Clay Mitchell climbs into his combine, pulls a lever and sits back as the lumbering machinery crashes into a 40-acre cornfield. As the front of the machine noses through the furrows like 13 red moles, chomping at the stocks and churning ears into grain, Mitchell checks his e-mail on a wireless laptop, downloads the moisture content of corn being stored in a bin a
mile away and chats on his cell phone. Except for turning the combine around at the end of each row and the occasional moment when he has to brave the autumn chill to yank clogged ears out...
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