Tallahassee sits at the southern edge of the Red Hills, a country of rolling clay and longleaf pine that runs north across the Georgia line. Red Hills Landworks takes its name from that ground and works with its temper: red clay that holds a puddle for days after a storm, then bakes hard as pottery in a dry week. On a late-May morning, with mockingbirds running through their whole repertoire from the chimneys, the mowing starts early and follows the contours of the yard. Set right, a lawn here looks as if the hills intended it, with the grass close and even over every rise, the borders trimmed along the drive, and the red earth tucked out of sight beneath the green. It is a lovely thing to see on land this old and this stubborn.