“Don’t worry. Soon enough the element will be gone.”
He said this to me as we stood in my front yard. He was a landscaper, and I really needed his expertise.

When my partner and I bought a house with a half-acre lot, we didn’t know what we were in for. Our inexperience with yard maintenance and beautification showed. People often commented on the state of our yard—none were impressed by what they saw. Their remarks usually came with advice about improvements we could make. So when a friend offered their landscaper's contact information, we jumped at the chance to get some professional help.
On the day of the landscaper's visit, I felt hopeful. Before his comment about "the element," we chatted about grass, shrubs, trees, and how redesigning the outdoor space could increase my home's value. I admitted that I was completely new to gardening and nervous about keeping plants alive. He assured me he could help.
Then he made his comment about “the element.”
I immediately had a sinking feeling about what he meant by "the element." You see, I'm a white person who moved into an area where mostly black and brown people live and own homes. The landscaper was white too. I'd heard about this side of the city's reputation—that it's dangerous, that home values don't increase here, that white people, like me, generally avoid it.
I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt though—I couldn’t lump his comment in with what I’d heard from other white people just because he’s white too. After all, wouldn't a professional hoping to gain a new customer be more careful with racist ideas? I tried my best to think of other possible meanings behind what he said.
I knew almost nothing about nature or yard care. Maybe "the element" was some kind of landscaping or gardening jargon…
Since it was early fall, and he gestured toward the trees along my property line while saying "the element," perhaps he meant the leaves that would soon blanket the ground…
My partner and I had never maintained a yard before, nor had we needed to consult a landscaper or anyone knowledgeable about plants. Maybe "the element" was just his way of referring to those sad-looking dead patches of grass on our lawn, and he was kindly letting me know he could help bring them back to life…
Confused and uneasy, I tried my best to find any other innocent meaning behind his words.
The landscaper caught what must have been a bewildered look on my face. He smiled and elaborated, "You don't have to worry because these people will all leave soon and you'll get new neighbors." There was no mistaking it now—"the element" he referred to were my black and brown neighbors. My initial gut feeling turned out to be right.
The realization hit me with a wave of sadness. My black partner and brown children weren't home at the time. Since we met outside, he hadn't seen any photos or evidence of my mixed-race family. He had simply assumed that because I'm white, I must share his views about black and brown people. He was unknowingly disparaging my own family.
What he said reflected something deeper. His impromptu remarks showed me how white people here expect other white folks to view my neighborhood and family—not as valued community members, but as people they hope will eventually leave. This moment helped crystallize the racial reality of my new city—truths I wish didn't exist.
While it’s a general pattern that’s been confirmed over and again throughout my life—white people assuming other white folks they know will share—or at least not challenge—their denigrating ideas about black and brown people. What surprised me was how openly and casually white folks here express such views to another white person they've just met—someone they're looking to build a professional relationship with.
I’m willing to bet he wouldn't have voiced those thoughts had he known about my family's racial makeup. Though this kind of overt racial presumption was unfamiliar to me at the time, it would become one of many sad encounters with racism that my mixed-race family would face in this city we now call home.
While I don’t quite remember how I responded to the landscaper that day, it’s probably no surprise that we didn’t end up working with him. We actually managed to improve our yard on our own — so much so that a neighbor with one of the nicest-looking lawns complimented our work during his daily walk past our house.
These days, our yard may not be perfectly manicured, our neighbors — who we’ve come to know and who are still very much part of the community — don’t seem to mind.
Wow Jessica. When you started the story, I was like, "what is an element?" Much love to you and yours.