South of the Mohawk the land climbs, and Charleston sits up where the roads leave the creek hollows and the fields open all at once. L and m yard and tree work moves through that high country — mowing farmhouse lawns and roadside yards, trimming what the mower cannot reach, clearing brush back from fence and driveway. Grass grows hard up here in a wet June, and a hillside lot needs someone who reads the slope before the first pass. The reward is the shape of it afterward: a straight edge along the drive, the ditch line cut clean, the yard opened up to the long view toward the valley. Come autumn the leaves get gathered and the place is put to bed before the wind out of the west turns cold.