2Naturkinder: When It’s Alive, Anything Is Possible

Ever heard the pun that "no matter how kind you are, German children will always be Kinder"? This silly but fun dad-ish joke (fun if you're a linguistic nerd) always makes me think of Michael and Melanie of 2Naturkinder (Instagram) – two children of nature and truly kind spirits.

Kindred, also: I like them and feel close to them since we started around the same time, share several distributors around the world, and have a deep interest in living vines & wines. I like their warmth and the fact that they take everything they do seriously, thinking deeply about their vineyards (they're working with 8 hectares now), cellar work, and everything else, often in an outside-of-the-box way. (Their philosophy/Jewish studies backgrounds might have something to do with that.)

Interested in their vineyard work, how they see the future, but also simply how they're doing now, we reached out to Michael to break bread and discuss how things have changed since 2013, when they returned to Michael's family historic winery in Kitzingen, trading their London academic careers and cosmopolitan life for vineyards, sheep, and bat guano.

Words by Milan Nestarec & Lucie Kohoutová, photos courtesy of 2Naturkinder

Last time I visited your vineyard a couple of years ago, you were talking about maybe having to adapt your grape varieties to the evolving climate, with certain grapes like Bacchus becoming too complicated to grow due to the heat waves; at the same time, you also suffer from spring frosts. How does it look now? And what’s your adaptation strategy – are you taking the direction of PiWis, grafting different varieties on existing vineyards, or something else altogether?

Yes, climate change is still very much shaping the way we work in the vineyard. We do still grow Bacchus, but we’ve stopped planting new ones—it’s just too delicate for the increasingly hot and dry summers.

Instead, we’ve started replacing Müller-Thurgau with field blends of PiWis (fungus-resistant varieties), and honestly, we’re really excited about them. The early results are great: the grapes are robust, they keep their acidity even when picked late, and the wine quality is very promising. We see them becoming a real staple for us in the future.

Thankfully, our key varieties—Silvaner, the Pinots, and Riesling—are handling the climate shifts quite well so far. Silvaner, in particular, continues to thrive and remains central to our identity. So while adaptation is definitely ongoing, we're finding some solid paths forward.

Can the answer be complantation, like the medley of varieties – I suppose all of them historically present on your territory – that you’re using for the Siebenschläfer cuvée? How is your experience with this, are you planning to plant more such vineyards?

Yes, exactly—our Siebenschläfer field blend is a great example of that approach. It’s doing quite well. With nearly 20 different historical varieties growing side by side, we’ve noticed that they’re beginning to adapt to each other and ripen more in sync.

What’s really fascinating is the depth and complexity this brings to the wine. Each variety contributes something different—layers of flavour, texture, and energy. Some, like Heunisch, are so interesting on their own that we’ve even considered planting them as single-varietal blocks. But for now, the beauty lies in their coexistence.

We’re living quite interesting times, as the old Chinese proverb would say – full of challenges not only climatic but also economic and political. What does the future of wine look like, according to you?

Yes, we’re definitely living in "interesting times"—climatically, economically, and politically. And the wine world isn’t exempt from any of it.

Right now, it’s no secret that there’s far too much wine on the market while demand is shrinking. In our region, we’re seeing grape and land prices collapse. Many growers are still being paid the same per ton as they were a decade ago, even though their costs have gone up across the board. It’s simply not sustainable.

The hard truth is that we’ll likely see many wineries closing and vineyards being left untended. Over time, that means fewer—but larger—producers, and probably some 20 % fewer vineyards in this area.

Artisanal winemaking, already rare, will become even more so. But I believe there will always be a space for it—perhaps smaller, but more meaningful. There will always be people looking for authenticity, for stories, for real connection in a bottle.

You were always very focused on biodiversity and symbiosis between plants and animals in your vineyards, from your “bat project” to sheep, both featured prominently on your labels. How are the sheep? And what’s the next biodiversity project?

The sheep have moved on to a friend of ours. After eight years of working with them, we learned a lot—but ultimately, we realised that to make it viable, you need a much larger flock than we could support. We had around 30, which was great for biodiversity but not sustainable on our limited vineyard surface.

