|My plan is to glare at the plants until they grow.|
Fortunately for me, the responsibilities of my office are quite manageable due to the domination of 3/4 our vast territory by a particularly robust strain of fescue grass. Our native tall fescue may not be particularly beautiful and may often be mistaken for crabgrass, but it does have its virtues. The fescue is 1) tough enough to withstand the seriously hot North Carolina summers and 2) green.
|This grass is just spoiling for a fight.|
Unfortunately, the other 1/4, and the 1/4 of the yard in the front of the house and facing the street is under the shade of trees and is currently a grass-less wasteland. It is with heavy heart that I now realize that the Spirit Rover likely never made it to Mars, but is lost in vast seas of sand and rock in our front yard.
My mission is to bring life to that barren rock. Our neighbors say it cannot be done, that previous attempts to terraform the land have been all for naught. It is a desperate mission, but one that I must undertake. I'm sure we'll see results in no time.