 Tim and Lynne |
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An article written by an old friend who came to stay for a few days says more about us than I can so I've printed it here.
“Fresh and local” It’s a bright Saturday morning and a cold Northerly wind is blowing straight off the Celtic Sea and into the wide open front of the Spring Meadow Farm Shop, near St. David’s in Wales. After fifteen years of struggling to grow a market garden business whilst existing on less than £5,000 a year, Lynne Whittemore and Tim Young at last find themselves in the forefront of a movement which demands quality locally grown produce, freshly harvested. But few who enjoy the end product have an inkling of what it takes to produce genuinely fresh, disease free, fit for sale fruit and vegetables. The morning I casually volunteered to “lend a hand” with the work was a daunting education. It’s 9 a.m.when I join them, Lynne is out the back through the plastic curtain which snaps in the wind, weighing and labelling vegetables and loading up punnets with mini tomatoes and strawberries. The shop looks a treat, with big leafy bunches of shining, washed beetroots, carrots and onions on one side and a stunning display of pointy-head cabbages, lime-green calabrese, fennel, red and green frilly lettuce, peas, french and runner beans, and potatoes on the other. The knobbly pink fir apple potatoes, the scarlet tomatoes and strawberries occupy pride of place on the table in the middle, next to the till. Tim arrives with a wheel-barrow laden with more green things – emerald spinach still glistening from last night’s rain, perfect looking big broccoli.“We need caulis, and more peas and broad beans” says Lynne. I go off to the flat, wind-swept fields with Tim. After fifteen years at this job, they know exactly when a crop has to be picked. Peas not too flat, not too fat and old. Those that have gone too far are discarded, as are the stringy runner beans. Everything has to be in tip-top condition. Some of the caulis have been nibbled by slugs – if they were mine, I would eat them but Tim says no. He shows me how to cut the leaves with a straight slash to reveal the white curd in its nest of pale inner leaves. Not only must they be perfect, these prima-donnas must also look perfect. The brassicas take only ten minutes to fill a barrow, the peas and beans twice as long just to fill a big basket. “That’s why brassicas are so good” says Tim, “the business can depend on the time a crop takes to pick.” “Tumbler” tomatoes are next. This is in a nice warm plastic tunnel, the ground protected by a woven cover which stops weeds and keeps in moisture. Again, only the little tomatoes in perfect condition, red all over and firm, are picked. Behind me, tantalizingly fragrant, are the strawberries but I’m not allowed to touch them. Lynne doubts my untrained eye for perfect ripeness. They taste fantastic, and are on sale for way less than the nearest supermarket are charging. The first customers start driving up the track. Lynne is soon rushed off her feet, yet still finding time to greet regulars and chat. Tim and I are hard at it washing and bagging potatoes, slinging out anything with even the tiniest hole, constantly running back to the field and the tunnels for more. Tim sighs when I ask if they are organic. “Everyone asks that” he says, “Some even turn around and drive away. We’re as organic as we possibly can be; after all, we eat what we grow ourselves. But we just couldn’t afford the certification, nor could we afford to lose whole crops to pests, or to spend every day just hoeing weeds.” So now, in common with many small-scale growers, they occupy an unrecognised no-man’s land of semi-organic status. What exactly does this mean? They use a herbicide, which breaks down quickly to clear the weeds before sowing which gives the crop a good start. After that the plants fend for themselves. The red and green lettuces in their long rows look snug and fat and frilly amidst a sea of groundsel and other annual weeds, the air buzzing with insects. They use biological controls and barrier methods –covering crops with fine mesh – against some of the notorious pests, the caterpillars and root fly. Whereas a conventional large-scale grower might spray fourteen times in a season against pests, they will do so just once. The crude categories “organic” and “non-organic” hardly do justice to the strategies adopted by conscientious people trying to make a living out of growing good wholesome food.In the growing season, which starts in mid February, they work literally from dawn to dusk, much of it outdoors in all weathers. In January they take a break, not jetting off somewhere warm but simply enjoying the coast on their doorstep. Lynne knows her clientele, some summer visitors but most of them local. “It’s Sunday tomorrow – they’ll want cabbage and carrots for the Sunday roast”. Tim is sent off again for more firm pointy greens. “Fresh” really means fresh here, picked the same morning. It means getting up at six a.m. and going outside whatever the weather, no holidays in the sun and waiting fifteen years for a house to live in. Why do they do it, when easier lives must have beckoned? As they talk about everything they’ve learnt over the years, I realise the true extent of their ambition. It is nothing less than the growing of near-as-dammit perfect, stress-free, healthy plants, grown in the optimum conditions this unique spot can provide. You don’t go into vegetable growing if you want to make money. You just have to love growing things. “The apprentice” it isn’t, but maybe Sir Alan should send some of them down here to teach them a thing or two about running a business selling a product we all really need, but don’t know how to value, something lovely that is literally rooted in the soil.
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