““I have carted mangolds many times since then, and it is an occasion that always marks for me the beginning of winter. I recall those twilights, the gaunt yet tender-coloured sky, the still air, pheasants calling in the distance, or a hunting-horn sounding for home. The last of summer's wealth is housed, and ahead lies frost and early dark, shooting, hunting, forelight; ploughing and cross-ploughing, the breaking of ice for the creatures' drink, the carting of straw for their warmth.””
