Standing in the middle of my orchard in the San Diego backcountry, with the morning marine layer just burning off the hills, I often get asked the same
The early morning marine layer is still clinging to the hills here in San Diego, and I’m out in the orchard checking the drip lines. There is something
I still remember the skeptical look on my neighbor’s face when I told him I was tearing out a perfectly good patch of lawn to plant a “
If you have ever stood in a San Diego backyard in late August, heat radiating off the ground, and bitten into a fig so jammy and sweet it felt like eating
Standing in my orchard here in San Diego, with the morning marine layer just burning off, I often find myself staring at the gnarled branches of my favorite trees.
Standing in my orchard here in San Diego, with the morning marine layer just burning off, I often find myself staring at the gnarled branches of my favorite trees.
Standing in my orchard in East County San Diego, staring up at a dormant fig tree against our crisp winter sky, I often feel a mix of excitement and responsibility.
I’m standing in my orchard here in San Diego, surrounded by the sweet, dusty scent of fig leaves baking in the midday sun. If you are on a ketogenic diet
Standing in my orchard here in San Diego, the morning marine layer—what we locals lovingly call “May Gray” or “June Gloom”
September in San Diego brings a specific kind of panic to my farm. It’s not a pest outbreak or a heatwave; it’s the sudden, overwhelming abundance of our