A mowed line looks best where the land is wide, and around the Sparta precinct the fields run to the horizon in wheat stubble and beans. Lawn Enforcement takes that seriously: parallel passes, tight trimming at the fence line, edges cut until the grass stops where it is told. Morning is the good hour out here, dew burned off, wind still low, the mower the loudest thing for a mile in any direction. Through the season the visits keep growth from ever getting ahead of a place. When the year turns, cleanups take the yard back down to bare, tidy ground.