Good morning!
Today I sat down to write with the cool morning air and my boots still muddy, because you know that here in Valencia we get up early to check orders and go out to harvest.
I hope you started this day with enthusiasm, because today's newsletter is packed.
Since I know you like to learn how the farm works without complicating your life, today I'm telling you about the orange campaign as if it were a good winter novel. It starts shyly, grows chapter by chapter, and ends with a grand finale.
In the first chapter, our protagonist is the Navelina, the queen of table oranges. She starts to show the first signs at the end of October, almost shyly, like someone greeting from the doorway without fully entering. In November the story gains strength, the trees perk up, and the sugar gets serious. That's when the orange tree tells you, "Here I am."
But things really get good from December onwards, when the Navelina loses its shyness and takes its place at the head of the table. From December to March she is the queen, the one that perfumes the kitchen when you peel her, the one that breaks into cheerful segments and has no seeds to spoil the moment.
While the Navelina rules the table, in parallel, the Salustiana, the juicers' variety, is at work. From December to April, it is the preferred choice for juice because it has a lot of juice and a touch of acidity that balances it.
Here a good national debate opens up, almost like "tortilla with or without onion." Juice with pulp or without pulp? In my family, this has caused real arguments, although I always prefer the pulp.
And between the two, the Lane Late appears, which gets along great with the Navelina because their months overlap, but it lasts a little longer. You can find it from December and, sometimes, it stretches until April. It's like that friend who is never in a hurry to leave after dinner, accompanies you, extends the good time, and doesn't lose its touch.
When the cold weather leaves and the days get longer, at the end of April, the Navel Powell arrives. It is the navel of spring, more leisurely, with its calm sweetness, and it stays with us until June. I like to think that the Navel Powell is the bridge between the orange winter and the coming summer. You bite into it and your body tells you it's time to put away the brazier.
And then comes the grand farewell. From May to July, and some years extending until August, the Valencia Late rules. It is the variety that closes the season, the one that allows us to continue with a glass of juice and a fresh segment when the sun is intense.
Here you can see the craftsmanship, because the Valencia Late ripens slowly and remains very juicy without losing its charm. If you allow me the Valencian quip, the Valencia Late is our grand finale 🍊.
Now, let me tell you something: at Campos del Abuelo, there are oranges throughout the entire season, from its shy start in November until the Valencia Late says goodbye. But only while they are on the tree. When they run out, that's it. We don't sell more oranges out of season, even if the phone is ringing off the hook.
We work at the rhythm of nature, we don't force it, and that is part of our way of understanding the profession.
And why do we insist so much on the calendar? Because consuming oranges out of season almost always means cold-stored fruit. Of course, cold storage chills, slows down, and prolongs, yes, but along the way, aroma is lost, that sparkle that fills the house when you peel it, and the texture becomes less cheerful.
That's why we like to be clear about it. The calendar is set by the tree and signed by the sun; we respect it, we accompany it with artisan hands and with patience.
I leave you with the intrigue of each chapter, because now you know how to read the campaign like a good book.
October peeks in slowly, November grows, in winter the Navelina reigns, the Salustiana provides the juice, the Lane Late extends the after-dinner conversation, the Navel Powell brings spring, and the Valencia Late closes the curtain.
And when the curtain closes, we don't do encores with refrigerated fruit. We prefer you to miss us. So that the first segment each year tastes like a reunion.
A big hug and thank you for being on the other side. Tomorrow, as always, I'll check orders with my coffee, grab my clippers, and go out to get your oranges from the tree to your table.
We'll keep reading next week.
