It is standard procedure for our granddaughter Evelyn to sink her whole face deep into the warm body of an animal. She’s been snuggling them since her toddler days. Now 6 years old, she’s still got relentless gentleness and grit, shoveling up manure like nobody’s business.

My beloved and I take our time with the grands seriously. It is a blessing and honor, even when exhausting, to invest and speak into their lives. One of my favorite ways is giving those who are old enough full access to the barn and its inhabitants.

We follow strict rules. They all know, if broken, one might have to experience the walk of shame — head back to the house until they are ready to listen. The environment has proven to be a most fertile ground in instilling them with layers of character and knowledge.

I have wondered if they really are absorbing anything, then only to overhear them explain to whomever happens to stop by all about the official rules, and interesting facts about livestock. It is as if someone gave them the keys to Disney World, golf carts and VIP credentials that dangle around their necks.

As soon as they walk into our house, we hear, “When can we go to the barn?” All the way down to the 3-year-old, it is the place to be. They know there are animals to play with or put on a lead rope. The kids feel 10 feet tall as they walk them around the yard. Sure, you can ride the pony, but picking the manure and mud out of her hooves comes right along with it.

Farm animals teach valuable lessons

I can’t take them on exotic vacations, but I can hand them each a shovel, point to the stalls, and expect the job to be done when it’s clean, not when they feel like it’s done. And then, as any decent grandparent would do, I have the joy of rewarding them with a few bucks so they can be a part of saving for their own family vacations.

We don’t have access to front row seats in sold-out stadiums, but there’s a reserved spot for them as chicks break through and emerge from their shells. There are squeals of delight as they soak in the wonder of a wobbly-legged newborn with its momma.

We can’t shield them from the deception and indoctrination attempts coming at them like a barrage of torpedoes, but we can provide hours without screens and outside voices. We can stand back a little so problem-solving gears get to churning in their heads. And we offer limitless snuggles and face burrowing.

McClain writes from Greenwood, Ind.