Perfection World

It became inescapably obvious to me (and the dog,) on our walk this morning--Olde Severna Park is not the same neighborhood I moved into almost 20 years ago.

The most obvious change is the houses themselves, structurally. I cannot deny that we were, to a certain extent, the trendsetters where changing the character and size of an original OSP house is concerned. Yes. We took a modest 1947 Cape Cod and transformed it--over the course of more years than I care to count--into a large, but not huge, Arts and Crafts Bungalow. It has been in most ways an extremely painful process. Far more painful than we ever imagined. But I can also say this about our house: It is the vision, design, labor, and craftsmanship of a connoisseur of the style. The two of us have invested more blood, sweat, and tears into this structure than most people would care to sacrifice. I’m not saying this with pride necessarily, but more to try to make a distinction between why we have this transformed house, and what is going on with the rest of the neighborhood.

Today it struck me with razor-sharp clarity that there are two types of houses in OSP. The done, and the not done.

I’m trying to say this with as much caution and tact as I can muster, because I know many fine people who live in neighborhoods that don’t interest me. I would call them the mini-mansion neighborhoods. They overwhelm me in their sameness, perfection, and sterility. I don’t doubt that the houses are in some way stamped with the personalities and character of the inhabitants. But I don’t see it in a casual drive-through.

On the plus side, OSP could not become a mini-mansion community. The houses were built individually over the years, and none particularly resemble any of the others in style or design. So, as they grow bigger, they grow bigger individually, maintaining their differentness. But here’s what distinguishes them from my house: When they go under the renovator’s knife, they change fast and they become perfect. There is not one that is not photo-ready for its spread in Better Homes and Gardens. Which brings me to the landscaping.

At a high school reunion last year, I chatted most of the time with a man whom I’d known as a kind of awkward, out-of-place kid. Now he was a friendly, successful, and confident landscape designer. I expressed surprise when he told me about the scale of the residential projects he designs and implements. I was shocked that people routinely put 10 or 20 thousand dollars into lawn perfection. Now I’m not. I see it everywhere, every time the dog and I walk down the street. Nothing--not a weed, not a pansy, not a hosta--is out of place. And you would know, because places are well marked by sharp, mulched borders, and perfectly arranged trees and shrubs of uniform size. Dr. Seuss would have been proud. Or not. Dr. Seuss’s world had an organic feel that my neighbors’ lawns, in all their perfection, lack.

You could argue that I’m jealous because my lawn looks like, well, the semi-neglected old style. The style that another landscaper I once met referred to, slightly disdainfully, as Cottage Garden.

Our house--at least the renovated parts--are not old. And yet by now it’s starting to look like it falls into the not done, category. Because of the yard. Because of the cobwebs on the front porch. Because of the scruffiness of the not-quite-complete shingling. Because of the chickweed, dandelions, violets, and you-name-it that grow unchecked where the done houses have only the greenest grass. I mow it. But I cringe when I see those little yellow signs sticking out of my neighbors’ perfect grass that say “Pesticide application! Stay off or you and your dog and your children and your descendants for 3 generations to come will die slow and painful deaths!”

I wonder how long until I feel squeezed out by the encroaching Stepfordness of OSP. And then I wonder if there’s any such place where I would feel right. And if I felt right, would it change? Probably. I still mean to get one of those little lawn markers that says “This lawn safe for children, animals, and bare feet, as long as you don’t mind stepping on sticks.