Building a Rain Garden Across Property Lines
By: Patrick Muller
Tags: Neighbors, Innovation, Beauty, Borders, Communication

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash.

Introduction: The Distortion of Identity

The grocery stores I frequent have an “ethnic” aisle. They you can find Mexican, Chinese, sometimes even Italian food. I find that interesting — people so ensconced in their hegemonic whiteness think the rest of the store is non-ethnic. But New England pot roast and BLTs and sweet corn are just as (white) ethnic as anything else.

I’ve seen the rain garden, and it is beautiful.

It’s hard for a majority individual (of any identity: sex, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, race, age, national origin, and so on), in any hegemony, to be conscious of themself and their privilege. The majority individual doesn’t seem to have any boundaries as every myth and ritual and tradition and narrative in the culture supports and enables them. (Think of how in Christian-heritage America, a Christian employee will automatically get Christmas off, while a Sri Lankan-American) employee will have to take vacation to celebrate Diwali.) And many people — minority or majority — like to think their identities are preordained immutable biologies rather than the dynamic constructed conversations they are.

These kinds of thoughts make boundaries seem real, rigid, and impenetrable.

But this is all hogwash.

The impoverishment of borders was overturned.

Even a cell membrane (wall) allows communication and interaction

Wikipedia.

When scientists first began to investigate the cell wall of humans, they thought the border was a solid line designed to hold all the contents of the cell in. Then they learned the cell wall was two layers — but still solid and holding all the contents in. Finally, scientists came to their fluid mosaic model. There were many components in the cell wall — proteins, lipids, and so on. There were channels in the wall that allowed very prescribed elements to pass in and out of the cell. The cell wall was no longer a simple, solid, and rigid entity that was impenatrable. It was dynamic and allowed communication.

Even so, humans love their borders and their categories. It makes it easy, doesn’t it, though not accurate, to stick people in boxes and push them behind lines, and tell ourselves we know everything about them and have them all figured out. But I’d like to share a few examples with you of how an affection with borders impoverish rather than enrich us.

Let borders be sites of communication and interaction

Photo by Clay LeConey on Unsplash.

I was in a small-town library (in Wellman.) After my research there, I wanted to go to another small town, Kinross, seven miles away and, I thought, a straight shot down the highway. I asked a young library staff member to confirm sense of directions. He could tell me nothing.

I was incredulous. How could someone in a small town not know about another small town only seven miles away and straight down the highway? Then I realized there was a border that was blocking knowledge and awareness.

It was a county line, a social construction to be sure and an important border in our mentalities and daily practice.

Kinross (far left) in Keokuk County; Wellman (far right) in Washington County

Wellman was in Washington County. Kinross was in Keokuk County. People in Wellman would go to the town of Washington for county seat business. People in Kinross would go to the town of Sigourney for county seat business. Young people in Kinross would go to school at a school district in Keokuk County (English Valleys School District.) Young people in Wellman would go to Mid-Prairie School District in Wellman. Though people in Kinross and Wellman might live only miles apart, they would not interact on a daily basis. That county line on the map coerced their attentions and interactions to be separate.

This explains, in significant part, why this young man in Iowa County did not know hardly anything about a town only seven miles away in another county.

The impoverishment of borders.

Another small town not far from Kinross and also in Keokuk County is South English. There is a decaying, small opera house built in the late 19th Century in South English. These opera houses were prevalent centers of activities and demonstrations of hipness in Iowa prairie times.

This took some courage and some imagination because people are so willing to be slaves to their property lines.

4.5 miles to the north of South English is North English. (These towns are along the English River.) North English is in another county, Iowa, with a county seat of Marengo.

I was visiting a small historical museum in North English. Talking to a couple that was also there, I told them about the opera house in South English. They had not ever seen it. They didn’t even know about it.

Opera House; South English, Iowa.

There was a highway bypass that went on the outskirts of South English. To discover the opera house, you have to get off the highway and drive into town. The couple were kicking themselves for not getting off the beaten path.

But they also didn’t know about the opera house because, even though it was only a few miles away, it was on the other side of the county line border. The couple’s attention was framed by the county lines. They lived in Iowa County and took their county business and shopping and dining to the county seat, Marengo. South English, in Keokuk County, would never be much on their radar.

And so they missed out on the neat little opera house.

The impoverishment of borders.

In the southeast part of Iowa City, Iowa there was a small section of land with a natural depression that always captured and held more rain water. It was the perfect spot for a rain garden. Unfortunately, the land section spanned one of the “meanest” borders of all — the residential property line.

A couple of humans crossed a line, and enrichment and beauty ensued.

Photo by DJ Paine on Unsplash.

A rain garden could go there, but only with neighborly collaboration. If one neighbor nurtured a rain garden on half the land, that attempt would be defeated or diluted by the other neighbor doing nothing or doing something else with her section of land. The neighbors got together and collaborated on the full section of land crafted into a rain garden.

This took some courage and some imagination because people are so willing to be slaves to their property lines.

I’ve seen the rain garden, and it is beautiful.

The impoverishment of borders was overturned.

A couple of humans crossed a line, and enrichment and beauty ensued.