fruit notes

In January, the Lagiers sold the farm. To my mind, this little parcel of Page mandarin groves and Bronx grape vines is the premier piece of Northern California farmland. So we were relieved to learn that the new owner, Sri Nandamuri, intended to carry on in a similar fashion. And we were doubly relieved that John was still involved, advising Sri as he comes up to speed. (A farmer's retirement – farming!)

A couple of weeks back, we headed out to Escalon to check on the grapes. Lucky for us, John has relocated to the Bay Area, so we carpooled. On the drive, Joyce and I took turns asking John questions about his four (five?!) decades in farming. His career had a remarkable breadth, with stints growing crops as diverse as cane berries, wine grapes, pawpaws, and almonds. As a food person, it’s especially interesting that John’s ventures often included growing and processing, like when he took a turn making fruit purees for a high end yogurt creamery.

John grew up farming, but what struck me was how different his story is from many of the multi-generation farms we work with. Often these stories are about stewardship or refinement, of continuing the family’s work and legacy. Listening to his retelling, John seemed to reinvent the farm every couple of years. This is one of the things he enjoyed most about farming, he said, getting to try new things.

But this ingenuity was necessary, not just restless ambition. Economic forces like mechanization and globalization came to bear on the small American farmer over this period. They demanded you take on more acreage and avail yourself of new efficiencies in order to compete, or move into specialty crops and direct sales to capture more of the value you produced. In the biggest way, John went specialty. And I can’t imagine a crop more specialty than the Bronx grape.

As we continued east, crossing the San Joaquin River, John mused about how much easier it is to harvest wine grapes. It’s all going into a tank, so you’re Brixing – or measuring sugar levels, an indicator of harvest timing – for an average ripeness. With Bronx, you’re determining ripeness on a bunch-by-bunch basis. You test the Brix for a sense of when to begin harvesting, but that’s just the start. The crew is in the field, picking for color, making judgment calls again and again as they make their way through the vineyard. This is a slow and expensive way to pick. It means that the crew picks the crop over perhaps a dozen passes over several weeks. With wine grapes, you pick in one big burst of activity, and then you’re done.

The skins of the Bronx grape are where the trouble lies. They’re thin and delicate, prone to bursting. They require you to pick and pack the grapes into a single layer, lest they pile up and crush the berries beneath. This too is time-consuming and expensive. As we worked our way down a row of vines, I noticed how every other bunch had a raisin or two. Nestled into a full, plump bunch, one shriveled raisin. John explained how, post-harvest, the crew painstakingly manicures each bunch to remove these raisins or burst grapes that will be quick to mold. By the time they arrive to us, the clusters are virtually perfect, carefully laid side-by-side in each box.

Add it all up, and this is a labor of love. My eyes widened as John told us the lengths the crew goes to clean up each and every bunch of Bronx. I couldn't help but notice that Sri's did, too.

I've developed a sentimental attachment to John's fruit, so the prospect of new ownership created something like unease. Reflecting on all the various forms that the farm took during John's career, it's odd that my hopes are for Nandamuri Farms to stay pretty much the same. Only time will tell, but I hope that Sri will build on what was Lagier Ranches. Taking nothing for granted, for at least a couple more weeks, we have Bronx grapes.