The Mashpee River runs quiet through its woodlands, and each spring the herring push up it as though nothing about the world has changed. Outerland works the ground on either side of that stubborn continuity: mowing, trimming and edging through the green months, cleanups in April and November, plowing and clearing when the town goes white. The name suits a place at the far edge of things, where weather arrives off the water first and leaves last. What we're after is simple — a lawn with a definite edge in July, a driveway cleared in the dark of January. The land does what it does; the yard gets kept.