Now, we’re shifting our focus to vitiforestry. We’ve planted a hectare where vines and trees grow side by side, and we’re in the early stages of observing how they interact. It’s a kind of return to the vine’s origins—grapevines evolved in forest environments, after all. Trees feel like a promising direction, both ecologically and symbolically, and we’re excited to see where it leads.

Your winery is a real hub where interns from all parts of the world and industries cross paths, which must be a wonderful cross-pollination to experience – what’s the best that you get out of it? On the other hand, I’m also wondering if it’s not sometimes a lot of people and unpredictability to manage. Any best practices to share?

We do indeed have a lot of people here throughout the vegetation season and harvest. Like the ecosystem vineyard, the winery wakes up in spring, becoming more and more populated, colorful, buzzing—alive with movement, laughter, and the vibrant rhythm of shared purpose. Interns arrive from all over, bringing fresh perspectives, eager questions, and an infectious curiosity that invites us to reflect on our own work.

Teaching them reminds us that sharing knowledge is the best way to deepen it—and many of those who shaped our team in the past started here as interns, hands in the soil and eyes wide open. But as nature calms down in winter, so does the winery and we enjoy a social break.

I like your idea that “Less control means there is a bigger risk of failure. But also allows for unpredictable beauty and enables moments of true resonance. With nature, wine and the world.” I think it’s very true, also because it’s important to accept fuck-ups as part of what we do. I have made many of them, too; often very pivotal moments on my journey. What were yours? And how do you deal with them?

Oh, there have been plenty of failures—some painful, some surprisingly pivotal. One of my favourites, in hindsight, was the carbonic maceration of our Meunier [locally called Schwarzriesling, E.N.] in 2022. When we put the grapes into the press, the whole courtyard suddenly smelled like vinegar. You could actually taste it in the sweet juice. We stood there, tasting in silence, and slowly came to the sinking realisation: the wine was ruined.

A few days later, I was racking a big tank that had gone through a very lively fermentation, and I wanted to use its lees to help another juice that was struggling to finish fermenting. Since I had quite a bit of lees, I thought—why not toss some into the Meunier, too? It couldn’t get any worse.

A few days later, the vinegar note was gone. The volatile acidity had dropped by nearly 0.4 g/L, and what we had in the tank was this wild, beautiful, completely unexpected unicorn of a wine.

It taught me that as long as you don’t lock a wine down by adding sulfites it stays alive. And when it’s alive, anything is possible. So the lesson is simple: don’t give up too quickly. Give the wine space to surprise you.

You and Melanie have backgrounds in academia, having studied philosophy and Judaism, correct? Please tell me about your journey and what was the turning point when you decided to come back to the family land and make wine? Must have been quite a shift.

Yes, that’s correct—both Melanie and I have academic backgrounds, I in philosophy and she in Jewish studies. My parents were quite clear about their advice: they didn’t think I should follow in the footsteps of the family winery. There wasn’t much money to be made, and it was hard, physical work. I wasn’t particularly interested in the wine world I grew up in—old-fashioned, conservative, and with a very technical view of wine that never really excited me.

So, I pursued philosophy and met Melanie while we were both working for the same publishing house, first in Heidelberg, and later in London. Our journey into the world of wine actually started by accident. One day, we bought our first bottle of natural wine in a shop, and we were absolutely thrilled.

It took us some time to understand why, but living in London in the early 2010s was the perfect environment to explore this. Terroirs [wine bar] had just opened, we lived around the corner from Brawn [a lauded casual restaurant in East London] for a while, and the first Real Wine Fair took place in 2012.

By 2012, we realized we wanted to change our path. A combination of pioneer spirit –since hardly anyone was making natural wine in Germany back then–, the chance to work independently on something that truly excited us, and the desire to keep the family winery alive, led us to move back in 2013 and start 2Naturkinder. That same year, we also had our first child, so there wasn’t much time to dwell on the change—we just jumped in, and starting something new is always full of energy and excitement.

In 2019, my parents retired, and since then, it’s just been the two of us running the winery.

We’ve managed to create a good balance. The wine world gives us the chance to travel to vibrant, bustling cities, and with interns from all over the world, our work environment is very international.

How is this “previous life” of yours influencing your winemaking and wine? Or are these two completely different parts of your life?

I’d say, for the most part, my previous life feels very different—working in a corporate environment has little in common with running a small, hands-on winery. But of course, there are overlaps.

