Here, to me, is the industrial vegetable plot. Previously, in my Tesco days of food in plastic-wrappers, I had imagined that in fields 'Like This' plants were sewn by machines. Now I find out that the farmer and family sit low on a board, pulled behind a tractor, before dropping the plants into holes.
These rows of evenly spaced seedlings stretch across what must be at least equivalent to four football pitches. Every one is placed by hand, it seems that every one should grow up with a 'handplanted' label. After all other produce does, such as - hand knitted jumpers, hand crafted mugs, hand reared chicks(maybe).
As someone ruefully told me the other day, reflecting on my brown sticks in a pot, all plants need a bit of TLC to survive. And here they are, every individual tobacco seedling cared for.
The irrigation sprays are already in place, and here is an honest investment to mature over one summer.
The sun was low and the warm light was changing the colours of the red soil. I could see my long shadow stretching halfway across the field as the sun sank lower in the traditional yellow mass, silhouetting the tree outline. It was that poetic, that corny and idyllic.
The cows were knee high in the grass and the maragarita daisies(the bellis perennis) lifting their heads to stare, ready to move away.
The cut grass was in round freshly rolled bails. Now these ARE made by a machine, a 'one-man' job, and now will dry out in the sun.
There were roses in abundance beside the few stone walls, and a breathless air, and an open sky with a pink trail from the one invasive jet far above.
In recent years there's been a strange weather event on 25th May, hail stones the size of golf balls that have ruined car tops and broken windows, floods, but not this year I feel sure.
However another, severe image, comes to mind, one of those many, the memory of the city streets and subways.
Today the country wins hands down for sensory aesthetics, that is, sight and sound - but falls short in catching the latest art opening - strange though, that juxtaposition of the image of a tiled subway at its most jarring, with the smell of stale urine - and the stifling concrete pavement.
The fresh fruit and vegetables in the city shop counter are so appetizing and varied, compared even to the markets here, if not as fresh, because they are brought in from all over the world, but - nothing compares nothing compares to this countryside today, and the cows definitely agree.