My Grandfather's Garden
It's the day before Easter, many years ago, and I'm watching my grandfather kneeling in the early morning on the damp grass at the border of his flower garden, tucking something into the holes he opens with quick, almost impatient, stabs of his narrow trowel.
The Farmer is a Hacker
My friend Josh Trought is an ecosystem hacker. It took me a couple of years to figure that out, because when I met him I thought he was a farmer. Josh and a handful of other people are growing a lot of food --enough to feed a dozen or so people year-round plus some extra for visitors and guests--on three or four scrappy acres of northern New Hampshire…
The Wandering Sun
In Pre-Christian Rome they called it the Saturnalia and celebrated it with wine, sex, topsy-turvy gayety and mad merrymaking. For a week the normal course of events was set aside. No wars were fought, nothing important bought or sold. Slaves sat in their masters' chairs, served by their masters as the days grew shorter towards the solstice.