The “F” Word

ReeRee is the right age to start picking up things in the world around her.  We hadn’t encountered swear words, yet.

ReeRee, Newt, and I were feeding this weekend.  Ree gets quite bored riding around in the pickup for hours.

After feeding the little bulls, we headed off to feed the heifers.

Makes me remember warmer days!  When ReeRee almost had the bulls tame enough to eat from her hand.

ReeRee: Daddy, are we on the path to go to the farm?

Newt: THE WHAT?!?  (Background: ranchers do not like to be called farmers, especially in the fragile Sandhill ecosystem where plows destroyed the native grasses.  Don’t get me wrong, I like farmers.  My grandpa was one.  But farmers and Sandhills are like kerosene and fire.  Not a good combo.)

Newt gave me side-eyes in the cab of the pickup… can you believe our daughter said the “F-word”!?!  I could read it on his face.

ReeRee: The ‘arn.  The barn.  Are we going back to the ranch?

Newt breathed a sigh of relief.  The ranch, not the farm.

So far, we are still F-word free.

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