By late August the cicadas out here are loud enough to hear over an engine, and the heat sits on the fields well past dark. The lawns keep growing anyway. So the work goes on through it — mowing on schedule, trimming the corners a mower cannot reach, edging the walks and drives, then clearing the cuttings off so nothing browns in a pile. The country lots around Carterville run deep, and finishing one and seeing the whole sweep of it laid down even is worth every bit of the sweat. Then the light goes gold across the treeline and it stops being a job and turns back into somebody's yard.