My background in philosophy definitely shapes how I think about winemaking. It helps me approach questions from different angles—like what we really mean when we talk about “intervention” in the cellar. That kind of conceptual clarity can be surprisingly helpful in a field that often blends science, tradition, and intuition.

And living abroad, traveling for work, and experiencing different cultures definitely left a mark as well. It gave us a broader perspective—not just on wine, but on how people connect with it, and with each other. That global lens informs both our work and the kind of winery we want to be.

You recently changed your labels, leaning even more into the animal vibe, what led you to that?

We've always had animals on our labels and over the time realised people memorised the animals more than the names of the wines – like it happened to Andreas Tscheppe, for example. With the redesign, our designer and illustrator Jana Rauthenstrauch (Instagram) suggested to have an animal for every wine, the sake of consistency, which made sense to us.

The colorful ones are the blends, the black and white labels & coloured waxon top are the single vineyards.

Your family has been making wine in the same place for nearly 200 years, since 1843. Is this long tradition more of a resource, or can it also be a burden? How was the transition from your father and his – more classic German, if we can call it that way – winemaking ways to your natural approach?

It’s definitely both—a source of motivation, but also, at times, a burden. There’s something deeply meaningful about continuing a family tradition that began in 1843. The idea of adapting, evolving, and keeping the story alive is powerful. But then there’s the very practical side: old buildings, outdated piping, unreliable electrics, heating systems from another era… These things are constant reminders of the weight that history can carry.

That said, the generational transition itself was surprisingly smooth. My parents were preparing to shut things down as they approached retirement in 2019, and at the same time, we were already quietly building our own path alongside them. Even while we were still small, we helped with their business and kept things running together.

My father, especially, was ultimately very happy that the winery stayed in the family and didn’t have to be sold. He definitely needed a little time to adjust to the natural wine direction we took—but today, he drinks nothing else.

How is the low intervention scene in Franconia looking now – I suppose when you started you were rather lone wolves but now there’s more people working in this way? And did the local customers evolve as well? I have this idea of Bavaria being quite conservative wine-wise and most of your wine being drunk elsewhere in Germany / the world, but maybe – hopefully – it’s just an outdated prejudice and people in Munich and around are now drinking more low-intervention wines than beer in Oktober [laughs].

There are definitely more producers now, especially in the past few years—both here in Franconia and across Germany. Back in the mid-2010s, we were often the only Germans pouring at natural wine salons. It felt pretty lonely at times! But the scene has started to grow, and it’s encouraging to see more people exploring low-intervention approaches.

On the drinking side, there’s definitely more openness than there was five or ten years ago, even here in our region. Fine dining restaurants, in particular, are showing more curiosity and willingness to experiment.

That said, it’s still a small and largely conservative market in most of the country. I wouldn’t say they are pouring Pet-Nats at Oktoberfest just yet [laughs]. But funnily enough, at our local wine festival here in Kitzingen, four of us have carved out our own little corner – there's youngster Martin Hirsch, newcomer Simon Haag and Thomas Patek who works for us 3 days a week and has his own serious production. We’re collaborating fairly closely in the vineyards and to a good extent in the cellar too, Thomas and Simon even have their barrels in my cellar. They’re not all zero-zero but pretty close to our winemaking philosophy nonetheless.

We bring natural wines, different food and an eclectic music lineup. It’s a small revolution within the bigger fest, and people love it. So things are definitely moving. And we’ve done a bunch of events as the New Kitz Kollektiv, too.

Our classic final question – is wine an art?

Wine certainly shares elements with art—there’s beauty, craft, emotion, and a strong sense of expression. But to me, it’s not art. As much as I’d love to have debated that with someone like Joseph Beuys, I believe art needs to go beyond all function or utility and not everybody is an artist.

Immanuel Kant put it well when he wrote that “Kunst ist eine Vorstellung von einem Gegenstand, die ohne Interesse gefällt” [which roughly translates as] “Art pleases without interest”, meaning it isn't tied to practical use. Wine, no matter how profound, still nourishes, still intoxicates—it still serves. That places it in a different category for me.

A perfectly forged ring, an unforgettable meal, or a deeply moving glass of wine—these are powerful cultural artifacts. But true art, I think, lives in its own dimension: one that invites reflection, not consumption.

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