To the back yards we've called our own, a toast.

I've spent my entire adult life in the suburbs, living the "American dream" and all that, and I'm tired. Maintaining the dream takes a lot of upkeep, it turns out, so we've decided to cash out and try something new. In a couple weeks, we move to downtown Des Moines—to a row house with no yard, no snow shoveling, no mowing, no raking leaves, no flower beds to maintain. Maybe just some potted plants on the rooftop patio. I can handle that.

A few days ago I was in our garage, assessing all of the tools and gadgets that are about to be kicked to the curb. Or kicked to Craigslist. Whatever. As excited as I am about this move, an unexpected wave of nostalgia caught up with me as I considered life without a back yard. And so, a short homage to the four back yards we've called our own over the past 20 years:

The tiny back yard of our townhouse on Country Club Lane in Denton, Texas. So excited to have this space, we dug up a small section and planted a garden! The biggest achievement of this agricultural endeavor was a 2-inch-long carrot.

The back yard of our house on Daffodil Lane in Lewisville, Texas. (It's like we were choosing homes based on charming street names.) What WASN'T charming about this back yard was the TRAIN that rumbled by, just on the other side of our back fence... many times a day. Horn a-blowing. We should have asked for more clarification about the train's "occasional" schedule before we moved in. Miserable, yes, but we still laugh about it, so there's that.

And then the move to West Des Moines, Iowa, and the back yard of our house on Aspen Drive, where neighborhood kids gathered, and where my dad built a treehouse for our two little boys. Where the owners after us tore down that tree and treehouse, and broke my heart.

Our current back yard on Jordan Drive, which has hosted many happy Midsummer Margaritavilles, and where our upper-elementary kids somehow played baseball with their friends, even though they had to adapt the shape of the diamond to fit the shape of the yard. They didn't seem to be bothered by this. Kids are so adaptable.

Happy memories? You bet. But gone are the days of kids playing in our yard, and it's time for a new chapter. Time to turn over a new leaf! No leaf blowers or bagging required.