Today at Briden Farm: Seven Hundred Feet of Trust
Monday, July 20, 2026
Seven Hundred Feet of Trust
The boys had me up around four o’clock this morning.
Not because anyone had made a mess in the house.
They simply needed to go outside.
Then, shortly before seven, they asked again.
For the second night in a row, Bow kept the house clean and let me know when he needed out.
For a young puppy, that’s a pretty big milestone.
Every day he seems to grow just a little more.
After chatting online with a couple of friends, I settled into my usual breakfast of porridge, toast and tea before heading outside around nine o’clock to begin the morning chores.
The hens and their chicks, the Muscovy ducks, Maple and Brooke, the pigs and the roosters all needed looking after.
Only a short time ago those chores usually took me close to an hour and a half.
Today I finished them in about an hour and fifteen minutes.
I suppose routines eventually become habits.
By 10:15 I was back at the house.
Normally that would have felt like a good start to the day.
Today was different.
My mind wasn’t on the chores I’d just finished.
It was on the ones still ahead.
This afternoon the sheep were moving.
Not into the barn.
Not a couple of hundred feet to another paddock.
Today they would be making their biggest move yet.
About seven hundred feet.
Across Sissiboo Road.
Down one driveway.
Up another.
Into fresh pasture.
The ewes had done it before.
The lambs never had.
That was enough to keep me thinking about it all morning.
Before moving the sheep there was still plenty of work to do.
I fed the flock before beginning to dismantle the electric netting from the pasture they had grazed four days earlier.
Everything had to be moved by hand.
Two electric fences.
Fence posts.
The gas trimmer.
Fuel.
Tools.
Several trips later, everything was finally across the road.
I trimmed the new fence line, set up the fencing and made sure everything was ready.
Roscoe, River and Bow came along for the adventure.
Partway through I let the boys rest in the cool barn while I finished carrying equipment.
Bow may be a puppy.
But judging by the energy he still had afterwards…
He hadn’t worn himself out very much.
Before bringing the sheep over, I walked up to a neighbour’s house to ask for someone to stop traffic while we crossed the road.
Thankfully, neighbours once again came to the rescue.
Thank you.
You know who you are.
Before heading back, I filled a small bucket with grain.
The ewes follow me well now, and the lambs are learning quickly, but a little encouragement never hurts.
Then something happened that made me smile.
Barbara spotted me.
She could see me across the road carrying the electric fence on my shoulder.
Immediately she began calling.
To most people…
“Baa… baa…”
To me…
It sounded like…
“Dad! Dad!”
She kept calling until I finally walked back, switched off the fence and opened the pasture.
The flock gathered around me.
For a brief moment they all seemed to be asking the same question.
“Where are we going?”
I smiled.
“Come on.”
And with that…
We started walking.
The neighbours watched for traffic.
Roscoe quietly brought up the rear, making sure nobody was left behind.
River absolutely amazed me.
Despite being a mixed-breed dog with vision problems, he’s becoming an exceptional little sheepdog.
Whenever one of the sheep drifted off course, he’d naturally move to the side.
If he became just a little too enthusiastic, all I had to do was call his name.
He’d turn back toward me, and in doing so gently guided the sheep back toward the flock.
It was beautiful to watch.
Bow simply enjoyed being part of the whole adventure.
About seven hundred feet later, we walked into fresh pasture.
No sheep scattered.
No lambs were lost.
No confusion.
No panic.
Just a flock quietly following their shepherd into fresh grass.
Standing there afterwards, I realized the move had never really been about seven hundred feet.
It had been about trust.
The ewes trusted me.
The lambs trusted their mothers.
Roscoe trusted that I’d tell him when I needed him.
River trusted my voice.
And I trusted every one of them.
Today…
Every one of us kept our part of that trust.
With the sheep happily grazing in their new pasture, the rest of the afternoon settled back into its usual rhythm.
Lucy needed feeding and watering.
The Saanen goats were looked after.
The rabbits and quail received their feed.
Patsy patiently stood for milking before I headed straight home to filter the fresh milk, wash everything up and tuck it safely into the refrigerator.
The work wasn’t quite finished.
Preparations for winter continued too.
Large round bales of hay have now been arranged, and with the help of another neighbour and his tractor, they should be arriving later this week.
One more piece of the puzzle falling into place.
By the time evening arrived, my body knew it had put in a full day’s work.
My back was sore.
My muscles ached.
But they were the kind of aches that come from accomplishing something worthwhile.
Instead of collapsing into a chair, I decided to make supper.
I mixed fresh pasta by hand using flour, fresh Briden Farm naturally laid eggs, a splash of olive oil, a little salt and pepper, and even a touch of Watkins Chicken Soup and Gravy Mix blended into the flour.
While the pasta rested, I seasoned one of our own lamb steaks with garlic and rosemary before searing it.
The finishing touch was generous slices of homemade goat feta made from Patsy’s milk just a couple of days ago.
As I sat beneath the new dining room light, I took a moment to say grace.
I thanked God.
And I quietly thanked Darius.
Some people may find that unusual.
I don’t.
If an animal gives its life to feed me, I think the least I can do is pause and be grateful.
Of course, I wasn’t the only one to enjoy supper.
Roscoe, River and Bow each received a couple of small pieces of lamb.
Pete and Callie did too.
The dogs had worked hard helping move sheep.
Pete spends his days on mouse patrol.
Callie faithfully keeps watch over the house.
They all earn their keep in their own way.
Around here…
They’re family.
Now, as I write this, it’s just after eight o’clock.
The windows are open.
The cool evening air is drifting through the old farmhouse.
A mug of tea sits beside me.
The only chore left is to close the chickens safely into their coop at dusk.
Until then…
I have nothing more demanding than simply enjoying the quiet.
After a day that began with anxiety…
Ended with trust…
And was celebrated with one of the finest suppers I’ve had in a long time…
There’s only one word that really fits.
Contentment.
Sometimes people ask me why I chose this life.
Days like today are the answer.
Not because they’re easy.
Quite the opposite.
Because every once in a while, after all the work is done, you find yourself sitting in a quiet farmhouse with the windows open, a cup of tea beside you, animals settled for the night, and a heart that’s simply thankful.
And somehow…
Those seven hundred feet across Sissiboo Road become so much more than a sheep move.
They become a reminder that trust—whether between people, neighbours, dogs, sheep or even ourselves—is built one small step at a time.
