The lawn is one of the parts of American culture that persists despite all information and research which affirms and confirms its pointlessness. A placeholder for something more interesting that never materializes. Devoid of anything even remotely suggestive of life…and about as interesting as a butter knife.
A profound waste of space whose tiresome maintenance perpetuates an endless cycle of unmitigated pollution and expense. What does a lawn do for a homeowner?—well, it’s all for “the feelz” I’m afraid.
The lawn is a remnant of 17th century wealthy European landowners who could afford the manual laborers to keep their courtyards trimmed. The lawn was a means to telegraph their status and superiority over the plebes. It announces “I’m so rich, I can afford to not use this land for anything!”. A brag worthy of Scrooge himself.
And tbh, It’s not much different here…but can it really still be viewed as status when nearly every suburban house has one--regardless of whether the house is 250k or 2.5M? But if you were to ask people “why do you have a lawn?”, I’d bet more than a few would answer along the lines of “I don’t know—isn’t that just what you do?”
This reminds me of a dear friend I once had, who was struggling in a bad marriage. When I asked him why he married his wife (with whom he had absolutely nothing in common), his answer was “because I thought that’s what you were was supposed to do after college." What a common and avoidable tragedy! Doing something solely to satisfy some overarching social norm never does anything good for anybody.
Knowing what we know about the environmental cost of lawns, that answer is just no longer acceptable.
What’s even worse, is that the lawn now comes with it’s own posse…the landscaping crew. It must have been sometime in the 90s when the lawn devil whispered into the ear of the suburban bourgeoisie and convinced them they were too good for that nonsense…their time was too precious—they need a crew! And thus, the menace of the ever-present, any-day-of-the-week snarl of the commercial lawnmower and ice-pick-in-the-ear whine of the leaf blower were born. And suburbia has had a headache ever since.
I don’t remember when I saw the first lawn crew here in Bridgewater. In the 70s and 80s, nearly everyone still mowed their own lawn (and they had hedges! and gardens! and thick green landscape buffers too!)—those were the days, when people actually took pride in doing stuff. What little lawn remains on my property is still mowed by us, but ours is less of a lawn and more a mix of native “weeds” doing a bang-up job of crowding out the last vestiges of someone’s aspirational Kentucky-bluegrass dream of the past.
The near entirety of my lawn space has been either turned into densely planted berms or converted to paths of Dutch white clover (which only needs a trim a few times a season)—and is always actively abuzz with bees of every sort. These spaces are now filled with LIFE, wonderful, amazing, beautiful LIFE….life that sings…and chirps…and chitters…and croaks. When breeding season is on, this place is LIT!
Around here, I never see anyone in their front lawn…ever. Know why? Because it’s boring as hell!—what IS there to do there, other than stand there feeling like a ninny? It’s like a room with no furniture—there’s no point in being there. An expansive front lawn is as warm and inviting as an exam room at the doctor’s office. It’s not a brag—it’s a scarlet letter. It’s a whole lot of nothing.
I’ve always seen the lawn differently. To me, lawn as a concept is done…over…kaput…passe… belly-up…exanimate.
A lawn is the mullet of the suburbs…the wall-to-wall carpeting of the landscaping world--every bit as ugly and way past it’s prime. It’s the cheap polyester leisure suit with wide lapels. It’s MC Hammer pants. It’s a sweater tied around your neck. It’s Ugg Boots. It’s Juicy Couture. It’s Lee Press-On Nails.
It stands as an outdated relic of the past…a selfish and staggering misuse of resources and arable land…a completely useless thing that benefits nothing. How useless? It’s so devoid of value that even a deer won’t eat it. That should tell you something. It feeds and serves nothing (well, unless you count chafer beetle grubs, but the lawn treatment will take care of them—and probably kill a few birds and loads of helpful insects, but hey, who’s counting?)
It’s high time the lawn is seen and exposed for what it is…tacky, frivolous, and wasteful. If we can make those words stick, we might have a chance. But I beg you…just leave your yard for what it does best: be a home to wildlife and plants…grow trees, fruits, berries, vegetables, flowers—you know, the good stuff of life. Share it. You’ll be happier.
For those who still voluntarily opt-in to this absurdity and dutifully signed their lawn service contracts for yet another year: you’ve been hornswoggled…sold a whole lot of hooey from companies that likely have some reference to the word “green” in their name, when the only green they care about is the type that grows in their wallet. There is nothing green about your lawn. If you truly care about being ‘green’, it’s high time to serve your lawn with divorce papers.
It’s something that should have been dead and buried long ago, with a tombstone that reads “Never did anything good for anybody”. And that’s the damn TRUTH.
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