Ship in a bottle’s one thing — but a lemon?

Press, 2 August 1985, Page 18

Ship in a bottle’s one thing — but a lemon?

By

GWENYTH WRIGHT,

former deputy

How ships get into bottles is no longer a mystery, but a fully-grown lemon bobbing about in a narrownecked bottle of whisky or brandy can bring out the most ingenious theories as to how it got there. In Japan, the gimmick has been one answer to competition from imported fruit. The most exclusive, up-market liquor outlets in Tokyo’s Ginza sell handsome bottles of whisky and brandy at high prices because .of the fruit that floats on the tawny tide locked inside. On an island in the Inland Sea — the Sicily of Japan — lemongrowing was expanded after World War II to meet the cocktail demand from occupying American forces. The price was high and for 20 years growers prospered. Then tragedy struck. In 1964, lemons from California were imported. The islanders were defeated by free trade. On a hillside above the sea, they set up a monument to a defeated industry and then confronted the market with a new product. Now, along the neat rows of lemon trees thriving in a Mediterranean climate on an island with no natural springs or streams, bottles tied over embryonic lemons hang like strange and unnatural fruits in an alien environment. There is more than one way to get even with an invading product in your market. In this case un-

editor of “Straight Furrow.”

suspected allies came in the form of consumers’ resistance to what they saw as an over-use of chemicals by the American trading partner. Besides that, the Japanese were fast becoming converted to Western ways and, with a steady demand from the international fringe, the market firmed for the home-grown lemon. The Japanese perfectionist’s answer to Sunkist came to be lemons grown in vinyl houses where no pesky insect or rash virus would dare to show its face. Much food is wasted in Japan just because it is less than pleasing to the eye — even if that eye longs for food that has not been assisted by pesticides. “Without chemicals, farm production would be down by onethird,” says the island’s agricultural development officer, Yutaka Murakami, himself an orchardist. “The consumer is longing for natural food, very strongly. Intellectual people especially, but they also require beauty. This is not realistic.” In future, Japanese-grown food will be eaten for health without going too far with techniques to pander to the demand for beauty and perfection. There are very severe standards of safety for the use of chemicals. Farmers are not permitted to use them at dangerous levels.”

The island microcosm is an example of economic specialisation. Farmers concentrate on their comparative advantage with soil and climate. Oranges are well adapted and, in the valleys, the orange groves climb almost to the top of some of the rugged hills with ingenious gridwork to keep them there. The industry has developed many varieties of orange. The Suma was acclimatised from another part of Japan where its origins are thought to be China via a warm sea current. Suma and Harsaku have been known in Japan since the Edo Period (1603-1867) when they grew in temple gardens. The latest variety to be developed, sweeter and juicier than any other, returns 1000 yen to the farmer compared with the usual 200 yen per kg and then retails at 200 yen for each fruit — a happy price when translated into 80 cents for 100 yen. Harvesting begins with early oranges and finishes with imported varieties like the favoured navel orange. A solar house in a climate of few cloudy days throughout the year can raise the temperature of the soil by 10 degrees and grow oranges for all seasons, theoretically. At present, 50 acres of solar houses grow cucumbers and tomatoes to the roof. Kiwifruit growing amongst the groves of early and late oranges offer the island the benefits of diversification. Mr Murakami is on the look-out for plant material to introduce. He has tried the pepino from New Zealand, but not successfully. If one pepino can sell in Hiroshima for 1000 yen, New Zealand could

trade in them without hurting anyone, as, in the case of kiwifruit, the seasons complement each other. Co-operative management of their industries is another strength the Japanese have. Local government backed by central government provides the infrastructure for economic life to flourish. On the waterless island, local government has put in a water supply pond to conserve rainwater and piped it to farms where sprinkler systems controlled by computer put it to use. A huge co-operative coolstore has 16 rooms with a different temperature in each to hold the fruit for marketing to best advantage. At the packing-shed, more than 100 workers are employed in a facility financed by the cooperative system. A land owner is often a man of more than one role in the community. The Japanese have a reputation as workaholics, but with land holdings so much smaller than New Zealand’s (they talk in “ares” where we reckon land measurements in hectares), they are able to work off-farm for a steady yearlong cash income. Yutaka Murakami has 30 ares of orange alongside his home as well as his office job in Setoda town. His assistant has 80 ares in oranges and kiwifruit. Women, too, are industrious and enterprising. In a Setoda sushi bar I met a woman who combines orange orcharding with her job as a welder in the local shipyard. The wife of Yutoka Murakami has a small factory making firemen’s uniforms. She employs 20 people.