Urban residential trees vs. suburban commoditization
Earlier this week I trekked out to Downers Grove to attend a three-day training course. Perhaps it was there because Sun Microsystems thought that a location by an expressway interchange near the geographic center of Chicagoland would make it maximally convenient, or perhaps it was just the best real estate they could find to fit their requirements; in any case it required a commuting ordeal since neither the mass-transit nor the expressway systems are designed to easily move people (especially city dwellers) in that direction. That commute was excruciating–even though I was the driver only one of the three days! How do people do that every workday? I’ll have to remember that if I start to gripe about the walk to/from the train…even on a bitter cold day, it’s still better than being stuck in rush-hour traffic.
I found it interesting that our neighborhood seemed like such an urban oasis at the end of each day; it was something that went beyond the usual relief of finishing a workday. Liz sometimes laments that we seem so far away–no doubt, this neighborhood lacks the buzz of Lakeview. Yet, as quiet, residential, and lacking in the cultural amentities (read: lots of nearby bars, restaurants, and shops) as our street is, to me it feels distinct from the ’suburbs’ for reasons I couldn’t quite explain. It’s something more than just the green light poles and our determination to not be suburbanites. As I gazed out the living-room window today in that half-relaxation, half-procrastination reverie that so often pervades a Sunday afternoon, I saw a clue that solved the puzzle at least somewhat.
A mature horse chestnut tree.
Now it’s not only cliche but somewhat unfair to disparage the suburbs for the saplings and adolescent trees that demark new and recent developments, as that distinction will fade with time. Yet the maples and horse chestnuts that line our street mostly have two-foot-wide trunks and are taller than the two-story bungalows, which indicates that the area has had time for the natural comings and goings of the residents to establish a dynamic. These trees are set in front lawns that seamlessly merge from one to the next, forming a common space that neighbors mow without regard to property lines and the local kids use as one big play area. These trees line a street that is less dense with cars than our old area of two- and three-flats yet still requires careful navigation since it predates the dominance of the car culture. These trees stand in front of houses that are generally similar in appearance due to their era of construction yet are all subtly different in their brickwork and dormers and such. These trees are wayposts for walks to restaurants and shops that are fewer in number and farther away than we had in Lakeview yet still exist as unique institutions.
Contrast this with what I witnessed on this week’s suburuban jaunts. The suburbs are filled with similar-looking houses on lots designed to exude a sense of ‘my property’ (and still will be when the trees mature), placed on streets designed to maximize convenience for vehicles. Each morning many denizens of the suburbs climb into their cars, drive down industrial-sized roads and highways lined with strip malls and chain restaurants that repeat every few miles to reach gleaming–yet jarringly quiet–commercial parks that look almost identical to the ones by the next interchange. Almost everything about all of that just screams out separation and commoditization: people giving over their lives to mass-produced houses and offices and meals and culture, spending great amounts of time isolated within cars and fences. Almost everything has been built to the purpose of minimizing costs and maximizing repeatability.
Our new neighborhood shares with the suburbs a focus on the residential life, no doubt; we’re still learning the dynamics, and perhaps the extra effort required to take advantage of the North Side/Downtown culture will lead us to spend more and more time inside our property lines. Yet this area exudes a sense of distinctive place that is still sorely lacking in much of the sprawl that lies beyond the city limits; the eight miles that separate Norwood Park from Lakeview seems to hold more variation and personality than the 22 miles of bad road from here to Downers Grove. A quick look at the tree in our front yard is a reminder that no developer can simply create that urban personality from scratch, and being part of it may be worth the cost of fewer square feet or a bit more on the mortgage payment.