I am not a gardener. Before living in urban Massachusetts I grew up in New York City. The red clay that passed as soil in our yard was not only impossible to dig through; it was all but impermeable. Flowers and plants grew, but only with a lot of hard work and persistence.
It was early afternoon on the festival’s first day when I felt the first rain drop fall. I was standing near the edge of the Bud Light Stage watching Brooklyn … Continue reading
On the boardwalk, English isn’t the first language you expect to hear; instead there’s a mix of a hundred different voices and tongues from all over the world. As I hear them speak words I don’t understand, I am reminded that they, too, are transplanted, and perhaps they come here too to find a bit of home.