Farming Worthless Crops, Sitting Down

Yesterday's Washington Post had an article about the downward turn of riding mower sales that had me in out-loud fits of laughter. It starts out, The riding lawn mower has long been a barometer of the American dream, been a symbol of having arrived in the suburban middle class. It says, "I have so much lawn to mow, I need to sit down."

It says, I've made it, I've escaped that funky old rowhouse neighborhood with the asbestos siding and yards like dirt-scabs. My land, my spread, not enough to plow, but way too much to mow the old-fashioned way. It says, I'm Jefferson's dream of the yeoman farmer. It says, I'm rich enough to not only raise a worthless crop, but to pay money for the privilege. It says, I'm a boy with a boy's rightful toys; a real American man. A real American man, indeed.

Is it possible that Americans are so saturated with the agrarian dream that they are glad to criss-cross an endless lawn on top of a miniature facsimile of the real-deal tractor? The suburban-agrarians can stand in their driveways and look over the expanse of lawn and feel like they are a part of the earth. The writer of the article notes the center of gravity [in Faquier County (yeah, say it out loud and snicker!)] shift from genuine dairy, cattle and horse farmers to affluent people who like to think they have purchased agrarian virtue along with the views of the Blue Ridge foothills from their non-trivial acreage.

Purchase agrarian virtue? Ha! If they only knew that agrarian virtue included things like thrift, moderation, mutual help, neighborliness, animal husbandry, and a care for the land as if one is part of the earth. These virtues are hardly played out in the suburban sprawl of McMansions sitting upon five acres in Faquier County and across the nation.