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I took Henry to our family farm this weekend so Dada could have some
"quiet-time" and so Papa could have some time with his grandson. Two birds with
one stone. Excellent.

The truth is, I love to see Henry, decked out in
his ripped & torn "barn jeans" and John Deere-green hat that says "Future
Farmer," trudging down the lane between the farmhouses or stalking across the
hayfields.
He's just so determined to "help" on the farm and I love how he
enthusiastically attacks every job, no matter how small. Sometimes he goes a bit
overboard, like when he was tossing apples into his little Shetland pony's
pen and he accidentally chucked one right at Pony's head. Oopsie.
Or feeding the barn cats and he wants to catch and pet every single one and the Mama in me screams, "Don't touch!" Nevermind that I swaddled whatever unfortunate cat I could catch in a crib-quilt and rocked "my baby" in the sweltering July heat when I was only slightly older than him.
The joy of seeing a brand-new baby
calf wobbling around or discovering a new litter of kittens playing in the
grass.
I see my whole family in him when he looks out over the tractor's
steering wheel, safely seated on Uncle Nick's lap. I see 7 generations of
"Henrys" before him working the same land that my Henry will own someday.


Then there's the "boy" factor- finding a dead snake in the grass, post
hay-mowing, and poking at it with a stick with Uncle Matt who shortly after that
showed Henry how to survive in the wild by digging grubs out of rotted tree
trunks, popping off their heads and swallowing them whole. It was like a
freakin' scene out of "The Lion King" and ended my nostalgic moment.

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