That sad-sorry-state isn't entirely my fault (I'm reject all responsibility for the gully-washers that semi-regularly take out the landscaping between the sidewalks and the street), but I must reluctantly claim ownership for at least part of the mangy-looking main lawn. We're Bermuda grass folks and my unwillingness to let Husband trim trees means the increasing canopy size has left our sun-loving Bermuda fighting a losing battle against the shade. I have planted and replanted grass seed in those spots. I have fertilized and plucked out any weeds. I have talked to it lovingly, and coaxed it to please, please, please grow some ground cover.
And still there has been nothing but hard, dry, dead dirt in those ever-enlarging spots.
You may ask why we don't just change the grass type to fescue, or some similar shade-loving variety, and I can answer that question with three letters: H2O. If we planted all fescue, we would have to water the lawn, and if we watered the lawn we could no longer justify not having water-savers in our showerheads, and if we watered the lawn AND took nice showery showers, the Midwestern guilt would be too much for us.
Or that was our stance until this week when the fabulous landscaping guy who is seeing what can be done about the washed-out strip between the sidewalks and street mentioned that he could fix those bare spots in the main lawn inexpensively and quickly. We wrote out a check before he could change his mind, and Tuesday I came home to the sight pictured above.
It's a lawn toupee.
Now it all makes sense. Donald Trump just needs more sunlight.