The Straggler: Post-hole Serenade

NOW, don’t get me wrong. I am a happy suburbanite. I like suburbia—have even rhapsodized about it (“The Vital Middle,” NR, March 22, 1999). The following remarks, which are really in the nature of grumbles, should therefore be taken in the spirit of that Shakespeare sonnet where the Bard tells us that his girlfriend’s breath stinks, but he adores her anyway. Every rose has a thorn (to continue this line of allusions), and there is a downside even to the suburban idyll.

There is, for instance, the noise. Suburbs have lawns and gardens, which need tending. Few Americans below retirement age seem to want to do this themselves anymore, and the days when teenagers would perform such chores for money are long gone. On my street, mowing your own lawn is now considered eccentric. The majority preference is to have this kind of work done by hired teams of Aztecs—cheerful small brown people with gold teeth and not a word of English. They roll up in rattletrap trucks towing flatbed trailers, unload industrial-size pieces of machinery, and swarm over the lawns mowing, blowing, and trimming.

About the Author

John Derbyshire

Mr. Derbyshire is a former contributing editor of National Review.

Featured Tags

NOW, don’t get me wrong. I am a happy suburbanite. I like suburbia—have even rhapsodized about it (“The Vital Middle,” NR, March 22, 1999). The following remarks, which are really in the nature of grumbles, should therefore be taken in the spirit of that Shakespeare sonnet where the Bard tells us that his girlfriend’s breath stinks, but he adores her anyway. Every rose has a thorn (to continue this line of allusions), and there is a downside even to the suburban idyll.

There is, for instance, the noise. Suburbs have lawns and gardens, which need tending. Few Americans below retirement age seem to want to do this themselves anymore, and the days when teenagers would perform such chores for money are long gone. On my street, mowing your own lawn is now considered eccentric. The majority preference is to have this kind of work done by hired teams of Aztecs—cheerful small brown people with gold teeth and not a word of English. They roll up in rattletrap trucks towing flatbed trailers, unload industrial-size pieces of machinery, and swarm over the lawns mowing, blowing, and trimming.