Yesterday he had arranged with Mike to inspect the fields and agricultural affairs today.
...
The early spring sun still carried a chill, with remnants of snow lingering between the fields.
The moist soil mixed with the rising white vapor, as if the earth was slowly awakening from hibernation.
The sound of plowing was incessant, with sturdy oxen pulling improved heavy plows, slowly advancing on the slippery soil.
The metallic blades of the heavy plow cut deep into the permafrost, turning over the black earth.
A few shirtless farmers stood barefoot in the muddy water, their cheeks reddened alternately by steam and cold wind, and their shouts rose with the white mist.
Walking along the field ridges, Mike whispered to Louis beside him, "This field was plowed last year, this year it only needs light hoeing and channel repairing."
His boots were covered in thick mud, yet he firmly held a lump of wet soil in his hands.
