Monthly Archives: July 2010

Cherries: From Tree to Truck

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A mini-documentary.

I need to start off by saying that I didn’t do a mini-documentary about the cherry harvest process because I felt the world had a need for such information. I did it as an exercise, as practice using my video camera and Final Cut Pro. I wanted to see if I had the ability to put together a documentary. This 5-minute video is the result.

This was my second summer experiencing the harvest process at one of the orchards I dry. The Schroeders are great people, friendly and a pleasure to work with. I dried their orchard four times this year. Being present for part of the harvest gave me an opportunity to see whether the work I’d done made a difference. It did.

The Schroeders were kind enough to let me walk the orchard and packing shed area with my Sony Handycam for a total of about 8 hours over two days. I also stopped in around sunset one evening to take some of the establishing shots with the soft “golden hour” light. They and their workers explained the process to me. I shot a total of about an hour of video footage. That that was barely enough. I still wish I’d gotten better shots of some parts of the process.

I found the cherry harvest fascinating — and I think you might, too. We’re all spoiled — we go into the supermarket in the summertime and find cherries waiting in the produce section, already bagged and ready to take home. But how many of us consider how the cherries get from the tree to the supermarket? It’s a complex process that requires hundreds of people and specialized equipment. This video shows part of the story, following the cherries from the trees in one orchard as they’re picked, gathered, chilled, and packed into a refrigerator truck. Take a moment to see for yourself:

Done? Not bad for a first serious effort.

From this point, the cherries go to the processing plant in Wenatchee, WA. They’re run through more cold water and lots of custom equipment before they’re picked through by several lines of people who toss out the bad ones. Then they’re sorted by size, run through more clean water, and eventually bagged and boxed up by even more people for shipment. I was fortunate enough to get a tour of that facility (and five more pounds of fresh cherries) a few days after I shot the video for this one. I may do a video of that facility and its process next year.

The amazing part of all this: the cherries are normally ready to ship to stores the same day they are picked.

More amazing stuff: the cherries I saw at the packing facility were headed for Korea and would be there within 18 hours of my tour. Whoa.

The point of all this is that there’s a lot that goes into getting fresh food into stores. Cherries are unlike many fruits — they have a very short shelf life. With proper care, they might last a week. That’s why everything is rushed and why so much effort is put into keeping them cool as soon as they’re picked.

I hope you enjoyed this. Comments are welcome.

On Standby 17/7/60

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What being on standby really means.

Occasionally, someone will comment about how I apparently get paid to do nothing during my summer job as a cherry drying pilot. I need to correct them. I’m not doing nothing. I’m on standby.

Specifically: I’m on standby during daylight hours seven days a week during my contract periods.

My Work Day/Week/Term

Let me start by providing a definition of each component of that statement:

  • Daylight hours means the time that it’s light enough to fly. Sunrise is at approximately 5 AM here; sunset is at approximately 9 PM. That’s 16 hours. But I can also fly during the twilight period that begins roughly 30 minutes before sunrise and ends 30 minutes after sunset. If a client wants me to fly the first thing in the morning, he’ll call as early as 4 AM, so my standby day starts then. Generally speaking, it’s not likely that I’ll be launched for a flight after 8:30 PM. I will, however, launch to dry a small orchard as late as 9 PM, so I consider that the end of my standby day. That’s a 17-hour day.
  • Seven days a week is pretty self-explanatory. It’s every day of the week. No days off, no holidays. I was even on call on my birthday — for the third year in a row.
  • My contract periods vary from year to year. This year, I have a total of seven contracts, most of which are for small orchards and overlap each other. From the first day of the first contract to the last day of the last contract is about 60 days. Last year, I had two days off between the end of one contract and the beginning of the last. The year before, I thought I’d have 10 days off, but nine of those days were filled with a last-minute contract.

So, to summarize: I’m on call 17 hours a day, seven days a week, for 60 days. That’s two months straight with no days off.

“On Call,” Defined

What does “on call mean”? On the surface, it means that I have to answer my phone any time a client might call me and be prepared to fly when requested.

What it also means, however, is that I have to do the following:

