August 21, 2026

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve written a Today at Briden Farm, and in that short time, life here has changed considerably.

As many of you know, I’ve been recovering from a bout of diverticulitis. It knocked me down pretty hard, and recovery is proving to be something measured a little at a time rather than by great leaps.

But I am getting better.

Slowly, every day.

I’m learning to pace myself. A little work, a little rest. Half buckets instead of full ones. Some days I can walk out and feed the pigs. Other days, getting the dishes done is accomplishment enough.

And perhaps that’s one of the lessons this summer has been trying to teach me: knowing when to work, knowing when to rest, and knowing when it’s time to let go.

Over the past several days, most of the goats have left Briden Farm. Most of the hens and young chickens have gone to new homes as well. A few sheep have left, and I’m continuing to work toward finding homes for the remaining flock and pigs.

None of that has been easy.

These animals have been much more than livestock to me. They’ve been part of the rhythm of my days, part of the landscape, and part of what Briden Farm became over the years.

But sometimes caring for something also means recognizing when you can no longer give it what you once could.

The farm is getting quieter.

There are still pigs in the pasture, a handful of roosters announcing themselves as though we have fifty of them, a few Muscovies, dogs underfoot, and plenty of work that will eventually need doing.

But there is change in the air.

And maybe that isn’t altogether a bad thing.

Today, instead of climbing hills, moving fences, or carrying heavy buckets, I started a pot of homemade chicken soup from a locally raised chicken. A couple of days ago, I started another sourdough culture — John Doe III — and, because I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the discard, I now seem to have two starters growing on the counter.

Once a farmer, always a farmer, I suppose.

If I’m not raising sheep, apparently I’ll raise yeast. 😉

I’ve done sourdough before, and I’m already remembering the fun of it — bread, pancakes, crumpets, and all the other things that can come from learning how to use the discard rather than wasting it.

As summer begins to wind down, I find myself thinking more and more about fall.

Soup on the stove.

Bread in the oven.

A quieter farm.

A little more strength each day.

And perhaps the beginning of whatever comes next.

This has not been an easy summer. There have been losses, difficult decisions, plenty of tears, and more than a few lessons about control, love, faith, and letting go.

But this too shall pass.

The sun will come up tomorrow.

And here at Briden Farm, we’ll keep moving forward — maybe a little slower than before, but still moving.

One day at a time.

Brian Hurlburt