Nothing slows the wind in Childress; it comes off the plains with a hundred miles behind it and rattles the fence wire all day. Bnsf Yard, Childress mows in that constant push, working the open lots and street frontages where the grass grows in short, determined seasons. Cutting is done low and clean so the red dirt does not take over, and trimming runs the poles, posts and pavement seams that the mower cannot follow. Walks and aprons are blown down at the end, with the wind for a partner rather than an argument. Along US 287, a squared-off lawn is the first thing that tells a stranger somebody is paying attention here.