My yard will never be on the cover of a magazine. No one will ever stop to admire it. No matter how much I rake or cut the grass, my yard is bland.

Since I live on a barrier island, it is just sand. Guess what. Weeds are about the only thing willing to take root in sand. I do have pine trees and a few oaks for shade. (Not the mighty oak of legend, but the squatty Live Oak of the coastal region.)

Every spring I drive slowly by the garden center with visions of filling my Suburban full of annuals and colorful perennials and bags of dark cedar mulch to surround my precious blooms.

But it is only a fantasy. There just never seems to be enough spare cash to do things for the yard. So I ride back home, dig out my rake and pruning shears and try to put lipstick on a pig.

Still there is a certain charm to my yard. I find it when I'm sitting on the porch swing with a glass of wine in my hand. From this vantage point on my porch, I can see through the squatty Live Oaks and tall swaying pines to where my children play basketball in the cul de sac.


So, you see, a little lipstick is all I need to make my yard appealing to me.