Morning comes slow to the Pomperaug Valley, dew still silvering the grass while Woodbury's Main Street sleeps behind its old clapboard storefronts. Out past the fieldstone walls and under the sugar maples, Transylvania Turf tends the lawns of these Litchfield Hills — mowing clean lines across the green, edging each bed until the border reads sharp as a drawn breath. There is a plain pleasure in a yard cut true: the striped grass running level toward the tree line, the trimmed verge holding its shape through the long light of a Connecticut summer. When the season fades, they rake the maple drift from the turf and leave the ground tidy, ready to rest. It is unhurried work, and it keeps the town looking like itself.