It proved to be a very eventful day, farming with a 2-year-old. I accomplished more in a few hours than I ever have, but I also found out how very much I still have to learn.
Oliver is all farm boy, of that there is no doubt. He is following closely in his father’s footsteps, and I remember having a hard time keeping up with him at age 2, so I should not find it surprising that Oliver keeps me on my toes.
With an incredible vocabulary for his age, a memory like a steel trap, and a driving urge to farm, this little guy is pure fun.
Looking forward to some one-on-one time with Oliver, I packed up my own small collection of tractors, a couple of farm books and an old cell phone for our imaginary phone calls, and headed for his house.
His mama needed me to watch him for a few hours, and I knew it was going to be a fun time. Expressing interest in my tiny old Ford toy tractor with a front-end loader, Oliver said, “We got work to do!” and then said, “Daddy haul poop, too!”
By late morning, we had planted many miniature acres of corn in the kitchen, cleaned out a couple of barns and checked on a sick cow, all while discussing why I had lots of different color tractors in my collection –more than Oliver did in his.
This orange one is an Allis-Chalmers,” I explained while the adorable little blue-eyed boy listened and looked it over closely.
“Wait!” he said, running in to his toy tractor collection, obviously looking for something in particular, all so vibrantly green that it put my old beat-up stuff to shame. “Chopper!” he said as he found just the right size chopper and wagon to hook on to my old A-C. It fit
We found miniature bales of hay we could use to feed our imaginary cows. Oliver used great animation in trying to explain to me how the chopper and wagon works.
“It goes round and round and goes krish-krish. See? These round things chop it allll up!”
We decided after lunch that it would be time to harvest the corn that we had planted during the morning.
“Do you have a combine?” I asked. “Yes! I go get it!” he said with a great smile, his blonde hair flying as he shook his happy head. “Wait here. I be back!” he said as he headed for his toy box.
He handed the prized combine over to me, and I began making the proper combine noises. “No! Not yet!” he scolded me, making another trip to the toy box. “We need corn head!” he said, exasperated with me, as he ran the additional part back to me.
He looked at me as though he couldn’t believe I would start to shell corn without a corn head. What was I thinking? We moved big bales. We unloaded feed. We parked our tractors in the barn when night time came.
We put the old cell phone to good use, calling a guy to bring us a log chain when we got stuck, the veterinarian several times, and of course called his grandma — my sister — to see if she is feeling better since she got her heart fixed.
“Mamaw,” Oliver told me solemnly, “no big hugs, just little ones.”
He then showed me his big boy bed, his shelf with an Oliver tractor on it, and the room that awaits a new baby.
As the day began winding down, I asked Oliver what is he is going to call his soon-to-arrive baby brother.
“White tractor,” he answered, all farm boy to the core!
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