If its anything like grape picking its long, hard and painful work. Well my middle class capitalist pig body thought so in France.
Sounds like the strawberry picking I did occasionally in the summers at sixth form.
In my head: hazy summer morning, chatting to the farmer about butter and cider, hedgehogs snuffling around protecting their strawberries.
In reality: painful work, competitively trying to pick more by weight than colleagues before days quota is made, unable to move the next day.
I think it's probably the hardest job I ever had.