As I watch from my enchanted terrace, the fields along the river below are getting their annual haircut. From my vantage point, even the red harvester that rumbles faintly in brilliant sunlight seems to be designed just like my electric haircutter. If there is any difference from my view of my head in the mirror, then it concerns the harvest’s bounty. Down below, the hair is carefully collected and carted away by tiny tractors, each of which pulls two trailers.