I have the keys to the Kubota, to the skid-steer, to all things mechanical, and hence a hero when my grandson Cutler comes—my second chance to emphasize what I might have missed with my own kids, or a chance to share what has only become richer with time. I have that obligation as a parent, as a grandparent, to expose him to this larger, fairly foreign world of huge and cute creatures in tangled spaces. He’s three.
Robbin and I are essentially babysitting for a few hours while checking the 1st calf heifers, getting a count to see who’s missing, then locating her to see if she’s had her calf or not. The heifers have set-up their nurseries, his mother runs a day care center—these pastures full of maternity.