My great-grandson, Waylon, is 2 and carries all the baggage that that designation suggests. His temper tantrums are epic, but he also finds joy in everyday things and loves with his whole heart—except when his little sister wants to play with his toy tractors and trucks. “Look!” and “Wow!” are his favorite expressions, although I fear that someday soon the dreaded “No!” will find its way onto this list.
But when I watch carefully, I can already see roots sinking into the earth beneath his constantly moving (and usually grubby) feet.
Waylon is a fourth-generation Texas farm boy finding his place among the hay fields and rocky cow pastures of his Coryell County home. When he hears the rattley roar of a diesel engine starting up, he runs toward it as if the possibility of Grandpa or Uncle Justin leaving the machine shed on a tractor without him might mark the end of the world. When the mad dash works and I see his red hoodie perched on Grandpa’s lap inside the cab of that big green tractor, I know he is in 2-year-old heaven. I can still hear the echo of our son’s excited voice when he was that age, yelling for a yank on the throttle: “Pull the smoker, Daddy!”
It’s not just the boys. My daughter, an elementary school librarian, can still drive a hay truck with the best of them, and granddaughter Hannah, helping scoop silage into a cow trough at the age of 8, once leaned on her shovel and announced, “You know, I may run this place someday.”
Waylon has already watched a calf being born. He has learned to be quiet so the livestock won’t be disturbed. He has checked cows in the pasture from Grandpa’s lap on the seat of the Kawasaki all-terrain vehicle, and he’s learning to count calves (although so far, he’s not very reliable beyond six).
This is how farm kids learn who they are and find their places in the world. They pick tomatoes and squash in the garden and see firsthand where their food comes from, feed and water livestock, and drop fresh eggs in the dirt on the way to the kitchen. Waylon has stepped on stickers, stirred up fire ants and been knocked down by the new Lab puppy, but none of these experiences discourage him from his never-ending quest to be outdoors.
Waylon may grow up to be an electrician or a brain surgeon, but right now he is developing a respect—perhaps even a love—for the land that feeds us. I hope that will last a lifetime.
