There I was on a morning in early August, fresh out of bed at 9 AM, standing on top of a thousand wasps.
Their buzzing created a soft hum that spread through the sunlit orchards. The night before had been stormy, and the plum trees had been shaken so well that they let go of most of their fruit. These were now lying in the wet grass below like small purple jewels.
That was my first day working as a fruit picker at the local organic orchard. Fighting over fallen plums with a thousand wasps: their tiny bodies buried deep in the juicy flesh, and us carefully dancing around, picking up the plums that had not been completely ravaged yet and putting them into crates. Luckily for us, the wasps were so high on their sugar rush that they paid us little attention. But the sheer rawness of that morning left a lingering impression on me. I felt alive.
In the months that followed, there were more moments that had the same effect on me, even if they did not involve me crossing paths with any wild forces of nature. The orchard, surrounded by mountains as far as the eye can see, kept providing the feeling of aliveness simply by being what it is: a place full of life.
There were the animals. Birds I rarely saw, but they left their marks on the fruit. They would break the protective skin open with their beaks to expose the sweetness to others: wasps, hornets, wood lice. There were worms and earwigs that made apples their home. Edible home. They just sat inside and ate. Imagine the abundance of their life! They would make doors from leaves pressed to the outside of the wormholes as if to say “Stay away.” We would take them anyway and press their houses into apple juice. And sometimes I would pick an apple with a complete insect party in it. Those I would leave to rot in the grass.
I picked varieties I had never heard of. Boskoop apples with their typical russet on the skin, firm flesh and sour taste. Gloster apples shining a wonderful pinkish red, shaped like a bell. Butter pears, big-bellied, their flesh melting on the tongue. Sweet Louise pears with blushed cheeks where the sun had kissed them.
There is a concept in Ayurveda called prana, or life force. You might recognize the term pranayama, which refers to the breathwork techniques of yoga. Ayurveda teaches that the fresher the food is, the more life force it contains. That is how taking a bite of a fruit freshly picked from a tree made me feel.
The work is physical, but not exhausting, apart from the midday heat. It also requires soft focus and attentiveness: just enough not to be mechanical, but not so much as to overwhelm. All decisions are practical instead of abstract. Will this damage spread? Is this plum acceptably firm or too soft already? Is this pear big enough to be tasty?
I also learned a lot. About how to spot a sunburn and what damage will cause the apple to rot. How to turn the apple so that the stem comes off by itself. And to notice the buds that are already there, waiting to become flowers next year after the snows melt. That an apple tree is a graft of at least two trees: the root system with uninspired names like G.935 and a fruit-bearing part, the variety we pick. And that there is a middle part in our trees too, that is of the Golden Delicious variety.
And then the people. There are Regula and Johan, Elisa, Lars, Pauline. Some I see regularly, and some only once. We move around from tree to tree in a perfectly orchestrated manner. And we talk about the weather and apples and we talk about life. And sometimes we sing.
Needless to say: days spent out there picking fruit were very different from my usual workdays. My day job starts at undefined times and assumes I stay indoors. I need electricity, an internet connection, calm surroundings for calls, screens undisturbed by sunlight. I also rarely sing with my colleagues.
On the days working in the orchard I had to be awake early. Eat breakfast then bike for 30 minutes, morning mist still in the air, mountains covered with clouds. Lungs filling with fresh air while pedaling uphill. Once among the trees, the sun was slowly warming my skin. And the wind rustling through the leaves was making a soothing soft white noise on the background.
I wouldn’t want to replace my current work with fruit picking. But it showed me what is possible: for work to leave me relaxed and energized. And that is what I would like to work towards in everything I do.
The season is nearly done now. I have a small stash of apples in the cool cupboard and an empty crate in the downstairs storage waiting to be filled. The apples in the supermarket I leave for what they are.
And I am already looking forward to the next season. To see, feel and learn more.
And to the butter pears, of course.
