Potatoes

There was a piece in the Guardian a few days ago all about how caring parents in California take their children to pick your own fruit and vegetable farms so that their children can learn something about where fruit and vegetables come from. All very cuddly. But what was not so cuddly was that these family friendly pick your own places were islands of civilisation and decency set in miles and miles of commercial operations, staffed up by poor Mexicans toiling away in the heat on the US version of minimum wage/zero hours contracts, perhaps in the very hot plastic tunnels in which a lot of stuff is grown, even, it seems, in California.

This reminded me that we have such a place near us, Garsons, although I do not think I had ever visited it. See reference 1. So off we went, one sunny weekday morning to see how it was.

First stop the potato field where we were told the form by a nicely spoken young lady, perhaps still at school, not from elsewhere in the European Union and set to spend her day sitting in a little wooden shack. Smartly enough painted shack but quite little, possibly quite hot when the sun gets up. The form was that a machine had turned up what they hoped was enough potatoes for the day and we just had to go and pick up what we wanted. Potential for waste looked large, although it may be that the staff glean the fields at closing time and sell off the gleanings in the shop the next day.

Second stop the runner bean field. Beans a little past their best but we took a few pounds. Plus some outdoor cucumbers which were in the adjoining plot.The cucumber plants were growing out of a black plastic sheet and did not look very attractive at all - but the little cucumbers were good - much better than the long ones - with bitter green skins - mostly sold in supermarkets.

Third stop the apple field where we took a few pounds of Discovery's. These turned out to be very good indeed, only just going over when we finished them near a week later. We were reminded how good fresh apples can be, rather than supermarket ones, which with the best will in the world have to be a few days old. The only downer was the large quantity of apples which had fallen, unpicked in the heat and were going to waste. Maybe waste is a fact of life in the fruit business.

Next stop the shop, as large an operation as that at Chessington Garden Centre, and a good deal larger than all but the largest stores on our high streets. Much the same sort of stuff as at Chessington (although rather further for us to travel), that is to say a step up from what you buy in holiday towns but not quite John Lewis.

Last stop, the café, again very similar to that at Chessington Garden Centre. Must have been a dozen or more young people working it, all very pleasant. As were the tea and cake, although I forget now what species of cake I opted for. Maybe it will come back to me.

All of which gave one the impression that the shops and café earned a lot more money than the pick your own part of the operation. Despite the elaborate & expensive arrangements for growing strawberries and cherries.

On the way out our car was checked by a pleasant young man, who did insist on having the boot opened, not content to take our word that there was nothing in it. Must be fun at the checkout at the end of a busy Sunday when people are getting a bit tired and testy.

Reference 1: http://www.garsons.co.uk/.

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