Late in the day the ridges east of Goshen go soft blue, and the light lies down so flat across a fresh lawn that every pass shows in it. D~N~A Domestics likes that hour best, the last stretch of mowing when the heat has broken and the cut turns visible as corduroy. Ground out here rolls more than it lies flat, so no two yards mow alike and the work is half reading the slope before the blades ever turn. Trimming follows the fences and the foundation, the walks get swept back to bare stone, and what is left is a yard that looks finished rather than merely shortened. Small town, long evenings, and grass that keeps its promise week after week.