Valentina leads the way to a shelf. Dozens of containers are arranged on the shelf, in which tiny plants grow towards the lamp above. A fan blows air past them; water drips continuously from small taps. “Here, try it. You can taste everything,” says Valentina. The soft, heart-shaped leaves taste like radish. The tender stalks taste like onion. “This one really needs to be harvested,” says the woman, pointing to small but very sturdy, crooked plants that taste like peas. Only the buckwheat does not have a strong taste.
Starting her business
Valentina comes from the Donbas, where she worked for many years as a sales manager at a factory. In 2017, because of the war — which was already raging there — she had to move to Kharkiv. In this city, in the far northeast of Ukraine, she took a course in entrepreneurship. “That’s when I knew what I wanted most: to become a farmer. I love land,” the woman says, clenching her fist on her chest. “There’s nothing more beautiful than walking barefoot on the soft, wet, black earth. It gives me so much joy and energy.”
The problem: she now lived in a big city. And she didn’t own a meter of land. “Have you ever heard of microgreens?” one of the mentors asked her during the course. She discovered that seedlings were a trend in restaurants and supermarkets. And that very little of them were produced in Ukraine. Soon, the windowsill of her rented apartment was full of containers of minuscule greenery. She attended a conference of restaurant chefs. “Microgreens? “You don’t even have a farm,” they said. “After a year, they all bought my product.”
Russian invasion
When the Russian invasion came in February 2022, everything indicated that she would have to give up her now successful business — a fully automated greenhouse of three hundred square kilometers. The only thing in demand in the supermarket was basic food products such as carrots and potatoes. She brought the little that was still growing in the now unheated greenhouse to the soup kitchens. “This is my country. I have fled once and I will not do it again,” Valentina decided. “I want to help people here and rebuild the city.”
Starting over again
In July of that year, the phone rang for the first time. “Are you in Kharkiv and working?” asked a customer from a former supermarket. “Will you take my product again?” she countered. “Yes, of course. The customers are asking for it,” was the answer. “Then I will start again.” Her greenhouse still lacked electricity. So she started over in a large basement under an apartment building. There is little light there, but the climate is right because of the central heating.
Now, two years later, Valentina is at thirty percent of the pre-war yield. But her company is profitable again. “I won’t get rich from it: after paying the rent and my employee, there’s not much left. But it’s going well,” she says with satisfaction. Of the three employees, one remains: a woman with two children who lost her husband in the war. The supply of light, air and water is automatic. The planting and cutting is done by hand.
She demonstrates: first she puts the seeds in a layer of cotton. She lets them germinate for two days in a warm, dark room. After another two days of growing in the rack, she cuts the plants, then packages them and takes them to the customer in cool boxes. In the summer, the microgreens are outcompeted by salads and seasonal fruits; in the winter, around Christmas and New Year, the demand is high. “Last year, a restaurant bought ten kilos from me. That is twice what fits in these statements.”
Dreams
The time to dream has come. She would like to have children again, just like before the war. “That is how they learn. You plant now, and in a few days you have a nice result.” In addition to her company, she organizes activities for women who are in trouble because of the war. Her wish is to establish a small farm and a training center on her own piece of land, where she teaches women to grow vegetables and to do business. She keeps her eyes on the end of the war. “Men are fighting now. Women will have to rebuild everything later.”
She can still manage in the underground plantation for a while; she does not want a greenhouse, because it could be damaged by shelling of the city. She compensates for the risk of a power outage with a large battery. She asks for help with receiving seeds. “It is very difficult to find good seeds,” she sighs. She used to know exactly which farmer sells good seeds; now many farmers are bankrupt, have left or are in the army. Or they do not grow anything because their land is mined. Another wish is to improve her own knowledge. For example, she would love to follow a training course to grow Dutch salad.
TGS business supported 60 farmers in 2023. We were involved in an aid project and deliverd seeds. We kept contact with the farmers and talked to them about the situation
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