Front and back cover caption, volume 38 issue 3SPACE ANTHROPOLOGYA day on Mars, also known as a sol, lasts approximately 24 hours, 39 minutes, 35 seconds. In order to operate robotic rovers on the red planet, teams of scientists back on earth have to abandon terrestrial rhythms and work according to a new temporality: Mars time. This process is at the heart of Zara Mirmalek's Making time on Mars (2020) and is the inspiration for the front cover illustration by Uni Pang. This ethnography chronicles how the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) scientists and engineers forged new relationships with time, technology and each other in order to manage a novel multi‐planetary work system.Mirmalek's work, and others like it, are part of the emerging field of space anthropology. While humanity's various relations with the cosmos have been a running thread throughout the discipline's history, contemporary developments, such as the rapid growth of the private space sector and the looming threat of climate change, have pushed celestial matters to the fore. Recent scholarship has examined the collaborative practices of technical experts working on deep space probes, has shed light on the continuing colonial legacies of spaceports around the world and has asked how indigenous ontologies and decolonial thought can challenge techno‐scientific designs for unchecked human expansion into the stars.In this issue, members of the ARIES project — an international research team based at Jagiellonian University — draw on their experience designing and teaching an undergraduate course on the social science of outer space to discuss the current state of space‐oriented research. Engaging with outer space poses distinct methodological and theoretical questions that complicate some of the most fundamental tenets of anthropology. Yet, approaching these issues is crucial for understanding many contemporary social, ecological and political matters across local, planetary and multi‐planetary scales.‘DRIVE AND TALK’ FIELDWORKIn Langhorne Creek, South Australia, seasonal streams cut through a broad floodplain with giant eucalypts and grazing cows, interspersed with vineyards growing shiraz and cabernet sauvignon grapes. On this rich landscape, the descendants of settler‐colonial families have farmed for almost two centuries, irrigating in part with floodwaters from the Angas and Bremer Rivers. These precious waters are collaboratively shared between farms through sluice gates and earthworks systems.In this issue, Georgina Drew, William Skinner and Douglas Bardsley reflect upon the importance of the ‘drive and talk’ for fieldwork in an agricultural landscape: not only to generate empirical data but also phenomenologically, as the farm is felt through the sand and gravel passing under the wheels, the scrubby bushes scraping the chassis, and the muddy embankments navigated by a driver who knows their land inside out.Farming is physical work that requires mobility. At the scale of an Australian farm, mobility involves driving. Ethnographic engagement then is not just mobility but also auto‐mobility, as farmers bounce around their paddocks in pickup trucks with researchers in tow, driving between properties, fording streams, stopping here and there to point out pieces of historic infrastructure, examine vineyards, and explain the country and how it is changing.Water is front of mind in the region. In recent decades, groundwater depletion and rising salinity have represented an existential risk to Langhorne Creek, exacerbated by the major ‘Millennium Drought’. Now, a new pipeline drawing water from further afield provides increased surety. Yet, farmers maintain their vigilance, concerned about climatic fluctuations and changes to ground and surface water flows.By relating to farmer concerns in the intimate setting of the automobile, researchers can generate new understandings of the risks and opportunities for adaptation.