They call it Orange Gold, the tobacco crop that has made millionaires of the white farmers of Zimbabwe. For as far as the eye can see, the fertile plains are covered with the giant weed that goes to fill the world's cigarettes, pipes and cigars.
But Zimbabwe's tobacco blends, and the colonial lifestyle of the farmers which produce them, are under threat. The president, Robert Mugabe, wants to take over 1,500 of the largest white-owned farms to redistribute to poor peasant farmers. The present owners say this will decimate output.
There are other clouds on the horizon for these settler farmers and their descendants. Throughout the West, the crusade against smoking is gathering momentum. Cigarette consumption is in decline and the farmers are beginning to feel the pinch. Though more and more people are smoking in poor countries, they cannot pay the handsome prices levied in the West.
Tobacco farming in Zimbabwe is unique in being totally unmechanised.
Whereas their American counterparts run vast factory-like operations, Zimbabwean producers rely exclusively on cheap black labour. It's a rustic form of farming that belongs in a pre-Impressionist painting, but has virtually disappeared everywhere else at the end of the 20th century.
"The time is coming when it will be too expensive to employ so many workers. When that happens, we'll have to bring in machines instead of people," says Don McGhie, who works 3,000 acres at Norton, an hour south-west of Harare.
From his veranda, McGhie has a view on five generations of settler life, from the tobacco barn built by his wife's grandfather to his grandson messing about in a puddle. But for the satellite dish and the Mercedes Benz in front of the house, his lifestyle has changed little in 50 years as a farmer. The British have come and gone, Zimbabwe has become independent, but McGhie and other white farmers have managed to cling on to to a life that is at once rewarding and anachronistic.
Remote from the centre of Western life in the Northern hemisphere, the white farmers of Norton centre their lives on the local social club and golf course. "There's golf on Wednesdays, tennis on Saturday and squash on Sunday," says McGhie's son Guy.
The noxious weed itself grows tall and green in the heavy soils of Zimbabwe's lowveld. Broad leaves catch the downpours during the rainy season before the plant shoots up to heights of six feet and more under hot sunshine.
The outer leaves are harvested progressively as the plant develops and transported to the barn for processing. Over a lifetime, McGhie has perfected the subtle art of processing tobacco to maximise its aroma and nicotine content.
Once picked, the leaves are clipped together in bunches of 10 and suspended on racks which are then wheeled into the tobacco barn. Flue-curing tobacco involves the application of heat to dry out the leaves, turning plant sugar into aromatic starch.
Over six days, the temperature is progressively raised to a maximum of 170 F. If it is raised too rapidly, the leaf dries up too quickly and becomes shrivelled. Too slowly, and the distinctive flavour of the tobacco may be lost.
Within the barn, the heat is almost unbearable, yet McGhie and his workers push the racks through on a daily basis. The whiff of tobacco grows overpowering, as the leaves achieve that golden complexion the farmer is seeking.
At the end of this flue-curing process, the leaves are unloaded and graded. Thick, golden leaves, full of nicotine and flavour, are the best; those with imperfections or excessive dryness less so. This work is carried out exclusively by women, whose trained eyes can spot variations of shade and thickness that most of us would miss.
Nothing is wasted in the process; even the plant stems are rolled flat and shredded for use as filler in cheap cigarettes.
The tobacco is now ready to be baled, and sent for auction. Guy McGhie hopes the current crop will fetch about £1.50 a kilogram at the auction in Harare. This year's harvest is proving a bumper crop and should be worth over £300,000 to the McGhies.
The structure of the tobacco industry still follows colonial lines, so it's probable that this Zimbabwean tobacco will end up in British-manufactured firms such as Rothmans or Benson & Hedges. Marlboro and other US companies tend to source their supplies locally.
Ironically, neither McGhie nor anyone in his family smokes.
More than 300 workers, full-time and seasonal, depend on McGhie for their livelihood. The farm runs its own shop and butchers, and nearby white farms even operate primary schools for the children of their workers. Most farm workers start work at 5.30 a.m. in complete blackness. By the afternoon, they are to be found working on their own plots, where they grow the food which is the mainstay of their family.
As for the white owners, they wait each day for news of their fate. In a volatile political situation, rumours are rife. There is talk of compromise, but no clear signal from government.
Confiscation won't mean the end of tobacco in Zimbabwe, but for the white farmers, a lifetime's investment could go up in smoke.