Why we still answer the phone
My father started Kashner Lawncare the year I was twelve, with a mower in the bed of a Ford and a list of nine houses on Mt. Vernon Road. Three of those folks are still on our route. One of them — Mrs. Henderson — has been with us for twenty-two summers now, and her grandkids wave at the truck.
I think a lot about that. About the fact that a lawn isn’t really a lawn — it’s the patch of grass your kids ran across, the strip you mowed the morning before your wedding, the grass your dog napped on. When somebody hands me the keys to it for the season, I take it personal.
So we mow it the way we mow my mother’s. Sharp blades. Clean edges. We pick up the toy before the trimmer touches it. We don’t leave the gate open if you’ve got a dog. We don’t blow grass in the road. And we always, always, answer the phone when you call.
That’s the whole pitch. If it sounds like the kind of outfit you want mowing your grass — give me a ring.
