Good morning!
Today I went out early to check on the orange trees 🍊 and felt that strange mix of joy and nostalgia that the countryside sometimes brings.
We are starting to harvest the last variety of orange of the season. The one that closes the curtain until next winter: The great Valencia Late.
And it has a very curious story, let me tell you...
With that name, you might think it's more Valencian than a mascletà during Fallas... but the story has a trick. Because although the seeds came from some corner of Europe many years ago, the Valencia Late variety was actually born in California, United States.
Yes, I know. It seemed strange to me too when they told me.
So why is it called Valencia? Precisely because of the fame our oranges already had for a very long time. And "Late" because it's a variety that arrives when many others have already said goodbye.
But here comes the really important part.
When the Valencia Late campaign begins, many people think that any orange with the word "Valencia" automatically comes from Valencia. And that's not always the case. Many times, "Valencia" refers only to the variety, not the origin.
And that changes things a lot in the field.
Because two oranges can have the same name and have lived completely different stories.
One may have grown here, among humid sunrises by the Mediterranean, slowly ripening on the tree and harvested on demand. Another may have traveled halfway around the world, spent weeks in storage, or been treated to withstand long journeys and remain perfect on a supermarket shelf.
On the outside, they might look similar.
But the countryside, like people, carries its story within.
Here in our fields and those of the fellow farmers we work with, we continue to do things as our grandparents taught us. Every morning we check the orders and go out to harvest only what you will eat those days. No endless cold storage, no waxes to make them shiny, and no foolish rush.
The fruit sometimes arrives with marks, of course. The wind doesn't ask permission, and neither does the sun. But it also arrives with juice and real life.
And I confess something. I'm excited to cut Valencia Late again because it's a very complete orange. Sweet, with lots of juice, and with that balanced touch that seems made for long breakfasts. But at the same time, it always leaves me with a pang.
Because I know that behind this variety, the end of the season is already looming.
In the supermarket, fruits appear and disappear as if nothing. In the field, it doesn't work like that. Here we bid farewell to campaigns. We know which tree suffered more from the wind, which bore more fruit this year, or which will need to rest better next spring.
That's why when the Valencia Late ends, we don't just feel that an orange is finished. We feel that an entire cycle has come to an end.
The beautiful thing about this is that, even so, the trees are still there, waiting for another spring. Preparing, even if it's not visible, the next story.
That's another thing the countryside gives you: you understand that almost nothing completely disappears, it just changes stages.
Thank you for accompanying us for another season. Thank you for supporting this slower, more artisanal, and more human way of farming.
And thank you also for taking the time to read these stories among groves and harvest boxes.
Now I'm back to work, because no matter how much we care for the fruit, it doesn't learn to cut itself.
A big hug and until next time,
