Our grass here in Texas is only "for show". Tom and I maintain it, regularly watering and weeding and treating and mowing and edging, because we like how a well-kept lawn makes our house look (and because our homeowners' association requires us to do so), not because we regularly utilize the square footage as extra living or playing space. If you've never set foot in our grass, consider yourself lucky - the thick, coarse blades feel rough and even sharp on your feet, and angry fire ants and other critters call it home.
This sounds silly and kind of boring, but every summer I find myself missing my Midwestern/Northern grass. The kids and I want to run barefoot through the yard (who wears shoes in the summer?!), but we won't leave the safety of the patio without shoes on our feet. We want to lay on our backs in the grass to watch the clouds roll by during the day and the stars come out at night, but we refuse to deal with the inevitable aftermath. (I realize this makes us sound wimpy, but in our defense, Will, Hallie, and I are all allergic to mosquitos and fire ants. Tom gets bit and barely notices; the kids and I get bit and swell and itch for days.)
In Wisconsin, as well as all of the other Midwestern and Northern states in which I've lived and to which I've traveled, the grass is soft and inviting, like a plush carpet or a sandy beach. Just looking at it makes me want to kick off my flip flops and frolic. Or, as I did when I popped up to Illinois for a couple of days two weeks ago, lie down for a quick catnap.
What an amazing feeling. And my grass angel looked pretty awesome too.