Water runs through everything out here — creeks feeding down through the fields toward the Grand River, mist sitting in the low ground until the sun burns it off around nine. Buck Creek mows Boston Township on those mornings, cutting while the ground is firm and the grass stands up to meet the blade. Lines are run to match the shape of the yard, borders are edged along the drive and the walk, and the trimmer takes the fence posts and the tree rings. River-bottom lawns grow rich and fast, so the cut comes on schedule rather than on request. Standing at the road afterward and seeing the whole thing even is most of the reward.