In Martin the roads run on the mile grid, and a summer evening comes in level and long, gold along the fencerows before it goes. Martin Mowing works that hour when the heat lets go — mowing, trimming, edging the walks until every yard sits square inside its own lines. Grass out here grows in a hurry after a night of rain, so the schedule bends toward whatever the sky did last. Thunderheads stack up on the western horizon most weeks in July, and the last pass gets timed against them the way farmers time everything else. A cut lawn under that big prairie sky looks like an answer to something.