“And then his planter’s eye fell on that parson’s fine fair lady again.

‘O Holy plowman,’ cried she,

‘I am all grown up with weeds.

Pray, bring me back into good tilth.’

He tilled her carefully

and laid her by, and she did bring forth others of her kind,

and others, and some more.

They sowed and reaped till all

the countryside was filled with farmers,

and their brides sowing and reaping. When they died

they became spirits of the woods.”

— Wendell Berry, The Mad Farmer Revolution.