Growing hops has (had - it was already disappearing fast) its own arcane vocabulary - hop gardens, hop pockets, hopsacks....the picked hops were pressed into hop pockets and taken on another trailer to the oast house, where they were spread out on the mesh floor above the gas burners to be dried overnight. Finally, the dry hops were pressed tight into hopsacks which were sewn up ready for shipping. 'Oppin' was the old farmer's favourite time of year - he even tucked himself up into a hop pocket to sleep in the oast house, oblivious to the roar of the burners.....
) shed where the vines were grabbed by a hook and The trailer (it turned out) was too small to take the door safely. The staff at the depot nevertheless helped me lash it on (vertically), and I drove back without mishap, to general astonishment, avoiding low bridges and overhead wires. I was then shown a vast, jumbled heap of empty wooden 500lb apple boxes and told to put them in tidy stacks, using my fork lift. This I accomplished well before quitting time, to general amazement, and I was accepted as a full member of the team.
I was entirely serious in trying to gain experience in rural skills, while seeking employment in the conservation sector - luckily it wasn't a unionised workplace . Looking back it had its comical side and was a rich source of anecdote. Being given something impossible to do on your first day in a new work setting is not new, managing to do it was the key . The human encounters in an unfamiliar world were the best bit. I heard a lot of country wisdom, my favourite saying from my friend Tony being “What the eye doesn’t see, the foot treads in” 
. Nobby, one of the other hands, lived in a tiny tied cottage on the farm. The farmer carried out an extension to the kitchen which, Nobby said, meant he could now stand his wellingtons at right angles to the wall instead of flat against it. Watching our oldest colleague Wilf, who had no teeth, cutting tiny bits off an apple with a dirty old penknife before popping them in his mouth, Tony whispered to me that this was the knife he’d been using for dagging the sheep 
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I was entirely serious in trying to gain experience in rural skills, while seeking employment in the conservation sector - luckily it wasn't a unionised workplace . Looking back it had its comical side and was a rich source of anecdote. Being given something impossible to do on your first day in a new work setting is not new, managing to do it was the key . The human encounters in an unfamiliar world were the best bit. I heard a lot of country wisdom, my favourite saying from my friend Tony being “What the eye doesn’t see, the foot treads in” . Nobby, one of the other hands, lived in a tiny tied cottage on the farm. The farmer carried out an extension to the kitchen which, Nobby said, meant he could now stand his wellingtons at right angles to the wall instead of flat against it. Watching our oldest colleague Wilf, who had no teeth, cutting tiny bits off an apple with a dirty old penknife before popping them in his mouth, Tony whispered to me that this was the knife he’d been using for dagging the sheep .
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