Looking for this rare and beautifully perfumed fruit took me to some out-of-the-way places in San Diego county.
The other day I came across a box of the exotic citrus Buddha Hands in the wholesale market and asked them where it was from. I was thinking imported but they said it was local. So when I got home I did the research and found the name of a grower: Cunningham Farms. In Fallbrook near Temecula- 95 miles away from my home
On further investigation it seemed that I would find the Cunningham Farms stand at the Farmer’s Market in Temecula on a Wed or Sat. So bright and early last Wed I set out for the market. With Mapquest in hand I negotiated the several freeways needed to get there. A stop off in Corona after an hour’s drive brought me to a McDonalds and breakfast. Fortified, I drove on and got to Temecula before 10 a.m.
Well, I had thought of Temecula as a small town but it turned out to be a large, not very lovely one. Stopping off in the downtown area I enquired at the Temecula Olive Oil company’s lovely shop and was directed to the shopping Mall on the other side of the freeway.
I found the shopping mall but no market. I asked in the gas station and no one knew of it. I asked more people outside filling their gas-tanks but no luck. An older gentleman was very helpful. He told me he had never heard of a Farmer’s Market on a Wed. and he’d lived here all his life! When I mentioned the farm was in Fallbrook and maybe I should head for there he was encouraging.” Fallbrook’s a lovely little town,” he said. Anxious to find myself in somewhere a little more charming than Temecula I decided I would head there.
So back on the freeway for five miles than off at the sign: Another seven winding miles took me to Fallbrook. It was a small town:
“Easy” I thought “People here will know about Cunningham Farms.”
Well, the florist didn’t so I continued onto the centre of town which had been closed off for a Veteran’s Parade.
“ I’ve never seen a veteran’s Day Parade’ I thought. “ I’ll give this a try.” So grabbing my camera I headed for the main street. I got there in time to photograph the end of the parade.
The people watching looked like genuine inhabitants so I asked them. No one had heard of Cunningham Farms. I found a bookshop and asked to borrow a phone directory. I looked through it. Not only no Cunningham Farms but the three numbers of similar businesses all gave me that disconnected message that is so disheartening. This was one out-of-date directory!
Now time was marching on and I got nervous. I wondered if my memory was playing tricks and I had the name wrong. I drove around town and found another fruit distributor. They couldn’t help me either. I was getting very seriously worried now.
In my time of need I pulled up outside a local bar and decided this was auspicious. They served me a beer after I struggled to convey that Miller Draft was not a draft but a bottled beer- :Oh Miller Genuine Draft you mean”- the missing word genuine being the clue- and no they hadn’t heard of Cunningham Farms either.
I sat in the corner and wondered why this was so difficult. I looked at my phone. “Help me”, I said.
Brain said Directory Enquiries, so I dial 411. After a minute of automated recordings when I feel this is another blind alley, a human voice comes on the line. “Cunningham Farms in Fallbrook?” “Yes” I say. “Here we are; Cunningham Organic Farms “. And in no time I had the address and phone number in my hands, or at least in my phone’s memory. Relief. I look out onto the Rite-Aid parking lot and give up a little prayer.
The beer and this new information revived me. I finished my bottle and jumped in the car. I got directions from the man standing next to his pick-up truck and I was off.
Well, this wasn’t a simple trip. I left Fallbrook on De Luz Road and immediately entered a pristine wilderness. This was a park or reserve I thought as I drove through the unspoilt canyons with no habitation at all.
It was slow, twisting road but very beautiful. Then I come to a summit and start descending. The scenery changes and there are some farms with fruit trees. I have my lunch parked in the driveway of a persimmon farm with heavy fruit on many trees. The owner drives past me as he leaves the road and enters the property but ignores my wave.” What’s with these people?” I think.
More driving . It seems the numbers will never climb to the one I need. Then the numbers do get close. I see one just a little smaller than the address I am seeking and get excited. I drive round a corner and pas t a couple of driveways and then find another farm, I look eagerly at the number. Its too large! I have gone past the one I want.
I retrace my tracks and go up the unmarked driveway. There are houses up here but none look right. There’s no sign and no one to ask.
Disappointed I return to the road and drive to the too-large number. I look at some strange large objects on the ground. Are these gourds I ask myself? Maybe…and in fact I had found Welburn’s Gourd Farm.
A pick-up truck enters the property a little ways away and I wave. The driver comes round to talk to me.
“ Do you know Cunningham Farms?” I ask. He does. The tension of the day dissolves a little bit.” You have to go back that way to the Calle Roxanne and follow that side road”. Amazed, I turn the car round for one more time and head the way he indicates. I turn off onto Calle Roanne and I see an electric cart coming down the road towards me. By this time I have no problem in waving wildly to get the guy’s attention.
“ Are you from Cunningham Farms?” He is and it seems my luck has changed. He tells me to wait there a minute. He goes on and in a minute returns with a passenger. “Follow me” he says and I do.
Up the street and soon it becomes an unpaved road. A little further we go over a crest and I see my Mecca. A sign with COF on it and beyond it a vista of green. Fruit trees, more trees and growth and what looks like a couple of houses. It covers a small valley and it’s a welcome scene.
And in a minute under the shade of an oak tree I meet George Cunningham, the owner of this spread. George to his credit accepts me as genuine after I pour out my story of missed contacts.
“ My wife is a the farmer’s market in Temecula today.” Wow, so there was one. I felt stupid.
But we talked about fruit and citrus fruit in particular and it was clear George was an expert. I found out about new fruits like finger limes and commercial fruit.
I gave George some of my products and he ferried me inside the family home. Luckily his wife and grand-daughter had just returned and I was introduced.
Then off to the top of the hill and I got to see my first Buddha Hands tree. It was impressive and worth the long search. I tasted Meyer Lemons, exquisitely tangy. I told George I was not impressed by persimmons and he gave me some of his crop to try. I liked them better but George thought I was just trying to humor him. I was on firmer ground with his dried persimmons which were really tasty and just right for one of my fruit-cakes. But what was really intriguing me were the long and strange-shaped vegetables, a creamy brown color, lying on the ground just behind the cases of fruit stacked up. “Tahitian pumpkin” he said and this was a first for me.
“Best pumpkin ever- only raise it for the family. They use it grated raw in Tahiti.” Again, I don’t think I have come across raw pumpkin use.
But I was unable to persuade George to part with one of his pumpkins so bearing the bags containing Meyer Lemons and the hard-won Buddha Hands I returned to my car.
“Just one more thing George, I would like to take a few pictures for my blog.”
“ Go ahead ,” he said and with that we parted company and my visit to the Farm was over. I left in a bit of a daze and returned to the main road. There was still a spectacular drive ahead of me to connect with the freeway and I enjoyed passing through this remote corner of San Diego County with its spectacular fruit orchards. And unfathomable street numbers.
