once, in the most pristine HOA community created in God's suburbs, there lived a topiarist. And not just any topiarist, but the finest topiarist in all of suburbia: head of the topiary society, master in the topiary guild, and hedgemaster of the institute for applied topiarastry. Now, in addition to being the most skillful topiarist in all the land, he was known for his affected folksy demeanor, and the iron gardening glove by which he controlled the topiary industry. A bully in his field and ferns on his lawn, whenever new blood tried to muscle in on his business, he used dirty tactics to keep them in line. Yes lawyers were deployed when he noticed new competition modeling their leafy sculptures after his work (copywrite inferngement is brutal stuff). And when that failed he'd employ what you might call lowyers: moles, voles, and mercenary garden gnomes to commit root crimes against the bushes of budding business opponents. All the tools that money could buy were deployed against his business rivals.
But one day, a new family rolled into town. And they did something terribly wretched to that titan of topiary. They moved to the beautiful house just across the street from our illustrious hedgemaster, and they rewilded their lawn! Neither hedges nor yard would do for them. No, they planted wildflowers, local flora, indigenous bushes, and budding beanstalks on their lawn. And worst of all they did it without paying a dime! They didn't put any money into the local lawn economy at all! That would not do for our landed gentry of green growing things, our baron of the bush, our high-minded hierophant of the hedge. But he had a problem. There were no topiarists involved in the lawn of these nasty neighbors, these ignorant intruders; so there was little that leverage or lawyers could do for him to exert his eminent influence over them.
So he went straight to the moles, voles, and all those other underworld denizens digging in the ground for - well you get the idea. However to his horror he found that moles, voles, and foul-mouthed garden gnomes had already taken up residence on the loud-lawned yard! They liked digging there, they said! It was rich with worms and humus and nutrients. There was no fussy foliage but instead the hardiest and heartiest of horticultural habitats. The plants there seemed to like the presence of these dastardly and devious things that dug!
Thwarted and bemused, that folksy businessman trotted down, past the shaggydog his new neighbors let play in their yard, all the way to the HOA offices to see what he could do. There our shrub statuarist said they were stinking up the place with flowers, violating with their violets, offending with their orchids, grandstanding with their garden grotesqueries, and quite frankly being unbecoming with their un-urbane un-suburban practices.
Now that head of the HOA was a close friend of our skipper of shrubbery, and quite sympathetic to his plight. That head of the HOA promised he'd drown the new neighbors in so many fines, citations, tickets, and public complaints that they'd have to mend their ways (and hopefully hire the hedgemaster for the work they'd need done).
Satisfied with his schemes, our hero decided to take his family on vacation. He'd let the HOA do its work, he'd get much needed relief, and come back in a month or so to reap his just rewards.
So off he went, to Southwest Virginiesseelaska to visit the good old country and the folks who dwelt there, who in his younger years taught him the secrets of his craft.
In the meanwhile the head of the HOA tightened up his tickets and began to march his way down to the new neighbors home. But as he marched past a great lawnmower managing the massive yard of one of the many micro-mansions in their community, a spray sprig of cut grass was kicked into the air where the head of the HOA promptly inhaled it, choked, and died.
The new head of the HOA inherited the position from her father. And she was not friendly with the folksy topiarist. She had once been an aspiring artist of the hedges herself. He'd driven her out of business and into HOA management like her father before her. She "misplaced" the fines and called it a job well done.
Meanwhile a little lawn rebellion was forming. Folks all across the HOA saw the bees coming to the wildflowers of those nice new neighbors' lawn. They saw their own little gardens prospering at the presence of pleasant pollinators. They saw just how cheap it was to not have to hire a horrid horticulturalist to construct mazes of maize and hemlock for their lawns. And so quickly the rewilded. They shared seeds with the new neighbors. They let the worms, snails, moles, voles, bees, and other such fauna run rampant across their once artfully artificial yards. They shared time together under the sun, swapping stories, songs, squashes, and stews. They learned to love each other in that little community.
But then the topiarist came home to see the fruits of his labors. And what did he say when he found his business ruined by a spirit of community?
"Hey jimminy! My hedge money hegemony!"
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