Good morning, {nombre}. How was your weekend?
Today, I'm taking you on a stroll through a strawberry field that no longer appears on maps, but which, two centuries ago, filled Valencia with its scent and pride. Because, back then, the strawberry was our emblem, just as oranges are today.
In the orchard, agricultural evenings were organized, twilight gatherings among rows of plants, with families, intellectuals, and farmers sharing songs, verses, and overflowing baskets. Tell me that doesn't sound like a fantastic plan.
And wait, there's a secret kept among those plants that explains why strawberries thrived here even when the soil and climate seemed unsuited.
It's the same secret we still use to, today, grow the strawberries we send to your home:
First, the big picture. Between 1820 and 1880, Valencia was a strawberry powerhouse. It was a crop and also an identity. In season, the strawberry field was a stage where the community gathered, learned from the land, and celebrated. There were anecdotes of writers improvising rhymes as red as the pulp and children with stained lips from so much tasting.
But over time, pests and soil diseases caused a lot of damage, and the orchard had to diversify. Tomatoes, lettuce, peppers, and oranges came in and became the stars of the show. You know us, in Valencia, if something goes wrong, we find another way and keep going.
And still, the strawberry was not erased from memory.
You might wonder, {nombre}, how strawberries could flourish here if they are a capricious plant. Strawberries like cool roots and slightly acidic soil, while the Valencian huerta is warmer and our soils tend to be alkaline. Let's just say, more alkaline than a congressional debate, but with more flavor.
So why did it work? Because our grandparents had skill and patience. They selected rustic plants, those that could withstand wind, heat, and a fright. They watered first thing in the morning, with irrigation that cooled the earth and lowered the soil temperature, like wetting the back of your neck in August. They mulched with straw or plant remains, which is like putting a parasol on the earth, beautiful and protected.
They added well-prepared organic matter, which softens the pH and nourishes the living soil without haste. They rotated crops so that the land could breathe and not get tired of the same thing. All simple to say, but like a watchmaker's work, and above all, constant. That was the trick.
That is the secret of the Valencian strawberry field that was somewhat forgotten for a century and that many of us are now recovering. At home, and with colleagues from all over Spain, we follow the same philosophy. We work the plots as our ancestors did, with hands, a natural calendar, and common sense.
The strawberries we send you are grown in living soils, with mulches that maintain humidity, measured irrigation so that the roots don't overheat, and a lot of selection in the field to keep only the plants that best adapt to our land.
And if you're wondering if it makes a difference, open a box and smell.
And I'll close as I opened, with a pinch of memory. It's not just oranges that have been the star of Valencia. Before, strawberries filled the huerta with gatherings and verses, and today they are conquering it again, slowly and wisely.
It excites me to think that every box that leaves rescues a piece of that history and puts it on your table.
If you feel like trying that legacy, we are still getting up early, harvesting by order, and fighting for a fair price for the land.
A big hug from the huerta of Valencia, thank you for being on the other side taking care of the land with us, and I wish you a very tasty week.
We'll read each other next week.
