Twice a day the Squamscott slides backward under the Newfields bridge and the marsh grass leans with it — that is the clock this town keeps. Elite Landscapes mows to a different one: the week's growth, the Friday edge, the smell of cut grass rising off a river-flat yard in the long light of a June evening. Mowing, trimming and edging, mulch laid clean against the beds, and cleanups in spring and again when the tide of leaves comes in. A lawn here should look like it belongs to the water and the fields the town was named for — level, green, tidy at the margins. That sharp line where turf meets driveway is the whole day's argument, and they win it every week.