I grew up in the rural areas of southern Illinois. I have lived most of my life in rural areas, including my time at a small, private college in Kentucky. And while I felt like Springfield, Illinois was the "big time", it still had a very "rural juror" (30 Rock reference) feel to it. With the exception of the years spent being an apartment tenant, I have always had a yard to look out onto. If the view was not immediately from my living room window or bedroom window, there was a way to go to some porthole and view a lake, sea or ocean of grass, trees, and whatever else was out there. And then there were the drives to pretty much anywhere. Wide open spaces filled with corn fields, prairie grass or tress existed almost everywhere. It was very easy to get visually lost in the wide open spaces.
Since I've moved to the Chicago area, I have missed taking all of this for granted. Thankfully, I first lived with my wife in a dorm on the campus of Trinity International University in Deerfield. My drive every morning and evening took me by open fields, forest preserves (almost like preserves in a jar when you consider it's only seconds away from a gated community or shopping mall) and generally some untouched areas. I would often see coyotes, deer, various birds and quite a few trees. In a way, I was eased into the absence of wide open spaces. In another way, I was gently lowered into the terrarium that is living in the suburbs and/or metro city area.
Because that's really what it is. A terrarium. Well, I should say it's mainly just city and the organic areas are preserved in terrariums of tamed wildness. If that makes any sense. I don't even know if the people around here realize how neoclassical and old this idea is. I believe it was in the 16th century when poets and philosophers were writing about their gardens, mazes and long hedgerows because it was a relatively new concept or idea. All of this was cultivated landscape just outside their mansions or castles. They were domesticating wildness as well. At any rate, it's so absurd to me at times. I walk in a concrete, glass and metal jungle downtown only to come across lovely potted plants on street corners. On the 21st floor of my building at work there are long rows of windows decked with ferns and various other plotted plants. And the men and women water and care for them like we have a nursery. Well, I guess it really is a nursery.
So what's your point Jason? Well, Heather and I bought a house over six months ago in Skokie, very near Chicago. A much more crowded community. Fewer wide open spaces. And compared to southern Illinois standards, the house is small. I like to think of it as cozy. Comfy. Cuddly, if you will.
Built in 1938, it's made of beautiful brick, has wooden floors, and is generally well made. And the basement...man-cave...is fully finished. We pretty much knew the first time we visited the house that it was exactly what we wanted.
And we loved the yard. We both love to sit and just look at our small yard. Thankfully a previous owner built on this small addition to the back of the house that opens up onto a deck/porch. It's just large enough to fit two chairs, a book shelf and a few end tables with a lamp. It's great for our quiet time in the mornings, visiting with people and my mother-in-law loves it. Actually, every one who visits loves this small room. As I said, it's small, but everyone loves to go to this room and sit around or stand at the entryway. It's quite an interesting phenomenon. They say most serious discussions end up in the kitchen, but in our house most discussions about anything seem to end up in that little add-on room.
I think it might be the view, though. The view from both swivel rocking chairs is of our small backyard. The north side has a line of ferns with a small tree (not sure what it is) in our yard that branches into the neighbor's yard as well. Along the north side of the yard is our small garage. I mean very small. Small-European-car small. Along the garage are hastas (I think) and vining roses that snaked up the white trellis this past summer. It was neat.
And on the south side of the garage, the yard extends back farther to a taller fence. Along this fence is our majestic tree, the stalwart sentry of the yard. I believe it's a silver maple or some sort of oak. I really need to look this up. Its beautiful yellow leaves have blanketed most of the yard now. And honestly, its not the best sentry because it provides easy access for varmints to get into our yard as it branches into the alleyway and next to cable lines. We don't mind squirrels and chipmunks. However, rraccoon opossums and skunks seem to lack certain social graces, though. And they love the area underneath our porch. They do tend to make things interesting, at least.
Along the south fence is a sidewalk that leads up to a latched wooden-door and kitty corner to the door is a small Joe-Pescia-in-Goodfellas-meets-Rasputin bush. Seriously, this thing is an unstoppable force of nature. When we first moved in, it was had covered over five feet of grass or so. With the help of a hedge clippers and other horticulture weapons mass cultivation, Heather and I reduced its Blago-hair to what we called the meth-head. That was a bit too far, so we decided to let it grow back to a good squarish size. We weren't sure it would grow back, but even with the horrible drought, it grew back to a nice size within a week. We have to keep it under very close surveillance.
Heather and I have worked on our yard a good amount. We have planted grass where the Blago-bush once lived, and it's already greening up the whole area. I must add, planting grass and seeing it grow and how that changes the landscape is a pretty inspiring thing. I felt so proud. I can grow grass!
I enjoy working in the yard, mowing and trimming bushes and the like. No, I don't always "like" it, especially when I have to do it after work, but there is nothing quite like that feeling afterwards. I often feel like the hard-working guy in a beer commercial who opens a beer and it makes that BUUUSSCHHH. Head to the mountains. Or to the deck chair.
The first time we really worked on the yard I remember thinking, "I get it now, Mom and Dad. I get it." When I was an insufferable jerk of a teenager, my parents had the toughest time getting me to help with the yard. I hated it. I didn't see the point. Just let it all go! Let it be wild. And while I wanted to sound philosophical, I really just wanted to be inside playing video games, watching MTV or hanging with friends.
