He's a farmer at heart.

I was born and raised on a farm in the middle of Nebraska. The first job I had was working for my dad, irrigating, walking beans (before RoundUp existed), mowing and anything else he told me to do. Which really means that my first 'real' job was in college. Crazy, I know.

Add to that, I married a farm-raised man. Whose heart is still there, but whose head knows better...for the most part. Both our parents still farm and have livestock. We both love visiting and our children are equally infatuated with the country. Open land. No noise other than the birds and an occasional cow. Yep, this really is the Good Life.

My point is, and I've actually realized this years ago, my son is a farmer trapped in a four year-old's body. His eyes light up like it's Christmas Day each and every time we come within a mile of either of his grandparent's house. And I have to admit, my heart softens a little every time because I love that he see's what I see. That he understands that urban life is great but there's something very magical about rural living.

The most recent trip was to spend three days with my in-laws during their county's fair. We met for pizza half way for the exchange. As soon as we stepped outside, put his booster seat in their gigantic, four-door pick-up, he was asking grandpa to put the windows down so he could rest his elbow on the window frame...just like he's seen grandpa do a million times. It's a sure sign that there's work to be done somewhere on the farm. And the only way to get there is with the fresh air blowing in your face.

I will admit that I am more likely to roll the window down and turn off the air when I'm back home. It's the smell of freshly turned soil, pollinating corn and freedom. From any politics or societal pressures.

And at the age of four, my son seems to get that. Better yet, he genuinely appreciates it.