Thursday, July 23, 2026

The day began quietly.

By nine o’clock I’d already been up for a couple of hours, and the first round of chores was behind me.

The chicks had been fed and watered.

The broody hens and their little ones had all been looked after.

The rest of the poultry around the farmhouse had received breakfast as well.

Of course, I’d had mine too.

With everyone fed and the breakfast dishes washed, it was nice to sit for a few moments before the day really got underway.

There were still plenty of chores waiting.

The pigs, Maple and Brooke, and the roosters out in the chicken tractor would all have to wait until later.

A friend had offered me a ride into Digby to do a few errands and pick up some groceries. Since it was the first time we’d travelled together like that, I found myself getting a little antsy. Rather than pacing around the house waiting, I messaged to say I’d probably be down by the post office in Bear River when they arrived.

Sure enough, that’s exactly where I was.

And this time…

The mailbox finally held what I’d been hoping to find the other day.

From there it was off to Digby.

A little banking.

A few errands.

And a quick stop for groceries.

It’s amazing what groceries cost these days.

Eleven items.

Nearly seventy-five dollars.

Nothing extravagant.

Potatoes.

Bread.

Egg noodles.

Paper towels.

Vinegar.

Peanut butter.

Honey.

The everyday basics that somehow seem to add up faster than ever.

Back at the farmhouse, I made myself a simple egg sandwich for lunch before heading over to the barn.

The animals were fed and checked over, but before milking Patsy there was another important job waiting.

Tomorrow the hay arrives.

The large round bales—about 48 inches by 52 inches and weighing somewhere around 700 pounds each—are due tomorrow, so I spent part of the afternoon cleaning out the carport area of the barn and laying down pallets where I hope they’ll eventually rest.

The challenge isn’t the hay.

It’s unloading it.

I’ve hired someone to bring a tractor to unload the bales from the delivery truck. My hope was that the tractor could simply drive into the barn and place them directly onto the pallets.

Unfortunately, the barn entrance is only about seven feet high.

There’s a good chance the tractor won’t fit.

If that’s the case…

We’ll figure something else out.

I’ve been learning there’s very little point in worrying about problems that haven’t happened yet.

Sometimes the best place for tomorrow’s worries…

…is on a shelf until tomorrow arrives.

While cleaning out the carport, I disturbed a small nest of stinging insects hidden near the ground.

I took one sting on the shoulder almost immediately and perhaps another on my hand.

Fortunately, neither amounted to much.

Over the years I’ve developed my own way of responding when I unexpectedly find myself in that situation.

As soon as I realize what’s happened, I deliberately slow my breathing, consciously relax, try to lower my pulse, and enter what I can only describe as a meditative state. As I slowly back away, I quietly repeat the same little mantra to myself.

“Slow… relax… calm… slow… relax… calm…”

For me, the goal is to avoid that rush of adrenaline.

Without the adrenaline, I stay calm. My movements remain slow and deliberate, and I’ve noticed the insects seem to lose interest much more quickly. As I continue backing away, fewer and fewer follow until eventually they simply return to their nest.

Whether it’s the lack of adrenaline, my slower movements, or a combination of both, I can’t honestly say.

I only know it’s worked well for me over the years.

Now, before anyone gets any ideas…

Don’t try this at home.

I’m certainly not recommending it as advice.

I’m simply sharing what I’ve found works for me.

With the barn cleaned up as much as possible, Patsy took her usual place on the milking stand.

She’s always the last stop before heading home.

Back at the farmhouse, the focus shifted from the barn to the kitchen.

Earlier in the morning I’d put a roast into the slow cooker.

The meat came from Darius, our three- or four-year-old ram. Around Briden Farm we still tend to call it lamb, even though technically it isn’t. Today’s cut came from the neck and upper rib area, just ahead of the section that would become a crown rack of lamb.

There isn’t a great deal of meat on that cut, but slow cooking works wonders.

It will make tonight’s supper, tomorrow’s lunch in the form of a sandwich, and whatever remains will probably find its way onto tomorrow night’s supper plate.

Very little goes to waste around here.

I also put half a dozen potatoes into the oven.

No, I wasn’t planning on eating six baked potatoes.

Just one.

The others will become fried potatoes for breakfast, tomorrow night’s supper, or another meal later in the week.

I’ve found it’s far more efficient to bake several at once than to keep turning the oven on every day.

After that, it was back outside one last time.

Maple and Brooke were fed and checked over.

The roosters out in the chicken tractor near the sumac received fresh feed and water.

The pigs were looked after as well.

With that, the day’s chores were finally complete.

Supper was waiting.

By about 7:30 this evening, for the first time all day, there was nothing that absolutely had to be done.

That doesn’t happen very often.

It left me with a little time to simply relax.

Perhaps a short nap.

Perhaps a cup of tea.

Perhaps just sitting quietly and enjoying the evening before making one final trip outside at dusk to close up the broody hens and their chicks, along with the rest of the flock safely tucked into the chicken coop for the night.

As I looked over the groceries spread across the kitchen table, I couldn’t help but smile.

There wasn’t anything fancy.

Just the everyday necessities that keep a farmhouse running.

Sometimes that’s enough.

Tomorrow the hay arrives.

And with it…

Another chapter begins.

Enjoying today’s journal?

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