pendragon orchard and vine

Before sunrise, I walk the wind-cut rows of my winter garden on Orcas, gathering lettuce, kale, and collards for breakfast. As frost clings to the leaves, I’m reminded of my grandfather’s wartime garden—how his acre kept neighbors alive when winter meant scarcity, not inconvenience. That memory becomes a doorway into older worlds where people survived the cold without refrigerators, grocery stores, or modern rescue.

Chestnuts aren’t just nut trees — they’re living inheritance. From ancient groves in Italy still feeding families after 500 years to young orchards rising in the Northwest, these trees promise shade, food, and continuity long after we’re gone. Plant a pair today and you’re building more than a food forest — you’re building generational wealth.

I love vegetables. I love to eat them. I’ve eaten them on porches and back steps, under summer light and winter cloud. I’ve pulled them from soil I amended by hand. I’ve bent to weed them in heat that wrung the salt from my skin. And still—I don’t grow annuals. Mix of annual and perennial vegetables in the OCS garden. Zone 8b. Pacific Northwest gardening at its best. As a permaculture designer, I’m often asked to build out classic vegetable beds for clients. And I do, becaus