The bucolic primacy of the suburbs

A short excerpt from health happiness love longevity peace prosperity and safety


“Did you notice how quiet it was when we walked out this morning?” I say.

My daughter maintains her silence. Maybe better to ignore her until she’s fed.

I was impressed, though. With how much quieter it is here in San Jose than at my parents’ out in the middle of nowhere.

My parents’ property is at the midpoint in a long hill, and coal trucks run twenty-four hours a day, back and forth to the power plant. Empty trucks roar down the hill to get another load, the hollow metal banging against itself. Full trucks rev and downshift to get 120,000 pounds uphill as fast as possible. The diesel exhaust pours out and the noise fills the woods. The roads buckle and heave under the weight. But the lights stay on in that corner of the state.

October through January, hunting season is in full swing, and most guys who aren’t working are out in the woods with a gun trying to kill something. Sunup to sundown, the pop and crack of rifles echo back and forth.

You can walk back through the woods far enough that the trucks are a distant grinding, but then you realize you’re not covered in orange, and to the nearsighted your movement through the trees might be mistaken for game.

The trucks in San Jose stay mainly on the freeways. And gunfire is mostly east of the 101. Our neighborhood, nestled at the base of the Santa Cruz Mountains, is serene except for the occasional motorcycle or teenager with a car stereo. The sound of commerce is mostly the drone of traffic to Apple and Google. We fire our power plants with natural gas. Softball and cricket are how men test themselves. The primacy of technology provides a more pastoral life here in the city.