I don’t know if Waylon will grow up to be a farmer, but I can tell you this: he loves the broadfork, the soil, pulling carrots out of the ground. He knows the taste of dirt and rocks; he knows the feel of uneven stones on his bare feet.
Maybe he’ll leave the farm when he grows up. There’s so much we can’t control, despite our dreams for him. I don’t know where he’ll roam, but I can tell you this: he knows how to explore and how to dig into the earth like a worm. If he remembers only this by the time he’s grown, that will be enough.