There is nothing quite like standing in your own backyard on a warm San Diego morning, reaching up, and gently twisting a ripe fig off the branch.
There is something almost prehistoric about walking out into my San Diego backyard and snapping a ripe fig off the branch. The heat radiates off the dark
There is absolutely nothing—and I mean nothing—more heartbreaking in the orchard than reaching for a plump, purple fig, anticipating that honey-jam texture
I still remember the first time I cut into a perfectly ripe White Genoa fig. It was a scorching Tuesday afternoon here in San Diego, the kind where the
I remember the first time I tried to sell a basket of green figs at a local market here in San Diego. A customer looked at the vibrant, lime-colored skin
Nothing beats the smell of a San Diego morning in late August when the coastal fog burns off and the air fills with the scent of ripening figs.
There is a specific kind of magic that happens in the San Diego early morning mist, right before the sun burns through the marine layer.
There is a specific kind of magic that happens in San Diego when the marine layer burns off around 11:00 AM, and the sun hits the orchard.
Living here in sunny San Diego, I often feel like I cheated the agricultural lottery. We have this incredible Mediterranean climate that lets us grow almost
The first time I bit into a perfectly ripe desert fig straight from my tree, I understood why ancient civilizations worshipped these plants. We’