I was required to document all the leaks that I found, but the gas company only immediately fixed those leaks that were within five feet of an enclosure. Finding such “class 1s,” as they are known in industry parlance, initially gave me a little rush of excitement, followed by some vaguely defined sense of occupational satisfaction. “Hell, I may have even saved a life today,” I’d think to myself in early moments of naïve self-congratulation.

But over time, I learned a surprising truth: The bulk of the gas leaks identified are left leaking. Those between five to 15 feet from a house or structure would receive a check-up after six months. Leaks more than 15 feet from a building were noted but required no special attention. Many of the leaks persisted for years and even decades. My boss, a man of great professional dedication, was so familiar with the leaks on his turf that he kept their dates and locations locked in his memory. He could point to a circular burn in a nondescript suburban lawn as we drove past and say, “There’s another. I found that one 10 years ago.”

Given that much of suburban America is carpeted in turf grass, one of the most common signs of a gas leak is the circular burn patch that it produces in the lawn. The intersecting point of the “T,” where the household service line meets the main gas pipeline, is a common place for such burns to occur. Many homeowners try laying fertilizer and lawn food over the patch of dead grass, or replacing it with sod or new seed, but none of these measures can overcome the blemishes left by a natural-gas leak, the relentless foe in Americans’ obsessive quest for the perfect lawn.

Yet aside from the cosmetic defects they create, the majority of gas leaks pose little threat. Most people tend to become alarmed when they learn that there’s a gas leak on their property, but really, a gas leak in the middle of the lawn is no serious danger. Natural gas is only explosive when mixed in the air at a concentration between 5 and 15 percent. When it leaks into an enclosed space, like a basement, it can be a serious problem. And leaks that find their way into sewer lines also present potential hazards. But the likelihood of dying from a natural-gas explosion is slim.

On average, the United States loses 17 people a year to leaks and explosions involving natural-gas pipelines. Statistically speaking, you are more likely to die from autoerotic asphyxiation (which causes around 600 deaths each year) or falling out of bed (around 450 people) than gas explosions. Even deaths by lightning strike are more common, with 26 fatalities in 2014. Aside from their contribution to climate change, most natural-gas leaks pose little threat. And, for that reason, the gas company generally lets them be.

No matter how much work we do to police them, there will be gas leaks for as long as there are gas lines. Even if the number of people surveying and repairing gas lines drastically increased in the next year, old leaks would still persist and new ones would still appear. Much of our infrastructure is designed to channel substances that we can’t fully control: Water eats away at pipes, sewage clogs and bursts them, and gas inevitably escapes. This is what Andrew Pickering, a sociologist of science, described as the “dance of agency” between humans and the broader material world: To assume that we can fully control this world, he argued, is at best naïve, and at worst dangerous.