Complex Numbers

Lawn Order

I've been waiting for a very, very long time to have an appropriate use for this entry's title.

The American Obsession with Lawns  
Lawns are the most grown crop in the U.S.—and they're not one that anyone can eat; their primary purpose is to make us look and feel good about ourselves

Yes, the article is nearly four years old. Still relevant.

It’s the time of year when the buzz of landscaping equipment begins to fill the air, and people begin to scrutinize their curb appeal.

Not this people. I have no intention of selling my house or moving, so I couldn't care less what other people think. Well, except for the minimum standards required by local ordinance. Fortunately (and not by accident), I don't live in a place with a Homeowners' Association.

The goal—as confirmed by the efforts of Abraham Levitt in his sweeping exercise in conformity (although it had been established well before that)—is to attain a patch of green grass of a singular type with no weeds that is attached to your home.

Mine currently has dandelions. They add color and nonconformity. When they seed, I'm sure my downwind neighbors curse my name and my ancestors.

Why do Americans place so much importance on lawn maintenance?

I've been asking myself that for a very long time. It's always struck me as horribly inefficient and useless.

The state of a homeowner’s lawn is important in relation to their status within the community and to the status of the community at large.

Oh, right. Status. Status is always inefficient; that's the whole point.

To have a well maintained lawn is a sign to others that you have the time and/or the money to support this attraction.

I have the time. I have the money. What I don't have is the ability to be arsed.

It signifies that you care about belonging and want others to see that you are like them.

Look, by not having the Perfect Lawn, I am actually doing my neighbors a service. Everyone wants to emulate the best lawn in the neighborhood (well, everyone but me), but they'll settle for not having the worst. By having the worst lawn, I'm lowering the bar so my neighbors don't have to work so hard.

You're welcome.

Many homeowner associations have regulations to the effect of how often a lawn must be maintained.

Hence why I don't live in an HOA neighborhood. Sure, the city has standards; the grass can't be more than 12" tall. That's way more lenient than any HOA standards.

But lawns are a recent development in the human history of altering our environment.

And that's the other thing: caring about the environment is incompatible with caring about your lawn. Mowing uses gasoline, albeit a small amount. Fertlizer gets into waterways and contributes to algae blooms and nutrification (which despite its name is actually a Bad Thing). And a perfectly manicured lawn isn't exactly what you'd call conducive to habitat diversity. Probably worst of all, though, is the utter waste of water used in sprinklers.

Lately there have been efforts to mitigate all of these things, but they could be eliminated almost entirely if we collectively decided "fuck this lawn shit."

The article goes into the history of lawns in the US, and it's enlightening to read, if peppered with editing problems.

The rise in economic opportunities meant that homeowners who were inclined to pursue a green carpet of grass could hire someone to attend to its needs—another indicator of success.

Guilty. I pay a service $50 a month to keep the lawn somewhat trimmed.

My home, for example, sits between two extremes: on one side, we have neighbors who meticulously care for their lawn—they have a sprinkler system and regularly scheduled lawn maintenance—and on the other, we have neighbors who let their lawn run wild and will mow once or twice a season—their lawn is riddled with dandelions and other weeds. The homeowner in the former instance stopped by to tell us that she was seeing signs of crabgrass on her lawn. She scrutinized our patch of greenery as well as the other neighbors’ before going home. While this overall dynamic is common throughout our neighborhood—there is a mix of maintenance—she was specifically concerned on how this would impact and reflect on her.

The neighbor on one side of me used to have the perfectly maintained lawn (she died a few years ago and it's declined a bit); I'd see a Chemlawn van out there every month or so, which sucked because I'm downhill from that house and that shit seeped over the property line. The neighbors on the other side seem to have the same attitude to lawn care that I do. Neither of them ever said word one to me about the lawn, though I suspect the snooty one once called the city on me one time when the grass was 12.1" tall. Nor have I heard anything from the other homeowners in the neighborhood. With one exception (and you know the type), we tend to all mind our own business.

We are at a moment when the American Dream, inasmuch as it still exists, is changing. The idea of homeownership is untenable or undesirable for many. While green spaces are important, a large area of green grass seems to be a lower priority for many. With a growing movement that embraces a more natural lifestyle, there is a trend toward the return of naturalized lawns that welcome flowering weeds, and subsequently support a more diverse entomological ecosystem.

Translation: bugs are good now.

Lawns are American. But they're also an anomaly. And they may no longer fit the realities of the world we live in.

Sounds familiar.