Three generations,
one grove.

Carlos Reyes planted the first row of navels in 1962 with money he'd saved working at a packing house. He'd watched the way commodity citrus moved — picked early, gassed yellow, sold cheap — and figured there had to be another way.

Sixty years later we're still on the same forty acres. Carlos's daughter María runs the books; his grandson Jay walks the rows. We've added Valencias, blood oranges, and Cara Caras over the years, but the rule hasn't changed: pick when the fruit is sweet, ship the same week, never use wax or dye.

Most of what we grow goes straight to families who've ordered for years. Whatever's left we sell to a handful of restaurants in San Francisco and Los Angeles. We don't ship internationally. We don't have a tasting room. The fruit is the thing.