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Joys of trimming

After I finally got the old lawnmower fired up and got the leftovers from last year’s flowers and the winters detritus chewed up, the lawn was in shape—sort of.

A couple more buzzes and the grass was gaining ground on me. But in spite of the growing windrows of brown grass, I refuse to rake and carry. Grind it into mulch is my motto.

The edges, however, would not pass the Pearl’s inspection.

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