]project1d.html
The Interpretation of the Lawn Mower as a Suburban
Artifact
Images of wealth and prosperity has recently
been the forerunner of suburban motivation. Men and women take
pride in a luxuriant lawn, crediting their efforts as lawn keeper.
Ironically, the trend is toward less and less human involvement in
lawn care. This is evident in the recent developments of the lawn
sprinkler. My own childhood in suburbia is ridden with memories of
hours spent in patching grass, shoveling dirt, digging holes for
fruit trees, and watering the lawn. There is something enchanting
about dirt-caked hands, dusty knees, and grass-stained jeans which
inevitably instill pride in accomplishment (regardless the end
result). I dragged the hose to the four corners of my family's
land, imagining the dirt slurping thirstily at the water I provided
them. Eventually, I enjoyed the green grass, the freshly cut lawn,
and the blooming trees.
Today, lawn sprinklers lie underground,
invisible
to the eye. Human beings no longer feel the physical empowerment of
creation, of nurturing vegetation. Even when my family purchased the
oscillating sprinkler, a periodical relocating of the mechanism returned
my consciousness toward the task I performed. The fully automatic, high
pressure systems have conquered this vigilance. At the touch of a
button, the system regulates itself forever, if programmed to do so.
Suburbanites now boast of the expensive price they paid to install such a
high tech system. Why have they ceased to "do-it-themselves"? Despite
obvious indifference developing for the land they own, Americans will
continue to pioneer new ways to do it better, quicker, and easier. The
lawn sprinkler, though not extinct, may soon remain as a mere memory of
early suburbia.