Is the backyard a failed experiment?

3 BR in Michigan for $379,900 // 1520 Catalina Ave, Ann Arbor, MI

In Why We Drive, writer and motorcycle mechanic Matthew B. Crawford lays out an argument for why he deems essential the ability to drive our own cars, rather than forfeit to automation what we do more poorly ourselves. As he explores the thrills of driving in today’s world, he focuses in on what it means to be human, and explains what the pursuit of driverless cars says about our society.

Driverless cars will finally solve the problem of moving people around with maximum efficiency, by ceding human control to impersonal algorithms. They promise to bring a messy, dangerous domain of life under control at last. Traffic jams will likely become a thing of the past, and accidents will be greatly reduced. So we are told, at any rate. In this we can detect a familiar pattern. Driverless cars are an instance of a wider shift in our relationship to the physical world, in which the demands of competence give way to a promise of safety and convenience. The skilled practitioner becomes a passive beneficiary of something more systemic, rendering his skill obsolete.

Crawford points to a larger trend in our techno-capitalistic culture, that of designing outcomes for safety, and friction-less efficiency.

Last week, we asked whether housing that shares space, such as bungalow courts, could aid individuals in their battle with loneliness, anxiety and depression. This week, we want to look at what we’d give up to provide for the kind of density to make that happen, our private backyards, and examine whether their original intention- as a respite from the city in all its forms, to barbecue with neighbors, or perhaps to throw a ball or build a fort — is still viable and necessary.

As we perused listings in Peoria, IL, Ann Arbor, MI or Des Moines, IA, a majority of yards contained an expanse of green grass with a storage shed. For this week’s issue, we’ll look at a yard filled with a productive garden, a shingled fort and an interior that speaks to the eclectic individuals that created it.

As we enter the home, we walk into a bright kitchen connected to a red living room, and casement windows that open with ease to let the air in. While Ann Arbor winters can be brutal, you wouldn’t know it looking at these pictures. In a typical home, you may find a living area focused on a TV or situated around a fireplace, but in this case, the sofa faces windows that frame the activity and beauty of the garden.

The creation of the backyard gained prominence after World War II, while Mid-century architects like Eichler and Frank Lloyd Wright prioritized privacy by moving the focal point to the back, away from the front porch. Is the backyard as important to our well being as the connection to our neighborhood, or is it another example of lofty vision surrendering to poor execution? Is it a place where we are most human and free, able to take risks in how we live? Or, is it merely a remnant of the American suburban typology that we’d rather trade for the benefits of density.

What about shared spaces, as we discussed last week — can they rival our backyards in function and beauty, while offering a connecting point with other neighbors that we wouldn’t get in spaces we curate ourselves?

As we walk out onto the back deck, we arrive at the heart of this home, perhaps the spot where this couple spent many of Ann Arbor’s cool summer evenings, watching the birds and insects thrive amongst the variety of flowering plants.

What can the backyard be? Seeing the variety of plants in this home reminds me of my grandmother, who upon stopping in for a surprise visit, we’d often find pulling, digging, trimming, pruning, or planting the latest find from the local nursery. For her, it was more than a hobby, as it engaged her senses and occupied her mind until her knees and joints wouldn’t allow it.

Our homes are experiments in multi-faceted complexity, and yards can appeal to the extremes of personalities — those that love to tinker, or enjoy bird watching, or engage in activities too risky for playgrounds, like trampoline-jumping, with their kids.

Can similar activities happen in community gardens, or within local neighborhood parks in which the design is driven by the local community? Or, will removing the backyard make us a “passive beneficiary” of gardens and playgrounds, forcing us to forego an activity that is deeply ingrained and makes us feel most alive and human?

Further Musings

If we want to visualize a future where suburban backyards no longer exist, Australia presents an interesting case study. In the 1950’s, Australian yards were seen as a necessary respite from city life, providing places for “cubby houses”, trees, manicured gardens, and areas to kick a ball. In the late 90’s, planning regulations required homes contain an area smaller than a double garage. As a result, the backyard is gradually disappearing, resulting in a “ peculiarly Australian phenomenon “, as countries in Europe and North America continue to build them.

Houses in Alkimos — Perth, Australia

In one view, the loss of the Australian backyard was due in part by shifting attitudes about what’s important.

People are busier and don’t have two hours to cut the lawn or plant up beds like they might have in the past, while children are still active but that activity is now more structured, like sports training, so they use gardens less.

Like the car, is the backyard succumbing to the quest for efficiency in our ever busy schedules and desire for formational experiences for our kids?

Personally, I’m torn. I have at times pushed back against the need for a backyard for our own family in favor of public spaces. But as of a year ago, we live in a house with a decent-sized yard. Just this week, we were gifted a trampoline by neighbors that were moving away. As I was jumping with my 6-year old and 3-year old and ruminating over this week’s article, I couldn’t help but begin building a case for the inherent joys and possibilities that backyards can contain. I even discussed with a neighbor that my only chance at preventing our kids from device addiction is to create compelling reasons (like the slack-line in our front yard) for active play outside. There are other examples of families creatively using their yards to create a semi-public space, such as this one — their yard became another world where kids were given autonomy, an ability to take risks, and engage in unstructured play, proving extremely popular for the neighborhood kids

What about public spaces? Can they compel people of diverse ages, backgrounds and ethnicities to gather, and instill values of inclusion, or even make us sensitive to each other in ways that social media seems particularly unable to do?

As we struggle with this tension, we’re left wondering what other trade offs happen when the housing supply is market driven, specifically for populations that are often forgotten. Next week, we want to discuss this phenomenon facing baby boomers in the decade to come.

Originally published at https://buttondown.email.