Snake in the Grass

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 striding 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.
How his face lights up with joy and wonder at 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, apparently not quite quick enough to out-slither the hay mower, 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." Ew. But they enjoyed themselves. I'm sure I'll be pulling frogs and toads out of Henry's pockets soon enough and I'll know exactly where he picked that up from.