In the Junes of the 1980s, as my mates packed for Glastonbury, I was often on my knees beside a broken irrigation pump, weeping with fatigue and despair – overwhelmed by the consequences of vegetable ambitions borne in the depths of winter. As we approach the longest day, rampant growth threatens to overwhelm those who took on too much, and it’s make or break. Workdays are long and frenetic, with the first crops ready for harvest, but lots still to plant, as well as weeds to control. If you slip behind now, particularly with weeding, everything takes twice as long in the battle to catch up. Instead of the light, quick hoeing that can dispatch small weeds with minimal effort, you end up with the slow, back-breaking task of hand-pulling weeds that have developed enough roots to resist.
The first two weeks of this June have been mercifully cool, which has slowed the ripening of our strawberries. Combined with the help of more exam-finishing, school-leaving student workers every day, we are clawing our way back on top of the picking. Ideally, we would return to the same beds every two to three days, but after being caught out by an early start to the season, that has stretched to every eight days – meaning that on our return to each bed, there are overripe berries to gather and discard, slowing the picking. Unlike the vast majority of UK strawberries, which are grown at eye-height – either hydroponically (in plastic gutters of liquid nutrient solutions), or in bags on tabletops – our strawberries are grown in the soil. This means that the picker needs to get down to the strawberries rather than the strawberries being raised up, favouring the young and flexible. Their pain is your gain; I am convinced that our soil-grown strawberries are far superior in flavour.
Down on the tidal marshes of the River Erme, my son Donald spends his June days squatting in the mud to pick marsh samphire, which you can order for the next month. Most days it’s just him and his shears, surrounded by egrets, ducks, and swans. On a good day, with the benefit of 10 years’ experience, a flexible body, and the right tunes in his ears, he can pick 30 kilos before being driven off the marsh by the incoming tide. Overall, he harvests only about 10% of what’s there, to keep our foraging sustainable for years to come.
Luckily, I prefer vegetables to people most of the time, so never much wanted to go to Glastonbury anyway.
Our News from the Farm posts come from Riverford. They are the digital versions of the printed letters which go out to customers, every week via Riverford’s veg boxes. Guy Singh-Watson’s weekly newsletters connect people to the farm with refreshingly honest accounts of the trials and tribulations of producing organic food, and the occasional rant about farming, ethical and business issues he feels strongly about.
I loved reading this. I think because of all the hard work and sacrifice that is encapsulated in the words. I get it because I grew up on a very very small farm, albeit rather a long time ago now. I was lucky. Most people can’t begin to know what goes into getting food onto their own or even their restaurant’s table unless someone steps up and tells them. I love it that Guy particularly and Riverford generally make a point of trying to do this.