Day 22: The Road to San Francisco

The drive to San Francisco took us through acres and acres of farmland. Whenever we drive through this countryside here, I am amazed not only at how expansive the farmland is but how organized. Row upon row in field upon field of whatever vegetable or fruit is farmed in the area is laid out in exactly symmetrical lines. Farm vehicles and pickup trucks line the edges of the field and dozens of laborers bend over their work. I barley know an artichoke when I see it in the grocery store but today I saw thousands of them on their squat bushes, their spiny pineapple-shaped heads balancing on the ends of their stalks. In several areas there were signs advertising “French Fried Artichokes”. We didn’t actually see anyone selling them, but, if it’s not actually a myth, I’d like to try them if I come across them again.

In another farm area, flat topped two foot wide furrows were tightly wrapped with plastic. Passing through the farmland, the furrows were progressively further along in their growing cycle. In the next area, the furrows were covered with strawberry plants that had poked through the plastic and in the next, the strawberries were being harvested. When a fruit stand popped up a little way down the road, it seemed fitting that we stop and enjoy the fruits of the area.

A sign on the highway directed us to the Swanton Farm, a U-pick farm that we almost passed by since we didn’t really have time to go berry picking. When we entered the farm building that was set back on the property, there was no proprietor to assist us. In fact, there was no one in the rather spacious, eclectically decorated barnlike building except a man putting money in a tray. It turned out to be the epitome of an honour system. If you were there to pick berries, there were boxes available to take to the field, return with the berries, weigh and pay. There were half a dozen open jars of homemade jam for the tasting, with animal crackers to spread them on, baskets of picked strawberries and various other goods to purchase. Prices were clearly marked. We sampled a couple of the jams on plastic spoons (also provided), selected a basket of strawberries, put our money in the tray that, incidentally, had a considerable amount of money already in it, and left without ever seeing an owner or worker. And the strawberries were delicious! Best I’ve had in a long time.

We took the coast highway all the way to San Francisco. The coast is rugged with black rock both contrasting and complementing the light sandstone cliffs. Blue and white surf crashes against the shore and a voracious low growing succulent spreads over the dunes and adds its fall red to the colour palette. A lighthouse on any coastline is an icon. But, the 138 year old, 115 foot Pigeon Point Light Station near Pescadero, is one of the tallest in the US and fit perfectly into this misty, coastal landscape.

Until tomorrow. . . .