When you are part of that one percent of Americans who are very, very, very wealthy, such as Richard Jenrette, you don't have the kid down the street come mow your lawn and weed whack your fence line. You have a landscape designer plus their minions take exquisite care of your property.
They don't put out carved Jack O'Lanterns on the front stoop; they make the perfect arrangements of pumpkins and pansies in the cast iron urns (which are probably expensive antiques).
You plant Constance Spry climbing roses and some type of white chrysanthemums which, of course, are not your normal buy-it-at-a-big-box-retailer mums.
And while you are sitting on your back patio (although the rich probably call it something else), you can look over your perfectly groomed lawn which rolls down to your man-mad lake.
And this probably looks very beautiful in the spring, summer and early fall, not on a gray drizzly day in November.
Being very rich puts you in an entirely different stratosphere of life.
There is also a long landscaped walk from the house down to the banks of the Eno River, called Poet's Walk, about a half mile in length. I'll have to come back in the spring and walk it and take pictures.