Chapter 1:
Mercilessly the sun blasts down through the ozone hole right on to of my cap. She delivers her performance at preventing my scalp from burning, as well as keeping the sweat from running down my face. Even despite that a drop comes off my brow and leaves a thick smudge on the glasses. Nevermind, as in this moment some soothing thoughts come to me. It is the moment I received this cap from my brother last christmas back in Germany. As a matter of prudence that there would be colder days I packed it and now it serves as sun protection. Well, my reflection looks a little more stylish now. So..win-win-win.
Utterances of spontaneous distress remain unspoken and are pursed out of the lips as I crawl from the tree like Gollum (not important, grandma). I don’t want to hit branches and halfway ripe apples, but I don’t want to rest on my knees, either. They are not used to this labour and that’s why I intensely feel them stumbling through the heat towards the next tree.
Down, aching muscles, install the bungee-cords-construction between tree and the white sheet, all tight: Yes. Onwards. My due to little variety mostly black-ish working clothes combined with the white cloth and blazing sun create some certain thermal environment that is hard on the circulatory. But I am strong and tell myself I lose weight this way. You guys have your sauna, I have mine. Evidently, out of three liters of water hardly any reaches my bladder throughout a whole work day…
The row is finished. An apple kind-heartedly smiles at me with his red cheeks. How can one resist that… As my teeth dig through the sun-warmed fruit I revisit what I have learned about the white cloth. It not only reflects the sunlight in order to redden the apples down below. It makes for a major temperature rise that gives the apples a ripening boost paired with the cold of the night. Well, the temperature part I verify, as nobody who walks on them for hours could deny it.
The pieces of cloth are up to 250m long and are made out of tent ground sheet material. That gives you nice scarf skin over time. They are being stretched out in long rows where needed and collected before harvesting. For this I am standing in the back inside a bin, as it is carried along the row of trees by an seemingly almost antique tractor using its forklift. Stuffing is the mission, never mind the pieces of mud pie in your mouth because of the dust or the cloth being soaking wet. Then, when the second end of the cloth lies on top the funny part begins: You rest yourself on top of the soft nest (only to secure it, of course) until the bin is put on the side. Half a minute airstream and hundreds of ripe apples passing by temptingly…
Chapter 2:
I always liked to wash my hands after gardening. I looked like hard work as the water turned brown-ish in the sink.
Now I stand in the shower and I am sweaty as and try to apply the code (left, right, left, right, right). Finally, my temperature. I direct the handle towards my arms and notice the phenomenon mentioned above at the ground of the shower. Wow, that’s some serious dirt. Looking back on my rather less physically engaged career these moments leave me somewhat proud to have done something. Maybe even to really have ‘worked’ some deal.
I leave my shower gel and shampoo in the shower and walk over to my room. No one would do this at the hostel, but in a flat you do. Here you know the people and you trust each other. And determining guilt is much easier should it come to that… My room offers comfortable space and I made myself at home already. Since a few days back I live here, at the other end of Hastings, closer to where I work.
The life at the hostel I left behind and some dear travel companions also. And you can still meet up in the time of day not at work… I will go on some other time about how much advantages a flat offers.
After a relaxed meal I turn to my duties. E-Mails, credit card invoices, laundry, shopping, some music, a chilled drink and with a spring in the step I go.
Chapter 3:
Day 1. On a shabby harness I carry a big picking bag in front of me and pick my first apples. It is important that they are red. No orange or brown tones, no. We want the nice, red ones. The bag can carry about 20 kilos of apples. The apples are to be taken care of, they can’t suffer any bruises. It means that you want to lay them into the bag (never thrown) and transfer them to the bin applying utmost care. The bag has a neat appliance for that on its bottom. These so-called bins contain 400kg of apples when full… The goal is to fill up as many as you can a day. I couldn’t manage more than two yet… The pros around fill 5-12 ones depending on the apple.
The trees are young, so no ladder needed. On my first day I left the earphones and had to put trust in the voices inside my head. Quickly it gets insanely boring and the image of the individual fruit picked fades. “In New Zealand cherries are gigantic, feel like radish and taste like apple juice.” Needless to say, that was the only day without external entertainment on the ears.
Soon we added the ladder and went to pick the apples that go to the bin with the stems removed due to their vulnerability. Meaning: Only pick the bright red ripe apples, carefully remove the stem with the wire cutter (stirred memories of my apprenticeship) and cautiously put them into the bag. Up the ladder, find your balance with the heavy bag and on goes the game of finding the red ones, clip the stem, bag gets heavier, no apples missed, down, further.
The praise of my supervisor motivates, only it is about the choice of colour. Not so much about my picking speed. My priorities are not adjusted well. And you don’t get paid by quality, but quantity. No one’s born a master and I will get there eventually. The others somehow get it done, too…
Only that the current job on the cloth is much more to my satisfaction. An hourly rate and the continuity of the work fit my brain much better. We’ll see how the supervisor sees that…
To reward you for reading you get some pictures I shot on a sunny morning at work.
