I killed my lawn and lived to tell the story

the before picture.  a forlorn-looking expanse of bluegrass/ryegrass lawn with generous portions of creeping charlie.

This is a story told mostly in photos, because there's really no other way to tell it.  These are old photos, take in the spring and summer of 2009, the year we killed our front lawn.

The previous year our street had been under construction pretty much non-stop, with new sewers, gas lines, electric lights and new  curbs all being put in at the same time.  It was a massive construction project, wherein the city of St. Paul updated everything on and under our street in one fell swoop.  It was a horrible, dusty summer, and the whole neighborhood stayed indoors most of the time.

2009 was also the year that our kids turned one and two.  Our house was a chaotic mess of noise and diapers and annoyingly cheerful kids' music CDs.  It was also the year that the economy really tanked, and I spent more time that winter at home with the kids, as my work had asked me to not come in as often for a while.

When spring came, I needed a big project to get me out of the house. 

winter's subtle beauty

hoarfrost on leonard messel magnolia

touching the frost on the garden bench

This is the hardest time of year.  Winter is dragging on.  Everywhere it's either gray, crusty snow, or re-frozen glare ice, or, if you're lucky, slush.

I remember reading that the ancient Romans took days off of the month of February to add days to July and August, so that Julius and Augustus Caesar could have longer namesake months.  I think that maybe they also just wanted February to be over more quickly.