Angst in the Suburbs

Hundreds or thousands of years from now, a different civilization may excavate the ruins of one of our current suburbs and scratch their heads in wonder as to how such a society could function. Hypothesis might abound, until the unearthing of a garage with a petroleum fueled automobile. Subsequent speculation, would revolve around why a civilization so well endowed with knowledge, would seek to balance its entire future on such a precarious pedestal as one ephemeral resource.

In the long history of human cities, stretching back to Çatalhöyük in 5700 B.C. E. or so, humans have primarily congregated close together in urban conglomerations that made life manageable and more efficient. That is until the automobile, fueled by a nascent resource, began a century of spreading humanity sprawling across the land. Henry Ford and his mass produced automobile along with visionaries like Frank Lloyd Wright and his utopian Broadacre City, set the United States on a course toward spreading itself out into communities that are only sustainable as long as there is cheap fuel.

The author, as a former resident of Manhattan who currently lives in a semi-rural area in Connecticut, is able to compare and contrast different realities through the prism of his life experiences. He castigates much of the current environmental boilerplate as still being less green than a concentrated urban core. Many green technologies and practices while good, can still be sullied by their existence in an unconcentrated location. While a LEED certified green building looks good surrounded by verdant landscapes, the same technology is compounded when fixated within compact settlements. Older an more concentrated cities have much to teach us about how to live more sustainably. Simply the concentration of human living and activities creates efficiencies that are lacking in more diffuse human settlements. High on the list are the compounding efficiencies created by concentration that obviates the need for automobiles.

A few years ago, I had the good fortune to visit Manhattan. Cloistered within the neon canyons of Times Square, I set out with a compass and no map to negotiate the urban jungle. The author spends a good deal of time talking about the perception of distance. If I had tracked my mileage, walking to every corner of the island, it would have been considerable. In fact, one afternoon walk took me down Lexington nearly to downtown, up 1st Avenue to the Upper West Side, across to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, circumnavigating and bisecting all of Central Park before finally walking back to Times Square. What might have been fifteen, twenty or more miles of walking seemed much less than a walk I took  two days ago from Bismarck to retrieve my car in Mandan: a paltry seven miles. Would I walk Manhattan again? Yes, Manhattan miles are ensconced with every imaginable human want or desire. Within a few Manhattan miles exists a lifetime of human ecosystems to explore. Will I walk to Mandan again? Not unless I really have to.

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