I am doing something big this winter, something I have wanted to do for a very long time. It has sat inside me for years and years as a wish that I never quite believed would happen. Even now, with some of the plane 
I wrote this piece back in February for The Guardian UK, and am now posting it here in its entirety as promised. You can read my preface to it here.
My gardener’s story is atypical. There were no childhood summers frolicking in the garden of a rosy-cheeked matriarch eager to pass on a passion for growing things; however, there was, in fact, a grandmother—a woman who for better or worse certainly left an impression. A woman who taught me about gardening without meaning to, possibly even in spite of herself. 
I listened to this essay about the importance of physical labor by urban gardener Mary Seton Corboy yesterday morning on the This I Believe program and thought it was so brilliant I had to share. 
I am standing in front of a community garden taking photos when a youngish dude (I am not good at guesstimating age) holding a guitar and a large, open bottle of vodka approaches me.
Him: What are you doing?
Me: I'm taking pictures of these beans 
Homesteading -- the kind that involved living in tents and no machinery -- was terribly difficult. I'm sure of it. Of course I already knew this, camping merely drove that point home in a new way. Simple tasks 
I was recently profiled in Ascent Magazine's sustainability issue. This article is the result of one of the best interviews/conversations I have ever had the pleasure of taking part in. I kind of wish we could read the interview although I'd imagine
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