In 2005 I killed my front lawn. It wasn’t negligence or ignorance. It was premeditated, cold-spirited, calculated murder. It’s not that I don’t appreciate turf grass. It most certainly has its benefits, both visually and functionally. But there were too many downsides for me. It required considerable water during the heat of summer, which was both impractical and expensive here in Fort Collins, Colorado, where annual rainfall averages a meager 15 inches. My front lawn was also susceptible to fungal diseases, fairy ring in particular. It collected dead spots where passing dogs had mistakenly marked it as their territory. And it required loud and obnoxious weekly mowing, which upset the serenity of a neighborhood tucked peacefully against the Rocky Mountain foothills.
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