Hamburg sits on shale that used to be a seabed, and people still turn up fossils in it a mile from any lawn in town. Grass Man works the thin living layer on top of all that — mowing weekly, trimming close, edging drives, mulching beds, running cleanups when the season opens and again when it closes. Then the year flips over and the trucks carry a blade instead: driveways plowed out, walks cleared, ice treated before anyone has to guess where it is. Somebody has to be awake at five when the streets are still white and nothing has moved yet. Same ground underfoot, two very different halves of the calendar.