Country Boy

My baby, Rees, will be nine on Sunday.

Rees claims he drove a tractor out of my belly, it's how he was born, and that might be true.

When he was one, he went crazy over a country station we accidentally had on the radio. At the time, his favorite outfit was a too-big pair of cowboy boots, and a "goggy," (a leather vest) over a diaper.

When Rees was three, we took him to Disneyland, where he cried in line for the rockets, because he thought we were going to my aunt's ranch in central Oregon.

This ranch is Rees' Utopia. Since he could walk, he's been collecting eggs, climbing hay, and riding quads. Once, a wire gate fell on him, pinning him onto a patch of strawberries, face-up and all splayed out, with his light-up Bugs Life shoes flashing.

Rees knows the difference between combines and Kubotas. He's a John Deere man, particularly. And he's never been without a pair of knee-high rubber boots.

I think Reesie loves the quiet of the country. He's drawn to the openness, the tomato plants, the rolly pollies. It's a perfect match. He's respectful of nature: trees, sticks, snakes. His idea of a good time is laying irrigation pipe.

Only thing is, since I'm all city, and Dave's no ranch hand, we have no idea where Rees came from. Oh, right: from my belly! On a tractor.