And now I get it. I'm living in a suburb of Chicago with a small yard. Compared to the yards of my youth, it's a patch on a quilt. But it's our space with life. It's a small patch of earth where any sort of creature can sneak under a fence or crawl from a tree and play in our yard. The red, yellow and orange leaves are falling. And they will need to be raked because it will kill the grass. I get that now, mom and dad.
It will kill the grass.
Since I've moved to the Chicago area, I have missed taking all of this for granted. Thankfully, I first lived with my wife in a dorm on the campus of Trinity International University in Deerfield. My drive every morning and evening took me by open fields, forest preserves (almost like preserves in a jar when you consider it's only seconds away from a gated community or shopping mall) and generally some untouched areas. I would often see coyotes, deer, various birds and quite a few trees. In a way, I was eased into the absence of wide open spaces. In another way, I was gently lowered into the terrarium that is living in the suburbs and/or metro city area.
Because that's really what it is. A terrarium. Well, I should say it's mainly just city and the organic areas are preserved in terrariums of tamed wildness. If that makes any sense. I don't even know if the people around here realize how neoclassical and old this idea is. I believe it was in the 16th century when poets and philosophers were writing about their gardens, mazes and long hedgerows because it was a relatively new concept or idea. All of this was cultivated landscape just outside their mansions or castles. They were domesticating wildness as well. At any rate, it's so absurd to me at times. I walk in a concrete, glass and metal jungle downtown only to come across lovely potted plants on street corners. On the 21st floor of my building at work there are long rows of windows decked with ferns and various other plotted plants. And the men and women water and care for them like we have a nursery. Well, I guess it really is a nursery.
So what's your point Jason? Well, Heather and I bought a house over six months ago in Skokie, very near Chicago. A much more crowded community. Fewer wide open spaces. And compared to southern Illinois standards, the house is small. I like to think of it as cozy. Comfy. Cuddly, if you will.
Built in 1938, it's made of beautiful brick, has wooden floors, and is generally well made. And the basement...man-cave...is fully finished. We pretty much knew the first time we visited the house that it was exactly what we wanted.
And we loved the yard. We both love to sit and just look at our small yard. Thankfully a previous owner built on this small addition to the back of the house that opens up onto a deck/porch. It's just large enough to fit two chairs, a book shelf and a few end tables with a lamp. It's great for our quiet time in the mornings, visiting with people and my mother-in-law loves it. Actually, every one who visits loves this small room. As I said, it's small, but everyone loves to go to this room and sit around or stand at the entryway. It's quite an interesting phenomenon. They say most serious discussions end up in the kitchen, but in our house most discussions about anything seem to end up in that little add-on room.
I think it might be the view, though. The view from both swivel rocking chairs is of our small backyard. The north side has a line of ferns with a small tree (not sure what it is) in our yard that branches into the neighbor's yard as well. Along the north side of the yard is our small garage. I mean very small. Small-European-car small. Along the garage are hastas (I think) and vining roses that snaked up the white trellis this past summer. It was neat.
And on the south side of the garage, the yard extends back farther to a taller fence. Along this fence is our majestic tree, the stalwart sentry of the yard. I believe it's a silver maple or some sort of oak. I really need to look this up. Its beautiful yellow leaves have blanketed most of the yard now. And honestly, its not the best sentry because it provides easy access for varmints to get into our yard as it branches into the alleyway and next to cable lines. We don't mind squirrels and chipmunks. However, rraccoon opossums and skunks seem to lack certain social graces, though. And they love the area underneath our porch. They do tend to make things interesting, at least.
Along the south fence is a sidewalk that leads up to a latched wooden-door and kitty corner to the door is a small Joe-Pescia-in-Goodfellas-meets-Rasputin bush. Seriously, this thing is an unstoppable force of nature. When we first moved in, it was had covered over five feet of grass or so. With the help of a hedge clippers and other horticulture weapons mass cultivation, Heather and I reduced its Blago-hair to what we called the meth-head. That was a bit too far, so we decided to let it grow back to a good squarish size. We weren't sure it would grow back, but even with the horrible drought, it grew back to a nice size within a week. We have to keep it under very close surveillance.
Heather and I have worked on our yard a good amount. We have planted grass where the Blago-bush once lived, and it's already greening up the whole area. I must add, planting grass and seeing it grow and how that changes the landscape is a pretty inspiring thing. I felt so proud. I can grow grass!
I enjoy working in the yard, mowing and trimming bushes and the like. No, I don't always "like" it, especially when I have to do it after work, but there is nothing quite like that feeling afterwards. I often feel like the hard-working guy in a beer commercial who opens a beer and it makes that BUUUSSCHHH. Head to the mountains. Or to the deck chair.
The first time we really worked on the yard I remember thinking, "I get it now, Mom and Dad. I get it." When I was an insufferable jerk of a teenager, my parents had the toughest time getting me to help with the yard. I hated it. I didn't see the point. Just let it all go! Let it be wild. And while I wanted to sound philosophical, I really just wanted to be inside playing video games, watching MTV or hanging with friends.
And now I get it. I'm living in a suburb of Chicago with a small yard. Compared to the yards of my youth, it's a patch on a quilt. But it's our space with life. It's a small patch of earth where any sort of creature can sneak under a fence or crawl from a tree and play in our yard. The red, yellow and orange leaves are falling. And they will need to be raked because it will kill the grass. I get that now, mom and dad.
It will kill the grass.
