It’s been more than 20 years since I helped with a fruit harvest on my folks’ orchard. Back in those days, when the orchard primarily grew citrus fruit, my folks would hire a handful of staff to help them pick the crop and we would work at a steady pace for weeks, filling bin after bin. I can remember some harvests taking as long as 6-8 weeks to complete.

How times have changed. These days, most of the citrus has been replaced with kiwifruit. The picking has also been contracted out to a local packhouse (one of several in the area) who supply the staff and equipment and run a factory-like operation.

Normally, the kiwifruit harvest takes place in May, but a Brix test confirmed that the sugar levels were already very high. Over the last week, further tests have been conducted, which seemed to mostly involve blokes on quad bikes suddenly appearing around the place and then just as suddenly leaving, in a cloud of dust, clutching a labelled testing bag containing 90 fruit.

The weather held things up as well. We had a week of showers and little squalls which didn’t help. Every day, the Rep from the packhouse was on the phone to give my Dad an update (“Sorry mate. Looks like it might be a day or two later”). Dad and I used the time to do some of the prep work; swapping out the mower and forklift units on two tractors and replacing them with cross-bars, ready to tow trailers. Diesel was purchased in fairly large volumes and both tractors filled, checked and OK’ed.

Finally, word came down the line on Thursday, that we would be picking tomorrow. Mum headed into the local supermarket and returned with a ton of food to feed the pickers. Dad went over all the bits and pieces he had to do, including explaining to me what my job would involve as his second tractor driver. We watched the weather reports with some trepidation, but it all looked good (in fact, we were in the only place in the whole country that looked like it would be dry!) My head hit the pillow on Thursday night, knowing that Friday would be a busy day…

Before 8am, the phone rang again and the Rep informed Dad that the crews would be here between 9:30 and 10am as they needed to finish up at the orchard they were currently working on first.

After a hasty breakfast and a strong coffee, heavily laced with large spoonfuls of sugar, I strapped on my boots, grabbed my sunglasses and cap and headed out with Dad to direct the picking crews into parking as they arrived in a convoy of cars and vans.

Two additional tractors followed, both towing trailers and then a pair of ute’s each towing another trailer, all loaded with picking bins.

Tractors and trailers were hitched up and a row of 3 empty picking bins were loaded onto each trailer by forklift. Hands were shaken and arrangements made for the incoming truck, full of empty picking bins to be directed past an obstacle or two (“tell him to watch out for the bloody power cables running to the big shed mate; their a bit low eh.”)

We had two picking gangs, comprising a total of about 20 men and women. They came from many far-flung places; China, Malaysia, Bangladesh, Somalia. They were mostly quite young and some spoke only limited English. When the gangmasters left the foremen and headed over, they lifted their padded picking bags onto their shoulders and headed into the block, ahead of the tractors and trailers that brought up the rear.

As one of four tractor drivers and the least experienced (I haven’t been on a tractor for quite a few years and never in a kiwifruit harvest), I wasn’t sure quite what to expect, despite the dry-run that my dad had taken me through the previous day. I knew I needed to be careful with the fruit, but speed was also of the essence so it was with not a few butterflies in my stomach that I followed my Dad between the first rows of vines with one of the two gangs, while the other two tractors continued to the far end of the vineyard with the other gang.

Both gangs immediately swung into action behind the first tractor/trailer and began picking furiously. I had a few minutes of quiet time (enough to snap a few pictures), before Dad’s 3 bins were full and I moved forward to take his place as he headed back up to the waiting truck.

Kiwifruit picking gangs are paid by volume, not by the hour and as a result there is no mucking about. Our crew picked swiftly and efficiently under the watchful eye of a middle aged Chinese woman who seemed the most experienced. Every now and then she would chastise one of the younger pickers in Cantonese or impatiently wave at me to move the tractor forward in the imperious style of Amahs throughout the course of history. Before I knew it, my bins were full and Dad was back, pulling into the row behind me, as I leveled off my 3 bins and swung out of the rows, heading back to base.

On my first trip, I crawled along a bit, concerned about bruising the fruit by bumping the trailer over uneven ground and trying to remember all the things Dad had told me. Fortunately, one of the drivers from the other crew raced in ahead of me (not too difficult at my speed!) and I was able to watch exactly what he did and then duplicate it. Result!

Back and forth a couple of times and the bins started to stack up. Our friendly forklift driver had his work cut out, loading the truck with full bins and loading our now-empty trailers with fresh bins. The process slowed and I returned to find the scowling faces of pickers with full picking bags and no empty bins (“where the hell ya been?”). Oops! Mental note: Kick the forklift driver in the arse if empty bins are not rapidly forthcoming!

A little over three hours, 64½ bins and 20 tonnes of fruit later, it was all over. The now-full trucks headed out and the gangs congregated on our patio as Mum brought forth a slap-up feed of freshly cooked asparagus and sausage rolls, garlic bread and freshly baked scones with plum jam and fresh cream. Choice! The hungry crews made short work of the mountain of food, washed down with fresh apple juice or a steaming mug of tea, with grateful smiles all round (not many of the orchards still do a feed for the picking gangs anymore so it was a pleasant surprise for them all).

Half an hour later, the convoy was on it’s way out, with smiles and waves, as they headed for the next orchard. More handshakes and a couple of dozen beers for after the days work was done were passed over to the foreman and moments later all that was left was dust (and a tractor left by the crews overnight!)

Zzzzzzz…

Check out the Harvest 2009 Photos – now available

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