Civilization’s Revenge
Less than six months after I went on the record in favor of trailblazing other people’s lawns, someone has taken to cutting across my lawn—or backyard, since “lawn” isn’t really a word that describes the lot around my house—to get to Friendship Street from First Avenue and vice versa. Put aside the surprise you imagine I feel when I am changing the baby’s diaper only to look up and see some guy strolling between the house and the clothesline. Think instead on the philosophical dilemma I’m faced with! Do I confront the guy to say, “Man, it really freaks us out to see you walking across our backyard; can’t you just take the sidewalk?” Or do I respect the efficiency of his idea and adopt an ethic of hospitality, perhaps even invite him in for cookies?1 I’m caught between the Siren’s song of capitalism and the opium dream of Woody Guthrie—what should I do?
1 Neither choice got especially easier when I was hanging clothes on the line last weekend and the guy turned the corner from Friendship Street into our yard and started walking right toward me. I was startled and not a little flabbergasted. I stared. When he got close, he muttered something—I later realized he had said “It’s really hot out here”—and I didn’t say a word. Stood there with my mouth agape. I must have looked to him like an imbecile. When I saw him cutting through the yard again yesterday, I almost reciprocated his weathertude with one of my own, but I stopped short: he was the one now staring, but straight ahead, not at me—he was ignoring me!
