"Isn't that nice?" asks Cooperative Extension pomologist Kirk Larson, smiling as a salty wind nudges the warm Irvine air. "I love that afternoon breeze. So do the strawberries, which is why they do so well in this climate."
Larson leads the breeding program at South Coast, working closely with Doug Shaw, a UC Davis strawberry geneticist who also conducts experiments at the UC Davis Watsonville Strawberry Research Facility.
"Doug uses genetics to help determine which strawberries might make good parents," Larson says. "I'm more interested in the horticulture side of things -- spacing, disease-control strategies, fertilizers, things like that. I help plants grow to their full genetic potential."
Larson and Shaw breed berries that improve life for strawberry growers and consumers. They strive for varieties that are sweet, juicy, conical, colorful and sturdy.
"And we look at yield, and timing of that yield," Larson says. "If you're a grower, you don't want all your berries to come ripe when the market is glutted."
Thanks to years of Cooperative Extension science (with an assist from California's climate), strawberry farmers in this state have a 12-month growing season -- compared to a few months or weeks in other regions. Researchers help California strawberry growers produce six tons to the acre in one week, compared, for example, to two tons per year in New York.
The University of California holds 33 patents on strawberry cultivars which generated almost $5 million in royalties last year.
So how do breeders develop a winning variety? They cross plants with desired traits and select the best offspring over multiple generations. It's like time-lapse evolution, although it really doesn't happen very quickly. It takes about seven years of plot testing to give birth to a variety good enough to name.
"Here's a plot of berries we're evaluating," Larson says, standing amidst a sea of green and red. "I walk down each aisle with a clipboard and rank each berry on a scale of 1 to 5 for taste, color, shape, firmness. I do it once a week for 26 weeks, and I do it blindly. I don't want to be influenced by who its parents are, or how I ranked it the week before."
He moves down the row, picking and tasting as he goes. Some berries are too watery. Some are too bland.
"Here's a beauty," he says. "Nice shine. Nice shape." He bites into it. "Holy cow! What an interesting flavor! It tastes sort of like a mango."
After weeks of testing, Larson will put flags besides the plants with consistently high marks. They will become his future. He will propagate them and begin testing all over again.
"We just keep narrowing it down, until we find a variety that has it all." Larson adjusts his straw hat, picks up his clipboard and tastes his way down another row.
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