The Fool

The fool

The vernacular has a story to tell about him:

Hundreds of years ago, two farmers were on their way home from a mine late at night. As they dragged themselves along the moonlit village street with unsteady steps, one of them, who was of considerable size and whose gigantic figure suggested bearish strength, boasted with a heavy tongue that he was still able to do so despite his imbalance To carry a barrel of wine on his back to the place indicated above. When the other person doubted this, he decided to follow his words with deeds in order to provide his friend with proof. When he got home, he took a barrel full of wine from the cellar, loaded it onto his broad shoulders and set off. He had already left the village behind him and was only a few hundred meters away from his destination. The heavy barrel weighed heavily on his shoulders and drove the sweat from his pores. The further he moved away from the village, the more afraid he became. Gradually he began to toy with the idea of turning back, but his pride kept pushing him forward. He walked along, panting and dragging his feet. It roared in his head as if a great sea were trapped in it. Bushes and bushes lined his path, their leaves rustling in the loud night wind. Another hundred steps and he would have made it. Suddenly he fell down and didn't get up.
The next morning he was found dead on the floor.
The wooded hill where this man died was given the name “Fool.”

A humorous inscription next to it from Matthias Rumpler (killed in action in Russia in 1942) reminds us that there are still fools today like those back then.

There are beautiful wooden figures, poems and legends about this place.