More cold blooded than Dick Cheney. More vicious than Dick Cheney. More looming than Dick Cheney. A bigger pain in my ass than Dick Cheney. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...
Assuming you count each blade of grass as a victim, that tree has a body count Mengele would envy. Now I will freely admit that I was complicit. After numerous summers eyeing water bills the way I now eye my 401(k), I basically said, "Fuck it. Whatever happens, happens." And thus began the August of telling the lawn to nut up and survive on its own.
The result was more tan than you can find on George Hamilton. So this year I am replanting. Did you know what happens when you google "grass for dry shade"? I do now. You get a loooong list of the plants you might want to try instead of planting grass.
So over the Memorial Day Weekend, I spent some quality time with the new Decemberists' album on my iPod and The Lovely and Talented Mrs. Pedant's Weasel. No, not THAT weasel. I spend all my time with THAT weasel. I mean her Garden Weasel. Breaking up and aerating the aforementioned (alleged) lawn. So that I could put down the started fertilizer and seed. Which took about one tenth of the time the weasel took.
Anyway, we'll see what happens. If overplanting doesn't work, then I'm really stuck. I'll have to till and completely reseed. Which will suck. Or I could plow the crops under and plant Hostas. We'll see.