The land had been fickle for as long as his eleven years on Earth. Yet, provided he and his Father managed its monstrous moods, they always had enough to eat. The land had proven it was faithful. But now, new chemical worlds had transformed this unconditional love into a barrier to profit. ‘Productivity,’ ‘fertilisers’, ‘machines’ – were words his Father anxiously whispered in the evenings. The land was to be sold to the big men. He wondered which day would be the last. Which shovel of dirt would be his final connection to the earth which had grown up within him.