George passed away ten years ago, and since then, caring for the house and the lawn has been my way of keeping him close. I’m in my seventies now, and while my knees complain and my back isn’t what it used to be, I still rise early every morning to water the grass, trim the edges, and prune the rose bushes.

My lawn has always been my pride. Neighbors would walk by and compliment how lush and even it looked. Children would run barefoot across it in the summer, and I’d smile because George always said a lawn wasn’t just for looking at—it was meant to be lived on.