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
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