arbutus unedo

Living here in sunny San Diego, I’ve spent the last decade obsessing over what I can pull from the soil. Most folks visit my farm for the flashy stuff—the

Walking through my orchard in the rolling hills of San Diego, you might spot two trees bearing striking red fruit that look vaguely similar from fifty paces away.

There is a certain magic that happens in a San Diego orchard when the morning fog burns off and reveals the striking silhouette of an Arbutus unedo.

There is something deeply satisfying about walking through my orchard in San Diego on a crisp November morning and seeing a tree laden with both delicate

Let’s clear up a misconception right out of the gate: walking past an Arbutus unedo in San Diego without stopping to snack is a missed opportunity.

Living here in San Diego, where the sun beats down on our clay-heavy soil for 300 days a year, I’ve learned that sometimes the best place for a tree isn’

The morning fog hasn’t quite burned off here in San Diego, but the buzzing in my orchard is already deafening. If you walk past the citrus rows and

I still remember the first time a customer walked up to my stall at the Little Italy Mercato, pointed at the potted shrub behind me, and asked, “

There is something magical about walking through my orchard in late November. Most of San Diego is settling down for our mild winter, but one tree is throwing a party.

The first time I saw an Arbutus unedo, or as we locals call it, the Strawberry Tree, I was baffled. Here was a tree growing in a friend’