slowly the evening sun begins to glow.

The sails shine golden in the light.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Dad asks.

I nod.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“You are a great craftsman.”

Dad laughs.

“Oh, come on.”

“No. Really.”

I look at the mountains.

At the sails.

At the pipes.

At the water.

“A long time ago this place was called the Dead Mountains.”

Dad nods.

“Today it’s an oasis.”

I put my arm around him.

“And you are the lifeguard everyone loves.”

Now even my sister starts laughing.

Dad shakes his head.

But I can tell he likes it.

Together we sit outside the hut for a long time.

Above us, the stars begin to shine.

Below us, the valleys fall asleep.

And all around the mountains, the giant sails silently gather water from the clouds.

And I think:

There are many ways to change the world.

Some people write books.

Some people build machines.

And some people simply milk the clouds.

🌿