Utterly and completely nasty. Foul.
Imagine, if you will, the fetid aroma of powerful body odor. Then throw in my old summer camp cabin-mate's pungent leather tennis shoes (the ones she wore all summer, sans socks, though we begged her to stop), and an over-powering rancid aroma of morning-after garlic breath. (Too bad blogs don't have a scratch-n-sniff feature... or maybe not.)
Yes, my friends, that is the dubious miracle that is:
You see, I miss our old yard. I even miss our old house. Well, no, to be honest, not so much the house. (I miss the old $480/month mortgage payment, but those days will never come again.) But I miss the dirt. We had beautiful, beautiful soil. Yep, you heard me. Beautiful soil. Everything grew there! I had vegetables. I had raspberries. I had fruit trees. I had roses - lovely golden roses. And you know what I didn't have?
The soil here is hard and dead. It's mostly clay and has been defined by the large evergreens (like The Tree we just removed). And when I finally manage to coax something to grow, just when it's looking good... it gets eaten to the nub overnight.
So wish me luck. I hope the smell drives the deer away. And not us.