Sunday, we harvested the last of the blackberries, cut back the spent canes from the arches and tied down the canes that will produce next year’s crop. That pleasant task out of the way, my Italian friend and I went for a thirty-mile ride through farm and orchard country. The route had early autumn scenery of a kind that might have inspired Ralph Burns and Johnny Mercer. I looked down on a little valley below the road into a field bordered by a perfect white fence. On two adjoining sides, rows of maple trees in their red and gold glory stood watch over a small herd of cattle so impressive in their sleekness, beauty and rich chocolate color highlighted by the slanting sunlight that they must have come from cow central casting.