Was it the fall of 1966 or the winter of ’67? As the Haight saying goes, on the off chance that you can recollect the Summer of Love, you likely weren’t here. The haze was bound with pot, sandalwood incense, and consuming military draft cards, whole days were spent examining trippy Grateful Dead banners, and the side of Haight and Ashbury Streets turned into the defining moment for a whole age. The Haight’s nonconformity kids called themselves monstrosities and bloom youngsters; San Francisco Chronicle writer Herb Caen named them ‘flower children.’
Flashbacks are a given in the Haight, which despite everything has its swinging-’60s propensities. The mist stays fragrant downwind of neighborhood cannabis dispensaries, and tie-colors and beliefs have never completely left style here – henceforth the valued vintage rock tees on the divider at Wasteland, natural cultivating manuals in their umpteenth printing at Bound Together Anarchist Book Collective, and without judgment treatment for terrible outings and appalling tingles at the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic. At the edge of Haight and Cole, perceive how far humankind has come in Joana Zegri’s 1967 Evolution Rainbow wall painting, indicating living things advancing from the Pleistocene period to the Age of Aquarius.