The Price of Picking Produce

I started a new temporary job for the summer picking produce for a local farm. It may be the hardest physical labour I have ever done!

Day One: I arrive early for the 6am start in old black yoga pants, long sleeved shirt over a tank, Tilley hat, steel toe Blundstones, and my coffee.

First task is potatoes. We pull the plants, 5 or six in a row, and then kneel and scoop the ones on the plant and then dig through the dirt to find the buried ones, approximately 45 sec per plant. Every lump of dirt feels like a potato so it takes me more like 3 minutes per plant. Also my knees are screaming at me the whole time. And I didn’t have gloves so the boss gave me a pair of nitrile gloves. Better than nothing but my hands are sweating within seconds.

Next task is carrots. We pull them and place in bundles. Someone comes a long behind us and elastics them and collects the bunches into bins. This was easy and quick and was just as the sun was appearing and the temperature was rising.

Next is beans. Beans are not really fun to pick.

The other pickers begin with a snack from the bags they brought out to the field – just a quick banana and a granola bar. I sip my coffee and then put the sweaty and dirt covered gloves back on.

Ripe beans are shiny and plump. I try kneeling. Big no. So I sit, awkwardly. Since I am sideways to the plants, I must twist to pull the beans using both hands so I don’t damage the plants. The sun is up full and hot, over 20 C. Each time to get up, I roll onto hands and knees, then get my feet under me, and then use every muscle I own to return to upright. I spend as much time getting up and sitting back down as I do picking. I’m hungry, thirsty, and hurt in more places than I even knew I had. We pick 2 bins of green beans and start the yellow.

Lunch break finally happens and it is a hot 5 minute walk from the fields to the break area. Ahhhh, Water. Chair. Whew. My hair is sweating.

I quickly eat a boiled egg, and some yogourt and fresh cherries. Break is over. I am too full. My food is sitting like a big wet lump in my belly. My head is beginning to ache. And now the return 15 minute walk back to the beans.

After lunch we finish filling the bin of yellow beans and then weed a section of ground. The weeds are big and tough. The ground is hard and dry. My gloves are sodden and uncomfortable. I am sodden with sweat and uncomfortable. My legs hurt. My knees have red pressure marks and will no longer let me kneel. It is hard to sit with my tummy feeling bloated and icky. I do sit and I give it the best I can. The 2 Punjabi ladies are watching me with concern. They ask me over and over if I am okay because my face is very red. They tell me to drink water. It is around 1 pm and the temp is 473 C. I don’t know if I want to throw up, or need the toilet urgently. I find myself looking with longing at the sprinklers a few crops over.

I make the 27 minute walk up to the bathroom, through the long strawberry row, up the road, past the break area into the market proper. I make it as far as the break area, where all the produce is washed and prepared for sale. Washing the sweating grime off my hands my hands, I contemplate sticking my head in the water. It is so cold I fear the shock will make me pass out for real.

I finally found the washroom with help, since I didn’t know where it was. Business attended to, and hands washed once more, I dried my hands on the nice thick wad of paper towel. I stuck the whole wad into the icy cold water and put it on my head under my Tilley hat.

I felt better after that and went back out to the fields. We finished weeding the area just at quitting time. 10 or 12 bins filled to overflowing with weeds.

The 45 minute walk up to the shack for the final time, my lower back was spasming, my hip flexors were screaming, and a small strip on my neck was on fire where the sun found an opening between my hat and my shirt. The way my legs were wobbling, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it all the way back to my truck.

I made it. I stood there in the heat, all reserves of energy and youth evaporated. I was not sure I could get up into it. I envisioned climbing like a child, or like my old dog, Ozzie, who couldn’t jump if his life depended on it.. I got in without losing more dignity than I already had that day, dirt embedded into my skin, dripping with sweat, head pounding.

A cool shower, Robax, electrolytes, and a good sleep, and I was back the following morning for a 6 am start.

Day 2: I bought a small stool, knee pad, water – not coffee, and a lighter lunch with tuna and crackers, and a smaller yogurt and fruit. It was not nearly as hot, and we spent the entire day picking peas.

I will never complain again about the prices of farm fresh produce and I challenge everyone to go spend a day working in the fields.