For most of the summer, I've been making little notes on a calendar about the weather conditions at my house as part of my record of what's growing, blooming and dying at any given moment.

For a long time, it seemed as though I was jotting down "rain" with a little smiley face at least once a week. The weather couldn't have been more perfect. Lawn experts say grass needs about an inch of rain a week, and ideally the grass should be watered deeply and infrequently. Nature was providing the perfect lawn watering schedule.

My lawn sprinklers sat idle, and after a few weeks, I stopped worrying about which section of grass was watered last and which needed attention next.

I let down my guard so far that I was taken aback Labor Day weekend when I rolled out the lawn mower and discovered how pale and crunchy the lawn had become. Even the crabgrass had lost its lime green color and thrown up seed stalks.

How long had it been since it rained? I couldn't remember. I couldn't even remember where I put that calendar with the smiley faces.

It's way too late to do anything about it now, of course. It's bad for a lawn to be forced into and out of dormancy - either you water it consistently all summer or just let it follow its natural cycle and stop growing in the summer heat.

Looking around my neighborhood, it's clear I'm not the only casual lawn waterer who was overwhelmed by the lack of rain. There are far more brown lawns than green ones around here this year, which is both unusual and heartening. The few green lawns look artificial and unnatural, especially where there is a stark line along a property line between tropical oasis and desert.

I mowed my lawn in record time. I even used a bag attachment to collect crabgrass seed, which was generally the only stuff tall enough to hit the mower blades.

Many of the trees in our neighborhood are stressed this year so we have an early display of fall color. Overall, it makes for a lovely effect: crisp fallen leaves on a backdrop of crisp, dormant grass. Meanwhile, there are still brilliantly red tomatoes and hot peppers in the garden and bright golden sunflower blossoms bending their heads over my front stoop.

In a different context, I would be self-conscious and guilty about my parched lawn. Yet when the rest of the neighborhood looks the same, I hardly even notice it. A dormant lawn is an easy lawn to maintain ... as long as it comes back.

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Julie Kirkwood's "Yard Dirt" appears weekly in the Home North section. Reach her by calling 978-946-2251 or via e-mail at jkirkwood@eagletribune.com.