May 27 2011
Cutting Grass
Most people like the look of a well-manicured lawn. Not me. The green rugs surrounding homes strike me as the ultimate expression of human hubris – a patently absurd attempt to control nature. We cut the grass, it grows back. We cut the grass, it grows back. Our mastery over this simple plant is temporary at best.
When my wife and I bought our home a decade ago, my main objection to the place was the grass around it. From May through October, I walk back and forth in my yard once a week at least, pushing a noisy, carbon-emitting machine that turns grass into stubble. The rain comes, the grass grows, then I do it all over again. I am Sisyphus with a lawn mower, trapped in social convention. Even if my immediate neighbors didn’t object, I wouldn’t dare let my yard grow wild. The value of my property would plummet.
If I had the resources, I’d transform my yard into a lush garden. But no, to be honest, I’d never put the time into it. A friend of mine has done just that, but he spends half his life in his yard. I’d rather be doing other things, like wandering around the woods.
I could always do what the affluent do and simply hire someone to cut my grass. That is, after all, what the European kings did back in the day when they invented the lawn. But no, that misses the point. It matters little who cuts the grass. The pertinent question is: why cut it at all?
The concept of high civilization is at the heart of any discussion about green space. It isn’t enough to cultivate fields, thus providing ample food. We must cultivate everything else in sight, keeping the wild at bay. After all, it’s either us or them, where “them” is everything living that isn’t under our thumb. Or so most people think. But I don’t agree.
To justify mowing I tell myself that the lawn is good place for my wife to lounge, my dog to run, and my visiting grandchildren to play. But down deep I seethe with rage. Despite all talk about property rights, I have little control over my own yard. Social convention. I am bound by it. So I dream of a cabin in the woods even while cutting my grass. And maybe someday, if I win the literary lottery, I’ll make that dream come true.
