Aunt Boots, who wasn’t really my aunt, had a home with acreage on the eastern tip of Sauvie Island, on the Willamette River side. The island is a 15-mile long, 4 1/2-mile wide piece of solitude just outside the Portland city limits. On the larger scale of things, it sits about halfway between the equator and the North Pole, which, perhaps, explains why the summer sun seems to linger just a little longer there.

I always enjoyed going out to the farm, being surrounded by beanpoles and flowering squash blossoms, experiencing the quiet, and marveling at the wonderful fruits and vegetables the rich soil brought to life.

I remember one particular evening, Boots plucked a red cherry tomato off its vine and handed it to me. I could still feel its warmth from the afternoon sun. “Have you ever tasted anything like that?” she asked, as I bit into its juicy richness. Her smile told me she already knew the answer.

Many small farms still exist on Sauvie Island today that I visit to source produce for the restaurant. Shari Satir and Beth Gibans have three acres planted at Sauvie Island Organics on a plot of land that used to be a dairy farm. The farm is a sight to behold in the summer with greens of all kinds growing in neat rows. Red mustard greens, curly kale, black kale, stir-fry greens, arugula, mizuna, and garden cress each flourish on their little piece of the landscape. The Red Ace beets seem to grow sweeter here than anywhere else. They are a rich burgundy red and sweet enough to eat raw.

During the growing season, Shari and Beth head out early each Saturday morning to sell their produce at the farmer’s market in the Portland Park Blocks. This is one of my favorite summer marketplaces, due in part to its one-hundred-year-old elm trees that have been lovingly protected and maintained by the city.

After a successful day, Shari and Beth stop by the restaurant with boxes of lettuce, beets, tomatoes, and peppers, all of which will be part of the evening’s menu. Once home, they will begin the cycle again, harvesting another week’s crops, which will undoubtedly be as extraordinary as the last.

During the summer months, the landscape of Sauvie Island consists of wavy windblown trees and lush green dotted with color from the local flower farms. Much of the island is farmland heavily planted with corn, squashes, beans, peaches, flowers, pickling cucumbers, berries, and other fruits and vegetables. Sauvie Island’s proximity to the city creates a high demand for these foods from city dwellers craving that “homegrown” flavor.

Strawberries are the first crop to arrive in early summer, followed by raspberries and blackberries. Cauliflower, broccoli, potatoes, beans, and hard and soft squashes eventually join the ranks as summer rolls into autumn, but perhaps the most prized item of all is the corn. Tall fields of sweet varieties span the island and grow seven to eight feet high. Everyone in Portland talks about the corn before its arrival, and when it does arrive, the season is short, too short most would say.

Public markets are popular on the island in summer and early fall. Old barns and storage houses display hand-painted signs extending a friendly offer: “We Pick or You Pick.” Prices are scrawled in bold colors on the sides of the worn wooden buildings. Inside, bins brimming with fruits and vegetables yield an occasional runaway potato or avalanche of apples.

Autumn brings the pumpkin harvest to Sauvie Island. By September, many of the summer crops have thinned, allowing the pumpkin fields to emerge. Glowing balls of deep orange are scattered across the island. I have spent hours wondering out into the fields looking for the largest ones.

As winter churns the chilly air off the Columbia and Willamette rivers, one crop remains: the trusty potato. Sauvie Island was once known as Wapato Island because of the roots the natives dug from the banks of the two rivers and the wetlands. These wapatos or “wild potatoes,” are not currently part of our culinary repertoire in Oregon, but many other kinds of potatoes are.

In the winter, Sauvie Island is returned to its year-round residents. The Columbia River beaches become empty tracts of sand where you can wander for hours hearing no sound other than the waves breaking from the occasional cargo ship finding its way through the narrow channel to the city. The farmland folds back into itself to rest for another spring and a new planting season.