One of my favorite fine-weather pleasures is hopping in the car with Ian on a nothing-in-the-schedule day, and driving south along Route One. He loves to drive fast along the winding road over the mountain to Half Moon Bay. Once we reach the coast, we turn left and sail past fields of artichokes and brussels sprouts, interspersed with a dozen or more picnic-worthy beaches. Turn by turn, the air smells variously of eucalyptus, wild fennel, ocean, brassicas, and wildflowers as we make our way towards Santa Cruz.

Ian has always been a confident driver, but now that he’s 20, he’s also a mature conversationalist and an easy companion—mothers of teenage sons take note! We mentally bookmark the roadside sellers of tomatoes, stone fruits, and local honey, promising ourselves we’ll stop at one or two on the way home. But for now, we have a destination in mind: Swanton Berry Farm in Davenport. It is one of our special places—a place we chanced upon once and now make a point to visit every time he’s home for any stretch of time.

Just when we think we must have passed it, and are considering turning back, there it is: the pick-up truck with the big painted plywood strawberry in its flatbed, announcing the entrance to the driveway. The tiny store sits just off the road and only carries a handful of items: preserves, hot strawberry-apple cider, farm-made soups and pies, and Swanton t-shirts. There’s a 10% discount if you arrive by bicycle, and there’s usually good music playing over the speakers.

The low-sugar jams are what we’ve come for. In addition to strawberry, rhubarb and blackberry flavors, Swanton makes jams from olalieberries, loganberries, and tayberries. More like sauces or runny pie fillings than jams, the preserves are intensely flavored, but not too sweet. Spooned over vanilla ice cream, they make for last-meal-worthy desserts. We pick up one of each flavor. Oh, and there’s one last olallieberry pie left next to the strawberry shortcakes—we’ll take that too!

Our favorite thing about Swanton, though, is not the organic fruity sweetness of the products on offer there, but the way in which they’re sold. At the checkout counter, there’s no cashier or friendly apron-clad clerk. There’s just a calculator and a till (actually, a cash register drawer) sporting a random assortment of bills and coins. You add up the prices of your stuff, put your money in the drawer, and take your change.

This delights Ian and me no end. Buying farm-made pie on the honor system is just so Mayberry. There is almost a storybook quality to the experience of walking out of that wooden shed with a little bit less than the correct change in your pocket (because they didn’t have enough ones or quarters in the till), and an armload of jams and baked goods. The honor system makes us feel more…. honorable—like a better version of ourselves—and that adds value to the entire experience. I’m not sure this was the owners’ intention when they set up shop this way. More likely, they just didn’t want to pay someone to stand in there all day making change and small talk. But it’s simple and it’s perfect and it makes our day every single time.

After we load up the car, we wander over to the vintage Air Streamer parked off to the side. It’s a micro-shop called “Slow Coast,” stuffed with locally made goods, like soap made from the milk of nearby goats, lavender-stuffed pillows, artisanal belt buckles, surf boards, and lots of great-smelling candles, salts and salves. How can we resist? Our car is perfumed with rosemary, lavender and berry pie, as the big strawberry truck recedes in the rearview mirror.

Halfway home, a formation of pterodactyl-like pelicans flies low over the dunes alongside us, and we remember to stop at a roadside stand for some jewel-bright raspberries and golden blackberry honey. “What a great day,” Ian sighs with satisfaction.

Truly it was great—sights, smells, conversation, sunshine. And we got to be honorable. Dessert tonight is going to be awesome. And at breakfast tomorrow, there will be virgin jars of jam and honey offering up syrupy spoonfuls of sweet/tart goodness. On my honor, I cannot think of anything better.