WWOOFING - an introduction to organic food, Portugal
“We’re WWOOFING,” elicits a multitude of reactions. Most are confused, some humorous, others a hint of recognition, before bemusement descends.
Simply put, Working Worldwide On Organic Farms does what it says on the tin. In return for board and lodging, a WWOOFER tackles the tasks of the organic farming day.
Little Rachel
When I was a kid, Mum would get us into the garden. We had a little vegetable patch, then a medium one when we upsized to the 'safer' suburbs (we were burgled twice within months, and a neighbouring house completely cleared out, but that's another story).
A special preserve of the garden were 'jobs for little fingers'. A title which, I think, was meant to endear me to feel that I, as the youngest member of the family, was the only one with sufficient dexterity to undertake the task. My horticultural superpower.
It didn't take long to see through this thinly disguised veil of child labour. But, thankfully, my teenage stubbornness didn't grow quite as quickly as my vested culinary interest. Once I was complimented on my tan wholly achieved over a half term of weeding, I was sold.
The land has more to offer than jobs for little fingers.
Lisbon, before the rain began
So, when after a nine hour bus to Lisbon to get ahead of the bad weather, and a subsequent three days of riding our bikes through torrential rain, we decided that the first WWOOFING chapter of our adventures was due.
Humus Farm became our new home.
Started by Ana and Bruno, this family-run farm an hour inland from Lisbon hosts guests, grows beautiful organic produce, and holds elegantly rustic events. This is the grown up version of jobs for little fingers, but whilst the fingers have grown, the principles remained the same.
Slugs, snails and caterpillars are the enemy. A white cabbage butterfly may be beautiful, but is your future frustration.
Don't choose the pair of gloves with fingertips missing.
Weather reports lie.
Remember to ask what is considered a weed and what is not. Replanting is not as satisfying and harbours more guilt than pulling up.
Chickens. Eat. Everything.
And one principle I have had to practise increasingly over the years.
6. Stretch before your evening glass of wine. It won't happen after.
We arrive, both bedraggled and sunburnt (that's Portuguese autumn for you), bike chains crunching from our sandy Google-Map led cross vineyard approach. At least we knew what kind of soil we'd be getting to know.
A quince tree en route to Humus Farm
Walter greets us at the gate. He smiles, looks a little panicked, lets us in, and calls someone immediately. We wait, Walter clearly almost bursting with the need to be hospitable, despite a lack of English, our straightening out our cycling gear to look more presentable. Which obviously makes sense. On a farm.
Round the corner comes Ana. Her long dress flowing, brown hair up in a bun, phone in hand. Her four dog back-up dancers/bodyguards come to check us out. We pass the test - Pi (pug related) licks the salty sweat off my legs and Grisu (Rhodesian cross Great Dane) leans into Alex, making the balancing act of enforced affection, loaded bikes, and hand shaking decorum a little hard to juggle.
A usual sight whilst the dogs wait for Ana to appear - Ju-Ju, Tofu, Pi, and Grisu
A quick change (by which I mean into our other set of clothes, this is no fashion show) and Ana drives us just down the road to an old school, a project for a planned future hostel. I let slip my interest in organic food, and see a glint in Ana’s eye. A plan is hatched in her mind.
We meet Walter again, this time understanding his role here as an agroforestry expert from Brazil who brings organic land management know-how, horticultural creativity, and always-charged bluetooth speakers for covers of Buena Vista Social Club. With third-party assistance from Google Translate, he is our guide to the land.
As the rain begins to spit we are introduced to the third of our WWOOFING musketeers, Hweech. With her quick sense of humour, the patience of a saint, and endless insights into the idiosyncrasies of growing up in Singapore, she’s a gentle companion.
Hweech explains the rhythm of our days- mornings on the farm tending to the organic produce, and afternoons at the school.
With trees to plant, borders to build, and olives to harvest, there is much ahead of us.
