I grew up on a ranch. And I spent our hot, hot summers on my grandmother's ranch, where I learned to handle a handgun, a rifle... drive a tractor, a car, a horse and buggy - and all sorts of incredibly useful things that one day yet may be useful again.
All I have to see is a scene like this one and it takes me back to the those marvelous, innocent days where the smell of damp dirt (from the sprinklers she'd set every night to settle the dust on the driveway)... the grass hay in the barn, the dry grasses outside, live oak trees and dusty horses were like an olfactory ambrosia.
I don't really expect you to truly understand this... but it's OK.
I just wanted to share what I felt when saw this little scene in the foothills of the Sierras one day.