2024-01-27 14:00:00
« JI’m not very “protest”, it bothers me to block people going to work, but here, it’s essential…” Philippe Bréhon, endive producer in La Couture (Pas-de-Calais), near Béthune, understands as much as he shares it the farmers’ uneasiness, their frustration. “I don’t go to the dams out of desire,” sighs the 47-year-old producer. If we don’t do that, we get nothing. I have made lots of back and forths to the Ministry of Agriculture: we are listened to, but never heard. »
Committed to the sector for several years, notably as co-president of the Union des endives (UDE), he was elected last September to the presidency of the Association of Endive Producers of France (Apef), which brings together 350. With the hope of moving the lines, in a particularly gloomy context for the profession: around fifteen end-users have thrown in the towel in 2023. “I understand those who stop,” slips Philippe Bréhon as he goes around buildings, his dog Naïka, a French pointer, on his heels. “This year, sometimes, I had moments of being fed up, with the rotten autumn we had… Fortunately the family is there. »
He joined forces with his brother and sister-in-law to create this endivery which employs 48 people (5 permanent workers and 43 seasonal workers). Before 2014, everyone practiced on their own. “We were worn out by this low-paying job: either we decided to quit to make potatoes, or something else entirely, by abandoning our staff, or we regrouped to continue,” he recalls. By the time the project was launched, their first endives came out on the conveyor belt, where they were packaged, in the summer of 2016. “We made 3,000 tonnes that year,” recalls the operator, who now caps at 2,600 tonnes per year.
Could it disappear within a few years? Endive, or chicory, as it is called here, in the Nord and Pas-de-Calais, is an extremely local vegetable: the Hauts-de-France region alone concentrates 95% of endive production. French – 130,000 tonnes in 2023 –, or 85% of world production (the remainder being grown in the Netherlands and Belgium, mainly). A heritage often passed down from generation to generation.
“In the family, we have been market gardeners here since 1732,” emphasizes Jérôme Wavrant, a vegetable grower in Tilques, near Saint-Omer. After his father retired in 1998, he took his place on the farm alongside his brother and sister. “We worked a lot, but we gave up, we found ourselves in receivership in 2018,” says the 50-year-old man soberly. We asked ourselves if it wasn’t time to stop, we slept an hour a night thinking of our ancestors… It was really hard, but it allowed us to get back on track: pushed forward by financial and accounting systems, we no longer had perspective on what we were doing. »
Lack of labor
The job of winemaker has been exposed, in recent years, to difficulties “as if it were raining”. And which “are only getting worse”, notes Philippe Bréhon. “We don’t occupy a lot of agricultural land, we don’t really interest politicians or the big global groups that do research,” says Jérôme Wavrant, bitterly. This last issue, that of research, is nevertheless essential for producers, currently faced with the announced disappearance of three widely used phytosanitary products, in particular benfluralin, a weedkiller known under the name Bonalan and banned throughout the European Union. from the month of May.
“We must give ourselves time to find an alternative solution,” worries the president of Apef. Today, we have other active ingredients being tested, but it cannot be done overnight. I’m not particularly keen on using this weedkiller, but we still need two or three years to turn around. If we don’t get them, there is a risk of a very big drop in production, and many endurers will disappear. »
“Europe is perhaps right to ban it if there is a danger,” adds Jérôme Wavrant. But, without an alternative solution, it’s madness, our job security is at stake. With organic, we get there [il a passé en bio un tiers de son activité, NDLR], but production is much more random, it’s very difficult, we’ve already messed up entire harvests. »
Endive is sown in the open field in May. Dug up and harvested in the fall, the roots are kept in a cold room before being replanted, tightly packed, in the heat and darkness conducive to the growth of this leafy vegetable. A very energy-intensive production, which has suffered greatly from the explosion in energy prices.
“We went from an annual bill of 86,000 euros excluding taxes in 2021 to 450,000 euros in 2023,” laments Philippe Bréhon. And, without the photovoltaic panels that we had installed in February 2023, we would be at 550,000 euros… What we are asking for today is the renegotiation of our contracts at a more advantageous price, or at least be able to break them without exposing yourself to hundreds of thousands of euros in penalties. » “With EDF, we are tied hand and foot,” points out Jérôme Wavrant. We can’t fight, we can’t do anything: I’m revolted, disgusted, resigned. »
With the same feeling of helplessness that he feels in the face of an increasingly significant climatic hazard. “At one point, during the floods, I broke down. We lost endive roots in the fridges and, in the fields, equipment, it was horrible. » Added to this are still episodes of drought and the frequent appearance of violent storms which endanger seedlings and lead to additional costs. “We are going to have to evolve, look for plants that will adapt,” he anticipates, refusing to be discouraged.
Consumer disaffection
On its four production lines, twelve people should normally work. There are only eight currently, which forces it to multiply. Labor, he explains, is increasingly difficult to find – and keep. The job is tough, often paid the minimum wage; the volunteers do not jostle at the gate. “Endive is restrictive, there are too many problems to manage. The drains are disappearing, it’s a reality,” observes Jérôme Wavrant. Rising production costs, such as transport or packaging, also have serious repercussions.
Especially since producers fear a loss of interest from consumers, who are very fond of endives during confinement but are clearly tired of cooking. “We have to communicate, make endive more joyful, fight to continue to attract,” insists the producer from Pas-de-Calais, who cultivates around 900 tonnes per year (including many young shoots, which are favored by buyers). “It’s hard, but we believe in it, we’re sick because we have no choice. We try to be optimistic despite everything, not to give up. We’ll see where it goes. »
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