in early may, i moved back to my parents' house. i had lived away for a little under five years while I went to college for four years and worked/lived like a derelict for another nine months. i remember my first phone conversation with my older brother after i moved back home. never being shy on giving advice, mike waxed poetic about how pleasing our parents was so easy if only i would steadfastly follow a few rules: clean up after myself, help take care of chores around the house, and mow the lawn without first being asked. mind these rules and mom and dad would be very generous. i thought this advice seemed so simple to the point that i wondered how much my brother questioned my senses of responsibility and consideration. i felt that it was implicit in my parents' generous and welcoming invitation to live at home that i would be a good roommate.
there was just one hang up: i've never liked mowing the lawn, and that might sound so intuitive that it bears no explanation, but i'll indulge you.
who really likes mowing the lawn? especially in the heat and humidity of the st. louis summer, a successful and complete mowing session seems often to be a death defying succession of travails that i think should be roundly condemned by suburbanites. still, i did grow up lusting after that crisp $20 bill my dad would hand to me every time i finished.
now that i'm living at home not as my parents' child, but rather as their adult son, i know that my dad is not stopping by the atm on his way home from work to pick up that crisp note. i know that this is my rent. these chores are my rent. doing the simple and considerate--these are my rent.
my dad is out of town on business right now. he left a week ago today. that afternoon, as i avoided calorie-burning on my day off with an iron will, my mom called and asked if i would mow the lawn in the next couple days, so grudgingly i pulled myself out of bed at the crack of dawn a few days later (i'm pretty sure the sunrise that morning was at 9:30).
i went through motions i had not performed in almost three years: re-stringing the weed eater, gassing up both motors, checking the oil on the mower. finally, i was mowing. as i pushed through rows of unevenly overgrown blades, the sweat started to pour. i pushed rather aimlessly, not plotting out a path, but rather creating some sort of impromptu formula for where i should next shove the beast. i felt the blister on my right thumb tearing open a little more every time i turned the mower to the right, forcing a rubbing tension from the thin metal handle.
i have major watershed moments of clarity and realization about my life regularly, and i don't know if i have them more than other people, but i go to the extent of text messaging them to myself on a regular basis just so i can remember them later. as i mowed the front lawn, with the prospect of the large backyard awaiting me, the absurdity of this quintessential suburban experience forced me to ask myself a series of questions:
why in the hell is this patch of grass here?
who came up with idea that we should have large yards and gardens at houses?
what is the basis of the average suburbanite's obsession with having a finely manicured lawn, greener and more uniform than the others?
why do people so mindlessly give in to this system of lawn maintenance?
how do people make the decision that they want to live in a place with a lawn?
i don't have any satisfying answers for these questions, and honestly, if they are out there, i think that they will only satisfy my desire to understand the psyche of the suburbanite, for i know with unequivocal surety that i will never be convinced that this system is based on anything that would appeal to my values or the way i want to live my life.
having a nice lawn seems to me to be the lamest, most mundane way to boast. instead of even having to verbalize your exploits, you can just have the greenest, most lush grass on the block and be assumed a success. but compared to what? how great is having a nice lawn? does the lawnkeeper really derive that much pleasure from working tirelessly to keep his lawn in superior condition? what kind of place is suburban america where the FIRST first impression is how your lawn looks? bluegrass or zoysia? are there dirt patches? and god help you if you have so much as a root of crabgrass, for you will undoubtedly become the butt of jokes around the cul-de-sac. the lawn mystifies me because it ensnares so many homeowners with its promise of subdivisional prestige. but really, what is its benefit? what can one do with a nice lawn that has required countless hours of toil to create? there is so much plotting and maintenance that only serve to...?
is it just this unwritten/unspoken agreement between neighbors that everyone keeps a nice lawn to keep property values high? because if you don't have a nice lawn, if you don't care about your lawn, can any of us really trust you?
and if you're paying attention, you can already tell: it's not really about the lawn at all. it's really the dearth of culture and worldliness that is most frightening. the lawn serves as a convenient metaphor, but its convenience is based on its striking applicability. the surfeit of the suburbs, where the upper-middle class both shuns and readily accepts the title of "middle class" based on whichever seems more convenient at a particular moment, has led to a void in personality. the sterility and safety have been acquired in exchange for the experiences of both shared connections and individuality with even the people in their own areas. the lawn is the symbol of freedom for many, but it can be seen as a symbol of freedom from freedom itself. the lawn represents a world in which people can find everything the need and nothing they have not experienced before. in the suburbs, if you didn't experience it when you were growing up, you don't have to experience it now. you will not be constantly bombarded with the promises of great thai food or theatre or art galleries. farmer's markets are a place to buy more expensive groceries, and mussel is spelled incorrectly. this is a world where you readily buy the "american experience" of a night at applebee's after a day of shopping at target and home depot. you have everything you need, and the idea is that everything you want is already here. don't leave, don't think about going to the seedy areas where the people don't look like or vote like you. don't think for one second about letting your kids see what else is out there, because they might leave, and if they do, they won't be this...happy.
this is the land of lawns.
i want no lawn.
