By late July the corn is over your head and the heat sits on Sandwich like a hand, cicadas sawing in the elms. Blades of glory lawn keeps cutting anyway, decks set high for the dry weeks, string trimmer around the fence posts and the mailbox, edges pulled back where turf tries to creep onto the concrete. Look down a finished yard toward the grain elevator and the stripes lie as even as planted rows. Cleanups follow the cut, so nothing is left drifting across the drive. There is a plain sort of glory in a lawn that looks handled on the hottest afternoon of the year.