…in which I talk about the futility of lawn care in the Texas summer.
So, when I was growing up in Connecticut, we didn’t have a lawn at all. We lived in the deep woods surrounded by rich deciduous trees that would support nothing beneath their canopy but a thick layer of mulched leaves and moss. In those youthful days of frolicking in the rough, often brambly undergrowth of the New England forestry, I dreamed of nothing more than a lush green lawn with grass so thick it was like carpet that tickled your toes on warm summer days. What I got, however, was a house in Texas with a dry, desolate excuse for a lawn, with grass that is almost perpetually in hibernation.
