Stopping in the field has its trick

Hey there, how are you all doing? Today, I'm writing with my farmer's hat firmly on and my keyboard as my only tool. I wanted to talk to you about something that I find incredibly difficult, yet it's key to everything going well: taking a break. It sounds simple, but in the countryside, that word has a trick to it. Here, trees don't understand weekends, or logging off at six. The oranges don't wait for my convenience, and neither does the irrigation. The field is intense; it demands your constant presence, even when it seems like "we've stopped." Let me tell you how I experience it... Really, the question is: And where do I fit a break into all of this? Honestly, I struggle with it. Because even though there comes a time when we stop when the heat is intense, there's always silent work to be done. Pruning, checking irrigation ditches, tying young branches, fixing the wheelbarrow that decided to retire without notice. Even when there are no oranges left, the trees are waiting for us. That's why this little bit of time I spend writing to you is one of my favorite breaks. I sit down, dust off my boots, and tell you what's happening in the field. It's not lounging around, but my mind slows down. I breathe, I calmly look at the week, and I organize my thoughts. And here comes a truth I learned over the years. Without these small pauses, the field becomes deaf. You don't see the fine details. You don't notice that orange tree asking for a break from water, or that the back plot is nearing its cutting point. With a little pause, you make better decisions. And when you make better decisions, the fruit shows more care. It's that simple. On Sundays, for example, I slow down the pace. It's not a day for a hoe; it's a day for a notebook. I review incoming orders, draw the week's harvest map, and assign tasks with the team. It's work, of course, but it sounds like a different kind of music. More thinking than sweating. Today, I plan so that on Monday morning, when we check the website, we know which trees to visit and in what order. Perhaps it sounds strange in the city. There, you close the office door and move on to something else. Here, the door is the horizon, and it never fully closes. Even so, I enjoy it. I like its rhythm, even when it gets tough. That mix of hands and mind, of early mornings and sunsets, of tradition and small improvements. I hope that what I tell you is reflected in every box we send you. That when you open it, you receive something more than fruit and feel the care of a handmade harvest, the detail of having gone tree by tree. Thank you for being on the other side and appreciating that we pick the fruit only when you ask for it, and for supporting those of us who continue to cultivate as our elders did. We'll read each other soon, a big hug from the orchard 🌱