Good morning.
I started the week going back and forth through the fields and noticed something again that I’ve been seeing for a while: Around my plot, there are fields that are no longer being worked.
Where there used to be production and people working by the trees, now there is silence. Unfortunately, this has been commonplace for some years.
Between unfair competition from foreign products, the abandonment we face as agricultural workers, and the lack of generational replacement, many neighbors have had to close down their orchards.
And, {nombre}, when a field is abandoned, it’s not just fruit that is lost: hands are lost, stories, and knowledge.
But we persevere here and will continue to do so; if you let me, I'll tell you why...
Sometimes people ask me why this happens, and the explanation, without getting too technical, is simple.
When you find oranges from far away in the store at a price that doesn't even cover our fuel costs, it's because we're playing by different rules.
Abroad, there are lower costs and different regulations, and here, in addition to that, there's a lack of young people to take over.
The people in the countryside are getting older, and between paperwork, costs, and climate scares, many throw in the towel.
That’s why I value so much being able to work in a network with colleagues from all over Spain. When one falters, the other pushes.
We notify each other if a variety is at its peak, we share tools, we help each other out with deliveries. Every morning I check the orders and we go to harvest what you have requested.
What we do, I tell you with pride, almost no one in Spain does. It's more work, yes, but it's the only way we know to defend our harvest at a fair price and with true flavor.
Today, while walking from one farm to another, I thought of a word we use a lot that well explains our trade. I've mentioned it before, but I'm bringing it up again because it's what keeps us going: Continue.
It's not just about keeping on without stopping; it's also about resuming after a setback.
In the countryside, there are years of joy and years when it seems like the heavens have decided to test us. Even so, we continue.
It amused me to think of it as a computer programmer would. In computers, there's a "continue" function that skips what's not needed and moves on to the next loop.
Well, that's what we do sometimes. If a plot doesn't yield this year, we don't get stuck. We move on to the next, nurture what does respond, and keep the work flowing.
Ultimately, "continue" comes from the Latin "continuare," which means to join little pieces so they don't break. That's exactly what we try to do: join days, hands, and generations so that the trade doesn't break.
Because if I'm still here, it's not just out of passion. Growing healthy fruits and vegetables is something I owe to those who taught me to read the sky and listen to the soil.
We work traditionally, as our ancestors did, with patience and respect.
My grandfather used to say that an orchard without people goes silent.
That's why, when I see a neighboring field fade away, I hold even tighter to the idea that we must preserve what makes us who we are.
To continue is not stubbornness; it is love for the land and its people; it is giving voice to the land.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for supporting Spanish agriculture. Every time you choose our box, you make it possible for us to continue harvesting on demand, to maintain the network of small farmers, and to prevent that landscape of living orchards from becoming a postcard of the past.
If today you receive sweet oranges or crunchy vegetables, remember that there are many hands behind them.
I wish you a good start to the week. We continue, step by step and with our boots on.
A big hug from the Valencian orchard 🌱🤝🍊
