Clark Lake holds a July afternoon like a held breath, and the smell of fresh-cut grass drifts down to the water long after the mower has gone quiet. Hulburt's keeps lawns in and around Brooklyn on a steady rhythm through the growing months — mowing, trimming, tidying the clippings off the walk before the truck pulls away. Lakeside yards run short and steep, shaded on one half and sun-baked on the other, and reading that difference is most of the craft. There is a plain pleasure in a stripe laid straight down a slope that wants to argue about it. By evening the light goes low and gold across the cut, and the yard looks like somebody loves it.