After six months on the farm I'm beginning to feel twinges of ruralism. I even look the part; in the thick wool jacket that used to be my father's and my Yorkshire wool cap, I walk round my mother's fields and worry about them. The fields miss their sheep. There are corners where the tussocks are so deep and thick it's like walking on a lumpy mattress. Yesterday I noticed how many self-sown saplings there are popping up around the existing trees. Leave the land ungrazed and unmanaged for another ten years and it'll revert to woodland.