No, knot again: red faced after returning to picking

The farm had a series of trial days in May and June for prospective workers as we needed help with a variety of tasks from pruning to picking.

Paul the picker. I picked the orange raspberries for my wife's four-year-old nephew.

Although some of the triallists stayed around to end of August and beyond – hello Harry, Billy and Sam the Frenchman, who works alongside me near enough every day – most didn’t hang around.

One triallist who fitted in this category was Julie (name changed), a middle-aged Meon Valley woman with a penchant for all things equestrian. She impressed on her solo shift and her knack for planting caught the eye of Steve but she didn’t return the next day, most likely because of monetary reasons. She was introduced to me by Graham with the following words:

“This is Paul, whose speciality is that he’s good at every task he does.”

I replied by saying “well, I put it down to good management” but I have since proved him wrong as there are at least two jobs where improvement is required.

The first is tying termination knots. Ok, this isn’t a daily task but I’m glad it’s a once in a blue moon job as Mike still jokes about this nightmare in the polytunnels.

This picture shows a good-looking termination knot. This isn't my work.

It basically involves twisting a stiff wire around the end of a stake, finishing off by creating a crank shaft to create a coil. The picture above is a better demonstration of what’s required, while the ones below show the quality of what I achieved after several hours of frustration, swearing and hat-throwing. My show in the polytunnel is still the cause of mirth as it's the only time Mike has seen me losing my rag on the farm.

Sigh... I did get better at termination knots, but it's never going to be a job I relish.

If I’m honest, I struggle at tying most knots and I remember struggling to learn how to tie my shoelaces during my Canadian schooldays. I’ve mastered that task, of course, but my heart sinks a little when we have to spend a day tying knots in twine or wires.

The second task I’m not very good at is raspberry picking. I’m not awful at it, but I’m glacially slow and often find myself being lapped by the other pickers.

Raspberry picking is very different to strawberry picking as the plants are several feet high and it’s a fiddly job. After a year of avoiding it, I decided in August it was time to give it a go with Christian giving me a crash course.

Any berries which are too dark, squishy or crumbly should go in the bin while berries suitable for market should be laid neatly in one layer, with one or two berries on the top. The better pickers arrange the berries in size, shade and quality and their punnets will need minimal alteration for weight.

Pickers are meant to “clean” the vines as they go along by removing and throwing all the substandard berries in the bin as it improves the quality of the harvest and makes it easier for the next picker. It also means they can nip along the row just that little bit faster the next time around, thus improving productivity.

So I found myself on a late summer morning with several dozen empty punnets. I filled nine trays of ten punnets on my first go, which isn’t too bad considering the best handed about 14 to Katarina, but I was constantly getting passed by the other pickers. I also seemed to spend more time cleaning the vines than picking and I filled my bin several times during the course of the day.

After several weeks and numerous picks it’s safe to say I’m still the slowest although my presentation has improved. Sam the Frenchman is the numero un in this job as his punnets of perfectly lined-up berries could adorn the window of a Parisian patisserie. Why do the French always do everything with such flair?

I still probably pay too much attention to cleaning the vines and my pet hate are berries which have big drupelets (how I love that word), the bulbous, skin-part of the berry which should be consistently sized. Raspberries with big drupelets tend to break up easily, look poor in a punnet and, dare I say it, don’t taste that nice, and I’ve eaten a few on my picking duties.

These raspberries have big drupelets and went into the bin and not one of my punnets. Drupelets is possibly my favourite word, as it sounds slightly rude.T

And because I spend a lot of time cleaning the vine and removing all the squishy, overripe and poor berries my hands could inspire a Nick Cave song as they’re very red and look like they’ve been involved in a violent argument. This happens to most of us pickers, though, and cleaning facilities are but a short walk away.

I find raspberry picking to be a frustratingly static experience as you have to run your eye and hands up and down the vine before moving on, whereas our strawberries are all at eye height, mostly grow on the outside the plant and are easy to pick. When you’re picking strawberries you can pick and quickly move on, although it’s worth having a quick rummage through the plant to find hidden gems.

I did a lot of strawberry picking last year and when my chance came up in August I was looking forward to showing the pickers how fast and decent I can be. I was definitely fast and thought I was picking some decent berries but after exiting the tunnels and showing my berries to Christian the feedback was sour, and not sweet. Far too many were overripe, had mildew covering or – horror upon horror – canyons left by hungry caterpillars.

“What are you doing – are you trying to get me into trouble with Steve?” said Christian to me after examining my second class strawberries. “You can’t do anything with all this.”

I felt ashamed and I really should have known better, especially given my QC position in the packhouse. Needless to say the following picks were a vast improvement and I’m sorry I brought shame to the homegrown workforce.