From my terrace, I can see seven large fields to the north of Mirna. They produce silage for the cattle on the eastern slope of the Motovun hill. Divided by hedges perpendicular to the river, the fields are quite distinct. Early this morning I saw a tractor making the first furrow in one of the fields. How thin that furrow looked from my perch! But more than half of the field has been ploughed by the early afternoon. It will be finished by the end of the day, I reckon. Perhaps this is the secret behind those hedges? Anyhow, all seven fields will be ploughed in so many days. The man in the tractor must have known it all along.