The Diary Game 19/10/2025 – Early season mandarin tasting at our farm

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Hello, Steemit!

Today became one of those quietly joyful farm days that start with cool air and a sky packed with heavy clouds, the kind that make every color feel deeper and every smell a little more honest, so we walked the citrus rows with a paper bag, a pair of clean pruning shears, and a very clear mission, which was to collect a modest taste of mandarins before their official season in order to listen to what the fruit wants to tell us about the coming harvest. My son kept pace beside me, eyes wide behind his blue frames, asking why some fruits wear so much green and whether green always means sour, and I told him what the trees have taught us year after year, that color is a late promise and that flavor begins to bloom as soon as the balance between sugars and acids finds its first calm.

_{A quick selfie at the entrance path with our empty paper bag and pruning scissors ready for work.}

We stepped into the first lane and the orchard sounded alive in a restrained way, leaves whispering, soil still damp from last night’s mist, and the citrus oil perfume arriving in bursts whenever we brushed a branch, which felt like friendly elbows guiding us toward the fruits that were most prepared to be tasted. I like to walk slowly at this time of year because the story is written in small details, a blush on the shoulder that faces sunrise, a firmer skin where a tree stands on a little rise, a softer feel where the drip line has been kinder, and every detail carries a clue about how the next month will unfold.

_{One of the bright bucket traps that keep fruit fly pressure down as part of our integrated pest management.}

We paused beneath a low branch to show my son how the yellow trap works, because farming with children is also teaching, and the trap is a perfect example of care that is both gentle and effective, since it attracts problem insects to a confined space, reducing the need for harsh sprays while leaving the beneficial insects to do their quiet work. The orchard has learned to breathe easier with these traps in place, which means the fruit can ripen at its own rhythm and the peel stays cleaner and brighter.

_{A clean cut with small shears protects both the peel and next season’s spur.}

We began to pick with caution, choosing fruits that showed a change from strict green to a soft yellow-green and that felt full without being heavy, and I snipped them with a short stub of stem attached, an old habit that keeps the peel intact and prevents damage to the spur where next year’s buds are already dreaming. The first cut always feels ceremonial, an agreement between grower and tree that we will taste with respect and then give the branches time to complete their work.

_{The first peeled fruit of the day, pale segments with a fragrance that hints at blossom and honey.}

We did not walk far before hunger for answers overcame patience and we peeled a mandarin in the row, which released the clean perfume that citrus keeps hidden until that precise moment when the rind separates from the flesh, and the segments inside, although paler than December fruit, offered a lively balance. The first bite was bright, not sharp, a little like a bell rung softly in a quiet room, and my son approved with the kind of serious nod he reserves for very important matters, then laughed because the juice ran down his fingers and onto his sleeve.

_{Early blush on the peel with a small leaf still attached, a classic October look here.}

We collected steadily after that, moving down the lane with our paper bag that grew heavier in a pleasant way, and I kept noticing how the trees near the edge of the block, which catch more wind, tend to carry slightly smaller fruit that nonetheless tastes more concentrated, while those deeper in the block have a calmer canopy and slightly plumper mandarins, a difference that rarely shows in photographs but always announces itself on the tongue. The drip lines, black threads on brown soil, ticked with tiny beads of water at their emitters, and I could see how the regular delivery has avoided the sudden swelling that causes skin to split, which will matter more as nights turn colder.

_{My son negotiating for the next segment, the most honest form of quality control we know.}

We took a short break to eat again, because tasting is not a single moment but a conversation, and each fruit told us something slightly different. One was fragrant and sweet with only a small acidic outline, another was tighter and zesty with a finish that tasted almost floral, and I tried to explain how cool nights slow down the respiration of the fruit while sunny days push photosynthesis, which nudges sugars upward without erasing acidity, and how this dance decides whether a mandarin is playful or profound.

_{A grin for the camera and a segment for the road. Early fruit can be surprisingly expressive.}

We circled into the next lane where the canopy thickened and the sound of the wind softened, and I took a quick photo to remember the look of the block at this stage, because pictures turn into notes that survive memory, and later we can compare leaf color, fruit load, and trap distribution to make better decisions. The sky kept growing darker in patches, then reopening into silver, and the light fell beautifully on the green gloss of the leaves.

_{A calm corridor with drip lines on the soil and a yellow trap glowing like a small lantern.}

As the bag filled we scheduled our stop mentally, because early harvest in our plan is about tasting and learning rather than volume. We do not want to coax too much from the trees before the main picking window. A little restraint now means better fruit later. We still found time for one more playful moment when my son spotted a fruit with a perfect little leaf hat and asked for a portrait.

_{Round, firm, and sweet enough to explain why we come out early to taste the season ahead.}

By mid-afternoon our fingers smelled like zest and our pockets were full of seeds that we pretended we would plant, and we weighed the bag between us, proud of a harvest that looked modest but felt like a promise. We checked the olives on the edge of the property, gave the irrigation header one last look, and closed the gate with the contentment that comes only from a day spent outdoors collecting both fruit and information.

_{Green-gold coins of flavor, enough for snacks, tests in the kitchen, and a few gifts.}

Back home we split the mandarins into two bowls, one for immediate joy and one for the refrigerator where a single night of rest seems to concentrate their perfume, and we made a few notes for our grower log. The traps are doing their job and we will refresh the lures next week. The drip schedule feels exactly right given the mild afternoons and cool mornings. The earliest flavor profile this year leans to blossom and honey rather than spice, which suggests that if the nights turn decisively colder over the next ten days, we could see a harvest window that offers clean sweetness supported by a friendly acidic line. Most importantly, we remembered that farming with a child is a discipline in paying attention, because the best questions often arrive from a small voice at your elbow asking why a green fruit can taste so sweet, and the answer, once you slow down to speak it out loud, teaches the adult as much as the child.

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Where we are

Place	Coordinates	Map
Our Citrus Farm, Ben Arous	36.64584, 10.332442	Open in Google Maps

SteemAtlas Address: //:# (!steematlas 36.64584 lat 10.332442 long d3scr)

Thank you for joining our early-season tasting visit. May your week be sweet, a little zesty, and full of simple discoveries gathered between rows of trees.

Best Regards,
@kouba01