Not surprisingly, many farmers have given up attempting to compete, or retired without an heir willing to take up the poisoned chalice; the median age of a farmer is 60, according to 2016 numbers from the British government’s Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra), and is getting steadily older.

Between 2013 and 2016, the number of agricultural workers in England fell 5 per cent, from 185,203 to 176,000, according to Defra, a reflection of the paltry money on offer and generational changes.

Worse may be yet to come. When they were a part of the European Union, British farmers were propped up by an EU subsidy that allowed many to continue their livelihoods. Every farmer in the EU receives €260 (US$298) per hectare of agricultural land. If farmers support biodiversity, this is supplemented by €115 per hectare in a greening premium.

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“Most farms’ profitability literally relied on subsidy,” Jones says.

Post-Brexit, this subsidy is being phased out over a six-year tapering period. Predicting what happens next is not straightforward, as Britain’s new environmental land management system will continue to pay farmers for environmental activity, in particular restoring soil health, which helps sequester carbon, but it is not clear how much.

“I suspect we will remain on the trajectory we are on now, though – farm consolidation, declining profitability,” Jones says, apologising for sounding bleak.

Another problem is that the Covid-19 pandemic and Brexit have caused prices of essentials such as fertiliser, machinery and distribution to soar, with well-documented situations such as lorries stuck at borders for days. “If you are a small producer, that has a big impact on your bottom line.”

But when the going gets tough, the tough adapt. Many in agriculture are finding innovative ways to hedge against the future, tapping into the promise of both rewilding – restoring and protecting natural areas – and hospitality.

A few years ago, Jones renovated two of his farmhouses as dormitories for environmental education trips by schools and institutions, as well as a venue for green weddings, and stag and hen parties. As we tour his land, he points out solar panels and wind turbines, which provide a solid stream of profit compared with farming, which makes “nothing whatsoever”.

He has also allowed some of his land to revert to a more natural state and introduced beavers which, with their knack for environmental engineering, have been a catalyst for the return of bird and insect species. He hopes that this land will one day earn money for its ecosystem services, such as carbon sequestration, from companies looking to buy carbon offsets.

Bigger landowners have more options for creative land management. Lord Hugh Crossley, the 4th Baron Somerleyton, owns a 5,000-acre estate in Suffolk, in eastern England. He is rewilding 20 per cent and has introduced Exmoor ponies, free-roaming cattle and black pigs, the meat from which is sold as being high welfare and from eco-restorative livestock to local butchers for a “reasonable premium”.

On part of his land on the banks of Fritton Lake, he sells luxury log cabins as second homes to city dwellers from London in need of a bolt-hole.

So far, 100 of these fully furnished cabins have been sold for between £100,000 (US$134,000) and £330,000, the new owners having access to a 22-metre (72ft) heated swimming pool, a floating sauna and yoga sessions.

“It is likely there will be a dynamic shift in farming with a new set of environmentally ambitious farmer-entrepreneurs taking on the challenge, and bringing much needed vitality to the sector,” says Crossley, who last year co-founded WildEast, a charitable foundation that promotes regenerative farming in East Anglia.

Already, there are heirs apparent. Former soldier Merlin Hanbury-Tenison, 36, and his former marketing executive wife, Lizzie, inherited his father’s 300-acre farm, Cabilla, on Bodmin Moor, in Cornwall.

Merlin knew he did not want to manage the farm in the same way his father had, having witnessed the cull of hundreds of deer during the outbreak of BSE (mad cow disease) in 1996, then a number of wild boar shot and buried during the 2009 swine flu pandemic.

They gutted and renovated the dairy barn and turned it into a sleek communal dining and kitchen area, helmed by chef Kate Munro Boot, a former chef of US billionaire Michael Bloomberg. In an unused field they installed 12 “glamping” bell tents with cosy double beds and sheepskin rugs; log cabins will be next.

Cabilla is popular with group bookings; yoga retreats; wild gourmand classes that forage for mushrooms, wild garlic and sorrel in the forest; and ravers who bring their own DJ.

Hanbury-Tenison’s focus is now on expanding the 80 acres of ancient forest he points out halfway down the valley. The plan is to plant 60,000 broadleaved saplings – oak, rowan, hazel, holly, hawthorn, willow – over the next four years.

“I’m going to get very good at planting trees,” he laughs. The couple have partnered with Loughborough University, the University of Exeter and Falmouth University in research projects on the forest’s rare mycelium network, through which trees can communicate with each other.

Meanwhile, in neighbouring county Devon, a couple new to farming are creating an eco-retreat they hope will allow them to subsist on the farm they fell in love with.

Ben Horne, 36, who worked in property, and Yolanda Cruwys, 34, a former vet, bought Cove Down Farm from an ageing farmer. They farmed a herd of red deer within a fence; the rest they left to nature. It didn’t make money.

“For a couple of years I had a battle in my head: should I just sell the land and invest in other businesses? Should I prioritise my [four-year-old] daughter’s future, or that of the planet?” Horne says.

Eventually he hit upon building six “low-impact” solar-panelled cabins in the valley, which will be priced nightly at around £200, some overlooking goshawk nests, others with prime deer rutting views.

“The future of farming is going to see a lot less farming, to be honest,” Horne says. “The younger generation are saying, ‘F*** that.’ Which is probably, in many ways, a good thing.”

And things are not necessarily easier for farmers elsewhere in Europe, even with the EU’s subsidy. Joachim Moltke, 33, inherited his father’s farm, Lystrup Gods, an hour south of Copenhagen, Denmark, at the age of 26. He owns 1,850 hectares of arable land and 600 hectares of forest, including a couple of castles.

He would not make a profit without the subsidy, but the regulatory administrative burden of applying for it – the forms, reports needing to be filled out daily – is “agonising”. All the while, the price of machinery is skyrocketing.

“I went to buy a new tractor last week and it had gone up 35 per cent,” Moltke says. “Meanwhile the value of crops has barely moved. When I see the prices in the supermarket, I think, how did we end up here?”

He says one of the hardest things about being a farmer is feeling like an environmental scapegoat. By choice, his farm is not organic, but the criticism he receives – often from teenagers – is demoralising. “One hundred years ago our role in society was crucial, but now people are so distanced from where their food comes from, and a generation are pointing fingers at farmers.”

Moltke, who has a one-year-old daughter, has successfully diversified his estate, supplying spring water for a brewery and operating a shooting range with ducks and pheasants. He is planning an adventure park with clay pigeon shooting, off-road mountain biking, and hiking routes and orienteering. But will he advise his daughter to follow him into farming?

“I would say to her, get a degree in something else and then think hard about it. I see black skies ahead.”