I love my sod. I went outside early this morning and walked barefoot across it, allowing the dew-covered blades to tickle my toes.
It was heavenly.
The back yard never had any coverage to speak of - just dirt, some weeds, maybe a few valiant blades of grass trying to make a go of it.
But now, now there is sod. Of the highest caliber. Grass as dense and fine as anyone could ever ask for. I feel like I live on a golf course now. And not some ordinary, run-of-the-mill public course either, but a high-fallutin' private course. Sweet.
That, of course, has got me worried. Worried about bugs, fungus, drought, and the dreaded lawn blight. Worried about lawn blight. Does a real man worry about lawn blight? Probably not. I have become less of a man, due to more of a lawn.
But man o' man, what a gorgeous lawn it is. Or rather more appropriately, area rug of lawn on my backyard of dirt.
What really makes it special is the work required to make it happen. I didn't actually grow the grass, but I lugged the sod around and have been nurturing it for what, a week now? That's worth something right there.
That's right. I'm a sod nurturer, and damn proud of it.
On another note, I was finally able to get a booth at the Brass Armadillo. John and I put the Thomasville dining room in there last night, and today I will load it up with a ton o' stuff to sell. Yay!
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