All of us who have this dream of growing our sustenance in our backyards and on balconies and in parking strips know that we cannot have it all. We cannot have easy access to urban jobs and good quality theater and amazingly diverse ethnic food and have acres of orchards and billowing crops and a star field that stretches forever undimmed by light pollution. So we build the best compromise we can. We pull out a rhody to make room for a fruit tree, look at seed catalogs while on boring conference calls, hide an illegal chicken coup behind the garage and work really hard to convince people that Bright Light’s Chard is so decorative that it just has to go in the flower beds.
We Urban Homestead.
Urban Homesteading. Those of us who self-identify as urban homesteaders get a lot out of the label. We get a convenient way to express our quirky gardening obsession, a handy justification for keeping small farm animals in places that aren’t agricultural, a way of quickly identifying who else might have good country wine recipes. We get a community. This community is unified only by the common desire of its members to do more for themselves on their own land. But, as I have learned today, it is unified.