Current Issue: Spring 2007 (Vol I)
Trimmings
Every now and then I think about what it would take to save the world; this summer, though, I thought mostly about bushes. You see, I worked as a landscaper for the better part of June, July, and August, and when you landscape, itÕs hard not to think about bushesÑtrimming bushes, shaping bushes, weeding around bushes. Still, one particular afternoon I got to musing about bushes and about saving the world, and then it dawned on me that one had a lot to do with the other.
Now bear with meÑthis is going to take a minute to explain. Nearly every day this summer I woke up, dressed, and drove to work where I then proceeded to trim, mulch, hedge, clip, weed, and on and on until I was practically blue or (more precisely) red in the face. The work was difficult, but to my surprise, the sight of a well-landscaped backyard came to be one of my few on-the-job satisfactions (a satisfaction trumped only by my nine dollars an hour). Indeed, there was something strangely alluring about tidying, squaring off, and domesticating those places overrun by unruly Nature. But give Nature a month, and it was back to chaos. Every backyard I landscaped was, within a few weeks, in need of yet another trim and yet another weeding.
And thatÕs when it occurred to me that this game of trim, grow, trim, grow, wasnÕt going to stop. Ever. Whether I was landscaping or not, the game would go on so long as there were people to wield the hedger. I couldnÕt help but be troubled by the thought. It wasnÕt the endless battle for control that got to me. After all, much of life consists of cyclical action: eating, sleeping, the seasons, etc. No, the thought that troubled me wasÑ Why? Why trim? Why weed? Why landscape? Of course, my personal answer to that question was easy:
I did it because I needed the money. But, my wallet aside, I just didnÕt see the reasoning behind it all. What I did see was a lot of sweat, money, and time being poured down the drain for the sake of aesthetics that provided only a small, fleeting satisfaction. I mean, subtract a few bushes from the world here and a few bushes from the world there and things would remain more or less the same.
It seemed that the answer to my questions was there is no point. As Freud once wrote, ÒThis useless thing which we expect civilization to value is beauty.Ó In other words, beauty isnÕt necessary for our survival. We canÕt eat beauty; we donÕt need to be hooked up to a beauty machine when weÕre sick and dying; and we sure donÕt need the ÒbeautifulÓ junipers in the front yard. Yet, in its most sublime forms, beauty can be nourishing. It can inspire, evoke powerful emotions, and even redeem. But as Rembrandts and Michelangelos are few and far between, itÕs hard to argue for beauty in a general sense in terms of its transcendent qualities. High Art certainly has little to do with what kept me up to my elbows in mulch all summer.
Indeed, the beauty that preoccupies America and that drives the industry of landscaping and its kindred industries is yourÑforgive the punÑgarden variety kind. ItÕs five, evenly-spaced conical bushes in someoneÕs front yard. ItÕs a few shrubs bordering a neon drive-thru menu. Quantifying this type of beauty is hard to do, not because it defies measurement (like High Art) but rather because it hardly registers at all. At most, a well-landscaped backyard may provide a homeowner with a bit of pride, maybe a smile or two; an elegantly manicured tree may turn a few heads in the neighborhood and thatÕs about it.
Yet, for some people, this seemingly innocuous preoccupation with Low Art constitutes a borderline obsessionÑone that drains them of money, time, energy, and, perhaps most insidiously, purpose. For evidence of this, look no further than one of AmericaÕs favorite pastimes: shopping. Like landscaping, the modern shopping industry is one centered around the pursuit of small-time aesthetics. And, whereas landscaping had me knee-deep in mulch, too many Americans find themselves swimming in an endless sweep of blouses, cargo pants, and frilly shawls. I mean, the word shopaholic can actually be found in some dictionaries. Such a fact points to a societal recognition of the dangers associated with the compulsive pursuit of commonplace beauty. Sadly, for too many people, life consists of shop, shop, shop, until you drop.
That said, I donÕt think Low Art and its industrial manifestations (i.e. landscaping, fashion, etc.) are in and of themselves a bad thing. The problem is one of proportionality.
Some Americans just put too much time and effort into avocations which, in the end, contribute very little to their own well-being or that of the general public.
It is in this respect that saving the world and bushes connect. ThereÕs nothing wrong with taking VoltaireÕs famous advice to Òtend your own gardenÓ (including those pesky shrubs). ThereÕs also nothing inherently wrong with the pursuit of any other commonplace beauty. The danger is allowing this pursuit to dominate oneÕs time and energyÑ time and energy that could be better applied to more worthwhile activities, like, I donÕt know, saving the world.
Scott Kelly is a freshman in the school of Arts and Sciences studying English and pre-medicine. His academic interests include creative fiction and non-fiction writing.