The Fruit-picker's Dream
Picking fruit sounds like a fun way to earn money; but it isn't easy
Back in 2002 we decided to sell up and go on the road. It was an exciting prospect, especially because we had no idea what we were going to do; only that we needed to continue earning a living. One idea was picking fruit. This was something we had both done in the mid 1970's; but with a young family in tow the initial rewards were too meagre and supplementary work had to make up the shortfall. 27 years later once the kids had left home we were free agents; so, we sold the house, put the furniture in storage, loaded up the car with three tents and other camping gear; then set off from Western Australia bound for the Eastern States.
Victoria was our first port of call, in particular Shepparton. It being cherry season, we thought we'd give it a go and were doing quite well to start with. The market required the fruit to be picked with stalks intact, something I found both hard and easy. My fingers were too fat and tended to pop the cherries off their stalks; but I discovered that my tough finger-nails were ideal cutters and this seemed to be the answer. Then I developed an infection under both thumb nails which eventually fell off, and that was it for the cherries.
Finding an advertisement on the notice-board of the caravan park where we were camped, we applied for a job with a local farm. The owners, Sam and Carmel, were wonderful people who took us under their wings and gave us invaluable advice on how best to pick the various crops they grew. There were apples of various types, apricots, pears, plums and peaches. By the time we had seen the season through, it could be said that we were pretty much experts; except in one area - making an independent living. If not for welfare propping us up, we would never have survived. Being proud, however, we needed some kind of picking that would pay us a decent living wage without having to rely on support.
Chatting to other pickers was a great way to find out where to go next, and a place called Gayndah in Queensland sounded a good bet. On arrival, however, we were put off by the sour, Little-Hitler attitude of the caravan park owner and decided to continue on to Mundubbera about 50 K's further along the highway. This was citrus country and we realised it would be a challenge because we knew nothing about picking oranges and mandarins. Once again, we fell on our feet, scoring a job on a large property with a great manager. Thanks to his help and plenty of tips from the rest of the pickers in the team, also encouraged by their tireless work ethic, we were soon pulling our weight, and some. It was hard, certainly; often sunup to sundown, six and seven days a week; but we were having a ball and eventually earning enough to get us off welfare.
Just getting one day off a week, if we were lucky, made "home" life a bit difficult. There was equipment like picking-bags and fruit-snips to maintain; plus clothes to wash. Both of these were Sunday jobs. More free time was taken up with daily showers and the preparing of meals. Here was something we were quite proud of. With just our three-burner gas stove, a few pots and pans, and a bit of imagination, we could turn out meat pies, quiches and pizzas which even surprised seasoned caravanners who thought that people living in a tent only ate baked beans.
From what we were told, other pickers lived and ate more or less the same as they always had. Perhaps the roofs over their heads weren't canvas like ours and they did stay in caravans and dongers (pre-fabricated chalets, really); but the difference was that most had wives and kids that they'd left behind to go on the road. One bit of advice they gave us was: "Never look back." It referred to fruit that had been missed, and if you didn't look back down the row of trees just picked it couldn't be seen so you didn't need to worry about it and moved on. This didn't fit with our sense of pride and we chose to ignore it.
The saying, we discovered after a while, probably applied to the lives of these people as well. What many had left behind were wives and families, presumably when they went on the road because work wasn't in abundance in their places of origin. Good pickers, as we ourselves found out, could make quite a bit of dough; and this helped us to begin building a reasonable bank account. These more-experienced people should have been quids in; but although they claimed to be sending regular payments back home; they never seemed to generate enough to return to their families; usually thanks to a gambling habit.
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