I'm not sure how to feel about Farfara's new lawn. (Mère Sycorax, looking at pictures of my new garden: "Would you really call that a lawn?" SP: "Yes." Mère Sycorax: "Really?") It's scraggly, starved, and unkempt. Except where it covers our vast septic field; there it's lush, verdant, and self-satisfied.
When D and I bought the house, we were somehow convinced that it was a small lawn. But we weren't taking into account the scale of greater Farfara's twelve acres. In fact, the grassy section is considerably larger than any lawn we would have gotten with a city lot.
I have to agree with John Green (in this, as in so many matters): lawns can be economic and environmental nightmares. And, anglophile though I am, I don't find them to be the most attractive landscape strategy. I'd like to keep just enough of Farfara's lawn to play bocce and croquet on. Let the rest be given over to fiddlehead ferns!
