we are stardust we are golden

and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.

Woodstock began 40 years ago yesterday… Joni Mitchel wasn’t there, but she wrote the song of longing that became one of its most enduring legacies. As I sift through the outcomes of the ‘field work’ that I had the pleasure of collecting this warm summer, I am hearing a similar song of longing, and languishing, of gardeners for small plots of utopia. The dialogue with urban gardeners seems to point me toward looking at the relationship of city dwellers with growing things.


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