There’s a rainstorm brewing along Wenlock Edge, and the garden has taken on an autumnal air. All afternoon I’ve been watching this harvester ply the wheat field. At close quarters the cutting blades are of a scale more suited to the Canadian prairies than to a small Shropshire field. I feel the soil compact beneath the giant machinery, and it strikes me that industrial farming does not care much for the welfare of the earth, or ultimately for the nutritional quality of the crops produced. I have this image of starvation in the face of plenty, and think how skewed have our rich-world values have become. But before I make everyone feel too dreary, here’s a brighter shot of my garden earlier in the summer.