  • Be prepared to launch within 10-20 minutes of a call. That keeps me pretty close to the helicopter whenever there’s the slightest chance I might have to fly. One day, I waited in my truck where the helicopter was parked for four hours. (I flew 2.1 hours.) On Thursday, I waited in my RV for six hours. (I didn’t fly.) Friday morning, I was up at 4 AM and waited in my RV for two hours for a possible call; I was airborne within 15 minutes of getting it. The 27-acre orchard was dry less than an hour later. That’s the kind of service my clients expect. That’s what they’re paying standby for.
  • Check for voicemail messages. If I take a shower, drive through a dead cell coverage area, or simply don’t hear my phone ring for more than a few hours, I need to check for messages I might have missed. I should always answer the phone when a client calls — even if I’m already on the phone with my husband or a friend. Some clients will actually panic if they can’t reach me on their first try. (I am, after all, hired to help protect a crop worth tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars.)
  • Monitor the weather all the time. I track the weather on the Internet, weather radio, and by looking/walking outside. I have a weather app on my phone that includes in-motion radar. I sleep with my iPad on the bed so I can check the weather before I go to sleep and as soon as I wake up. I also have to be prepared to answer weather questions for clients that aren’t as close to their orchards as I am.
  • Keep the helicopter ready to fly. That means keeping it fully fueled and preflighted between flights. I generally refuel right after landing. I keep the tanks completely topped off so I can get a full 3 hours of flight time if I need it. My clients can’t wait for me to refuel. My clients also aren’t interested in waiting for me to get routine maintenance (like oil changes) or repairs. That means the helicopter has to be ready to fly for the entire season before I get here.
  • Keep fuel for the helicopter available. I buy fuel in bulk for the 82-gallon transfer tank on my pickup truck. There are two places I can get it: In Wenatchee (35 miles away) and in Ephrata (20 miles away). I need to have at least 30 gallons in the tank at all times, so as soon as it drops below 50 gallons, I try to make a fuel run. I have to do it on a clear day when there’s little or no chance of flying. Although I also take that opportunity to run errands I can’t run in Quincy (where I’m based), I always buy the fuel first, just in case the weather turns bad and I have to rush back. That’s happened twice this season so far.
  • Schedule my errands around the weather — and be prepared to change my schedule at the slightest hint of rain. My errands include grocery shopping, banking, post office runs, laundry, and the occasional quick meal out. It also includes familiarizing myself with new orchard blocks I’m contracted to cover.
  • Not drink alcohol. Let’s face it: the rule in aviation is “eight hours from bottle to throttle.” If I’m on call 17 hours a day, there is no eight-hour stretch that I’m not on call. So, theoretically, I can’t drink.
  • Not see a movie. Heck, this bugs me more than the alcohol. Every summer, there are so many great new movies, but I can’t see any of them. The closest theater is 35 miles away and I can’t lock myself up in a dark room without checking the weather for two hours. And at night — well, I do need to sleep.

Two Sides to Every Coin

The other day, a friend of mine came to visit with his daughter and grandson. We had lunch at the golf course restaurant, within view of the helicopter and only 150 feet from my RV. Afterwards, we stopped by the RV for a diaper change.

My friend’s daughter told me how envious she was of me and my job. She said it was the greatest job she’d ever heard of.

I’m not complaining, but I do want to point out that there are two sides to every situation. I seriously doubt whether her job would get her out of bed with a phone call at 4:10 AM. Or live in an RV on a tiny campsite near a busy (read that “noisy”) intersection. Or keep her stuck in a farm town (that doesn’t have very much to offer except about a dozen Mexican restaurants) all day on any day there was the slightest chance of rain.

So yeah, I’m getting paid to just wait around. But there’s a huge responsibility that goes with that — and zero tolerance for not doing the job right.

The Waiting Game

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Part of my summer job.

It’s coming up on 5 AM. I’m sitting in my RV, parked at the edge of a golf course in Quincy, WA, 1/4 mile away from where my helicopter is parked at an ag strip. I’m nursing a cup of coffee.

I’m waiting.

I’ve been up since 4 AM when I woke naturally, my brain using its built-in alarm clock to put my body on low alert. After all, there was rain in the forecast. If it rained overnight, the calls would start coming before dawn. If I wanted coffee in my body before I flew, I’d have to get up and make it before the calls came.

If they came.

On waking up, the first thing I did was reach for my iPad. (It, with my phone, is always within reach when I’m in bed here.) A few taps and WeatherBug was displaying local radar. The rain echoes were just to the southwest, moving my way. It was almost as if my brain had been watching the weather while I slept and knew the rain was coming.

While coffee brewed, I stepped outside into the predawn light. I could see the horizon in all directions. Low clouds, brightness to the east where the sun would soon rise. Later, back inside, as I sipped my coffee, WeatherBug would indicate that the rain was right on top of me and at least two of my orchards. Occasionally, my vigilance was rewarded with the sound of a few raindrops pattering on the roof of the RV.

I traded my nightshirt for a tank top, which is what I usually wear under my flight suit. I grabbed a pair of socks. Then I settled back into my comfy chair with my coffee.

I brewed a good cup this morning. Part of me hoped I’d get a chance to enjoy every drop in my 18 ounce mug. The other part of me hoped the phone would ring.

I was ready. I was waiting.

Oddly, I played a version of this game yesterday afternoon and evening. More radar echoes, but no rain. Still, it could come at any time. I spent the evening with my iPad, switching between an ebook, WeatherBug, and the National Weather Service Web site while texting back and forth with a pilot friend in the same situation 30 miles south. Had to keep the phone line open. When the sun set at 9 PM, I moved into the bedroom, finished the book I’d been reading, and went to sleep.

Six hours later, I was awake.

The sun is up now, hidden behind thick clouds to the northeast. I see rain falling out toward Moses Lake — no threat to any of my orchards. I’m waiting for the call that will launch me. I can be airborne in 15 minutes or less.

Will the call come? Who knows? That’s part of the game.