Sunkist® stories, articles & musings

From an Oregon Trail ancestor to lemon trees planted by her grandmother, Lisa Tate Soury is nurturing a citrus legacy shaped by generations of resilience — and rewriting what leadership in agriculture looks like today.

When Lisa Tate Soury walks through her family’s lemon trees, she feels history under her boots — a history that stretches back to the 1850s, when her great‑great‑grandfather rafted from Ohio to Missouri, gathered supplies in a log cabin with his family, and then trekked across the Oregon Trail in search of land. Not gold. Not quick wealth. Just land — the kind you commit to for a lifetime.

That belief — that farming is a long game, a generational promise — still guides Lisa today.

Her family eventually made their way to Ventura County in 1876, where they grew lima beans, then walnuts, and eventually citrus, discovering oranges would change the trajectory of their farm forever. By the 1920s, they had expanded and settled onto the ranch Lisa now farms — land tended by her grandmother, then her mother, and now by Lisa herself, making her a third‑generation woman grower and a fourth‑generation Sunkist grower.

And she’s proud of it.

“I don’t know many people who can say that,” she laughs. “But it’s amazing to be part of that legacy.”

“These trees are old ladies.” — A Living Connection to Her Grandmother

Lisa’s orchard feels alive with memory. Many of her lemon trees — tall, wise, deeply rooted — were planted by her grandmother when she was young. Lisa calls them “old ladies,” and she speaks about them with the tenderness of someone caring for elders.

Each tree is monitored carefully. Soil samples. Tissue samples. Nutrient programs based on lab analysis. They’re athletes, she says — on strict diets, watched closely, capable of producing for 60, 70, even 80 years when treated with intention.

“Walking through this orchard feels like my grandmother is still here with me,” Lisa says. “She planted these trees, and I get to continue the tradition. Someday I hope my grandchildren will walk through trees I have planted.”

Farming, to Lisa, isn’t just seasonal work.
It’s time travel.
A gift across generations.

The Reality of Farming: Beauty, Brutality, and Unshakeable Optimism

The beauty of orange blossoms and lemon perfume is part of the story — but only part.

Her family has survived record-breaking heat, devastating winds, drought, flooding, mudslides, fires, earthquakes, and the emotional whiplash of praying for rain only to face the destruction it sometimes brings. She talks about a recent mudslide that wiped out irrigation just when they needed it most.

“Every day feels like a new disaster,” she says. “But farmers are the most optimistic people on earth. We get slammed daily with things out of our control — but we fix it. We make it. Because we have to.”

Her voice softens when she talks about planting young trees:

“The trees I’m planting now… I probably won’t profit from them in my lifetime. They’re for my kids. Maybe my grandkids.”

Farming, she says, only works when families think in decades — even centuries — something most modern industries never require.

That’s why losing family farms is so painful:
“When you lose that, you lose the mindset — the belief that you’re part of something that lasts beyond you.”

Women in Citrus: A New Chapter, Rooted in Community

Lisa didn’t grow up assuming she would return to farming. She worked in nonprofits and other industries before coming home. As a woman entering a male‑dominated field, she expected hardship.

Instead, she found the opposite.

“The men in this community are the most progressive, welcoming group I’ve ever worked with,” she says. “They helped me feel comfortable, helped me be successful, encouraged me into leadership.”

After the Thomas Fire, she and many other women returned home to help rebuild damaged family farms. They formed a tight-knit, supportive group — a kind of sisterhood rooted in rebuilding, resilience, and shared purpose.

“We empowered each other,” she says. “We made this adventure more fun, more rewarding, and we stepped into leadership because we had each other.”

Farming Is Community — And Sunkist Is Part of That DNA

Lisa says farmers don’t compete.
They collaborate.

When her water line breaks, neighbors offer theirs without hesitation.
When pests show up, everyone warns each other.
When one grower faces disaster, others rally.

At Sunkist grower meetings, she sees that same spirit on a larger scale:
“We’re all trying to do what’s best for our community so we can all stay farming. Nobody does this for the money — we do it because we love it.”

She remembers Sunkist from her childhood — the gel candies, the hats, the jackets, all the fruit — a household brand that felt like sunshine.

“Sunkist belonged to the growers,” she says. “And my family was one of those original growers. I love that I get to continue that tradition.”

“There is something so human and so right about being on a farm.”

When Lisa walks the rows — hearing the bees, feeling the breeze, smelling the blossoms — she feels something deeper than nostalgia.

She feels human.

“You start walking and you don’t even realize it, but you’re right. You’re in your place.”

Visitors feel it too. Stress melts. Breathing slows. Instinct wakes up.
“We’re gatherers,” she says. “And gathering fruit feels like what humans are supposed to do.”

Cutting open an orange still feels like magic.
Smell, taste, memory — unmistakable, universal, comforting.

“That’s what’s so special about citrus,” she says. “It connects us. It’s beautiful and pure and joyful. I’m lucky I get to be part of bringing that to people.”

A Legacy She Hopes Will Last Forever

In Lisa, you see the past and the future woven into one:

• Her great‑great‑grandfather’s courage crossing the Oregon Trail
• Her grandmother’s hands planting the lemon trees she now tends
• Her belief that future generations will someday walk these same rows

She’s not just growing fruit.
She’s growing continuity.
Identity.
Community.
Memory.
And hope.

“I get to help create something that feeds people across the world,” Lisa says. “That’s noble. That’s beautiful. That’s good.”

And she’s determined — fiercely, lovingly — to pass it on.