Three weeks after a gale swept through the Vendée, the staff at our French farm have finally finished disentangling the disheartening remains of crop covers from the hedgerows. Although they were well weighted with bags of sand, the wind took the lot. Some can be re-used but most were shredded beyond repair. By the time we got new covers down, our chilled and buffeted crops had been set back a week. We have lost ten thousand of the more vulnerable cos lettuce and many hours of work. Such is farming; every year there will be a calamity, be it wind, rain, drought or pestilence. The important thing is not to take it as a personal slight from above. Without moving to a lab or a factory to produce our food, risk in farming can only be managed, never banished, however big your tractor or powerful your sprays.
The hedgerow oaks have yet to come into leaf. Not so different from home, yet lettuce harvesting will start here this week, just a few days after planting began in Devon. I still can’t really understand why they grow so well here in France. It is often much warmer by day, but there can be frosts at night into May. The answer lies in the quality of the Vendéen light; lettuces can take a lot of cold so long as they get the light.
After eight years, we are finding our feet here. Partly it is choosing the right crops for the land and the climate, partly investment in the right machinery. But mostly it is down to observation, questioning, and a restless determination to find a better way, leading to incremental improvement in skill, knowledge, and results. A little bit is also getting the arrogance kicked out of me and learning from neighbours. The beds are straighter, higher, and better drained; the crops more even; our staff have become multi-skilled and competent; and my accountant tells me that we made our first profit in 2016. The right plan gives you the chance of success, but it is attention to detail in the field that makes it a reality. That and undying hope. My father spent fifty years driving my mother nuts with his ‘Darling, I really think we are getting there.’ If you stop believing that, the gales have won.