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’
There is a specific kind of heartbreak that only a farmer knows, and it usually involves standing in front of a tree holding a pair of shears, realizing
Walking out into the orchard on a crisp San Diego morning only to find your prized Arbutus unedo shedding its canopy is a stomach-churning experience.
The distinct perfume of a ripe Feijoa—also known botanically as Acca sellowiana, or colloquially as Pineapple Guava and Guavasteen—is something that stops
Nothing tests a San Diego gardener’s patience quite like the feijoa harvest season. You stare at those green, egg-shaped fruits hanging amidst the silvery-green
The crisp morning air in my San Diego orchard always carries a specific, perfume-like sweetness come late autumn. That scent signals the arrival of one
I still remember the first time I saw a mature Dragon Fruit plant. It looked like a cactus had a chaotic argument with a weeping willow and decided to
The first time I cracked open a ripe Feijoa, the aroma hit me like a perfume bomb of pineapple, mint, and strawberry. Standing there in the middle of my