Can't Shake the Lawn Monkey off my Back

One of my most outspoken gripes against suburbia has always been the homogeneous, green lawns in front of all the homes. The street of my childhood was the worst offender. The keeping up with the Jones' lawn game was played at such a high level that it morphed into a mind-numbing traffic jam of landscapers and yard workers.
The strange, green glow emitted from these perfect lawns symbolized all that I found wrong with suburbia: intolerance of differences, boredom and egos based on financial status. I fantasized of burning obscenities in our front lawn grass just to scandalize the neighborhood.

Now, so many years later I sit on my acreage in Alaska, looking at my pseudo-lawn. At first I was so proud of how easily I could accept this field of dandelions, chick-weed, crab grass, dog burn spots and baby cottonwoods. I thought I was above the Suburban status quo!

Then the unspeakable happened--I began watering the dog burn spots. Next, I pulled the chickweed patches and planted arctic grass. Last summer I began obsessively mowing off the thousands of yellow dandelion heads that kept popping up throughout June. Oh I loved seeing the neat & tidy look of the freshly cut lawn.
What has been happening to me?? Why can't I shake the need to have a tidy green lawn?
I refuse to go down the path of weed and feed, but isn't the neatness I crave almost as bad?

After some thought, I surmised that somehow it is deeply embedded in me that an untidy lawn symbolizes laziness. It is something within me, that I won't easily shake. It's certainly not for the sake of conformity, especially when my current neighbors idea of lawn care is moving a rusty car from one end to the other. I suppose it is an interesting example of how your childhood environment can't easily be untaught. So I will continue to be a slave to the green beast.