Greenbrier sits where the flat ground gives out and the Ozark foothills start climbing, and every lawn in between has an opinion about slope. The Lawn Man of Greenbrier mows, trims and edges through Pleasant Ridge and the roads feeding into town, taking yards a handful at a time. Midweek, with Highway 65 running its steady line north and the ball fields empty until evening, the job goes quietly: a pass down, a pass back, string trimmer around the fence posts, blower over the porch steps. What is left is a lawn with a definite edge and nothing scattered where it should not be. People notice it from the mailbox without quite knowing why.