Breeze transforms a thinly seeded field into a rippling upland river

Sandy, Bedfordshire Nothing seemed to have changed here in months. The stubble of skeleton stems appeared not so much dormant as dead

On one side of a straight farm track, winter held about 2.5m plants in a state of suspense. The land had been tilled and drilled in November, and vestigial warmth in the soil had tempted the first narrow leaves to rise 10cm high in a matter of days. Two months - and numerous visits- later, there was still a green baize, but the leaves stood no taller.

My Scots-Irish ancestor was a coulter, a maker of plough blades. He might have marvelled at the idea of winter wheat. Here was a crop that sprouted in autumn, then needed months in the outdoor fridge to trigger further growth. And it would have its heads up even before spring arrived. I had paced out the length and breadth of this field to estimate this colossal number of plants. Surely here was a miracle - a plant that could grow, slow, then throw out ears of corn under the warming sun of spring?