Lawn gone.

Looking over old blog entries from two or three years ago, I realized how obsessed I used to be with the lawn. Every spring and summer it was:

• How can I stop it from being crappy? 
• Why is it so crappy? 
• Whom can I blame for my lawn's crappiness?
• Can I burn the lawn to ashes with kerosene and not take out the house?

Not so much anymore. It still irks me severely that, despite the weed & feed stuff that I put down every year, when August rolls around there's always more weeds than grass. Always.

Awesome.

But I've had to try to make peace with it. First, because I am not going to water the lawn every night. It is not going to happen. My dad did it on our tiny front lawn when I was a kid, but I have more property since I am not in the city and I am not going to spend money and water on this. As if I had the time.

Second, and more important, these last two summers I have had this huge dog.

You may have heard me mention him before.

Tralfaz is a big boy. He does not destroy the yard by digging; not his thing. And yet, with his acidic streams of gold and his legendarily large poops, the lad could knock out half a roll of sod's worth of grass in one day. The brown spots may lead to great green spots next year, but this year? Fertilizer burn.

So there's no point in getting myself in a pet over things I can't control, or could try to fix only with an enormous effort I do not wish to expend. I'd love the lawn to look like place where they slap green jackets on golfers, but it's never going to be that way.

And yes, I thought about paving the whole blasted thing and calling it a rock garden, but you need a lot of Roundup to keep the grass out. Grass only grows where you don't want it, you know. It's coy that way.