• by Stuart Hickox , August 3, 2011

September 1974 was a memorable month for me. Nixon got a pardon, everyone was talking about the price of gas, and I started school. The one-room schoolhouse across the field from my rural home in Winsloe, Prince Edward Island, had just been closed so I was among the first cohort to be loaded onto a big orange bus for the four-mile ride into Charlottetown, the capital, to the brand new consolidated school.

In addition to the remnants of intense separation anxiety I've irrationally re-lived every September since, I remember a few key details of that time: the itchy feel of rayon pressed against my face as a teacher consoled me with a tight hug, the sense of amazement at sparkling ceramic water fountains at kid height, and the checkerboard lawn. The lawn still teaches.

Just across the street from the school playground, a one-story red brick bungalow was surrounded by the nicest grass. It probably stood out for me because some of my neighbors still had hoof-pocked pasture for a yard, but even in this relatively prosperous downtown community, this lawn was different. It was more like a golf course, with short-cropped blue-green grass cut in perfect lines and brushed to look like a giant game surface. It defied the surrounding normal lawns in its unabashed perfection, and we kids knew without being told: stay off. Had we strayed, we would certainly have been betrayed by our own truant footprints.

In fact, over the six years I attended that elementary school, I never saw anyone on that lawn, or even attending to it. That is, until this week -- 37 years later. While on vacation last week in PEI, I decided to drive my little grade-one son past his dad's old school. Lots about the neighborhood had changed, but the checkerboard lawn was exactly the same. And there was Don Smith, treading lightly behind a behemoth brush mower. We pulled over immediately and I jumped out of the car for a chat.

Don didn't seem overly surprised when I told him that I'd been admiring his grass since the '70s. He explained that he was carrying on the tradition started by the previous owners, who had passed away over a decade ago. To maintain its manicured perfection, the half-acre lawn requires regular feeding, watering and a cut, brush and trim every two days during the 16-week PEI summer. I immediately thought: This guy can never go away for a weekend. Don was quietly proud of his work. He insisted that he never used herbicide or pest control products. His custom-built diesel-powered rotary mower was $14,000 new, but he got it used for $6,000. A real deal, he said. It had to be shipped to Nova Scotia twice a year for sharpening and maintenance.

I asked Don if anyone had ever stopped to ask about his lawn, or if the local paper had profiled his decades-long tradition. He screwed up his face with a puzzled look and asked, "Now why would anyone do that?"

We shook hands, he fired up the behemoth, and I tip-toed back to the car, careful as ever to respect the patterns.

What does this all mean? Some might suggest that we should try to change Don's behavior. His attitudes and values are clearly deeply entrenched and not easily swayed by pressures of cost or inconvenience. Suggesting that it's time to transition to drought-resistant native grasses or to embrace the subtle beauty of rampant dandelion are unlikely to work. Better, we could consider what makes Don tick, and consider how we could nurture such commitment to green choices and actions.

Don takes care of this lawn because he loves it. He remains committed to his pattern of behavior because it's a well-worn path that provides him with a sense of purpose and meaning that is only indirectly dependent on feedback from the outside world. Don knows his consistent effort gets noticed, but he doesn't actively seek validation or go out of his way to promote his way of doing things. I noticed that no other neighbors had similar lawns. And after 40 years, it's unlikely to go viral.

The lesson here is that broad social transformation to green or sustainable living may depend on how well we understand the commitment and values of people we may consider to be outside of traditional environmental circles. By focusing on what motivates people who are already choosing "green," we limit our reach. If we can understand Don, we're well on our way to a paradigm shift.

That will be a big challenge, but the good news is that these lessons and insights are everywhere, often where you least expect.