Aside from the abruptly terminated squeals of those too slow movers deep in the food chain, not much disturbs the peace and quiet of plants growing round here. Except at harvest time, when all manner of noisy machinery stalks the landscape pulling, shredding, lifting, slicing and dicing the crop.
We’ve become accustomed to the rhythmic thump of the bonkers potato grabber, and the whining of heavily overloaded tractors. But tonight, the rapeseed was given a proper mowing by a man piloting a frankly terrifying big, green threshing machine.
Although he appeared fully in control of the behemoth, I did worry that a slight steering miscalculation would see him harvest the Mighty Honda. In fact, both of them and the kids who’d stationed themselves on the car roof for a better view.
When we finally get a lawn, I might ask him for a mates’ rate haircut of our grass.