Thursday, July 16, 2026

It’s amazing how a day can begin with a plan…

…and end somewhere even better.

Over the years, I’ve learned something about farming—and probably about life.

It’s important to have a plan.

It’s equally important to be willing to change it.

Thirty or forty years ago, I wasn’t very good at that.

I liked having things under control.

I held on tightly to my plans.

Looking back, I think I held on so tightly that sometimes I actually lost control.

Life has a way of teaching us those lessons.

On August 1st, it will be thirty-two years since I’ve had a drop of alcohol.

That’s no secret.

It’s part of my story.

And perhaps one of the things recovery has taught me is that life isn’t about controlling everything.

Sometimes it’s about trusting the journey.

I actually woke up around four o’clock this morning.

Years ago I would have fought to get back to sleep.

Now I simply accept it.

These quiet hours before dawn have become some of my favourite time.

I write.

I think.

I create.

Then, when I’m tired again, I go back to bed for another nap before the day really begins.

It isn’t everyone’s sleep pattern.

But it seems to be mine.

And it works.

The day really began with an unexpected text from my niece.

She wondered if today would be a good day to go to the feed store.

The answer came almost immediately.

“Absolutely.”

Changing today’s plan actually made the day easier.

Instead of carrying feed to the barn every day—a ten-minute walk through the woods, part of it uphill—I could stock the feed barrel at the barn and save myself a lot of carrying over the coming weeks.

A little later she arrived…

With my birth sister, Jean.

The two of them came together, and before long we were sitting around the table in the parlour sharing a cup of King Cole tea.

My niece had even picked up a large box for me while she was shopping.

One less thing on my grocery list.

Simple acts of kindness often mean the most.

Before leaving for the feed store, my sister looked around the parlour and jokingly said,

“Now all you need is some flowers on the table.”

So I stepped outside and cut two stems from our old Seven Sisters rose bush.

I handed one to each of them.

“There you go,” I laughed.

“Flowers for the table.”

My sister looked at hers and said,

“But I’m allergic!”

“Then why did you ask me to pick them?” I laughed.

My niece happily took both roses home.

As I looked at the remaining leaves and petals afterwards, another thought crossed my mind.

I wonder…

Can you make tea from Seven Sisters roses?

Now there’s another little project for another day.

At the feed store, the shelves were looking surprisingly bare.

The delivery truck isn’t due until tomorrow.

I had hoped to buy both Beef Builder and four-grain scratch to mix another batch of feed.

The scratch feed was sold out.

Thankfully I still had enough at home to finish what I needed.

Back at the barn, my niece helped me mix the feed.

As we poured the grain into the barrel, the breeze caught the lighter pieces and carried them away.

“That’s the chaff,” I told her.

Another one of those old words that isn’t heard nearly as often anymore.

Years ago, after grain was threshed, farmers used the wind to separate the grain from the chaff.

The grain fell back down.

The chaff…

The light, papery husks…

Blew away.

That’s where the old expression comes from about separating the wheat from the chaff.

Sometimes all it takes is a little wind…

To remind us where old words come from.

One thing happened today that had nothing to do with farming.

Yet somehow…

It had everything to do with Briden Farm.

As we sat together in the parlour, CountryAirRadio.com was quietly playing in the background on the television.

After a while I noticed Jean listening.

I could tell she liked what she was hearing.

So I asked her.

Rather than simply explaining how I create music these days, I thought I’d show her.

I asked if she’d tell me a little about her life.

Not every detail.

Just the chapters that meant the most.

Becoming a young mother.

Raising a family.

Becoming a grandmother.

I also reassured her that if she didn’t like the finished song, I’d simply delete it before anyone else ever heard it.

She agreed.

A short while later…

Her story had become a song.

Jean’s Journey of Love.

When she heard it for the first time, I could tell it had touched her.

I sent a copy to both Jean and my niece.

Then I uploaded it to Country Air Radio, added it to one of our playlists, gave it a high priority, and before long…

Jean was sitting in the parlour listening to her own life story being played on the radio.

Not long after they left, my phone chimed.

A message from Jean.

She simply said,

“You made my day.”

Truth be told…

She probably made mine too.

Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t something you can buy.

Sometimes it’s helping someone realize that their story matters.

Every life has a story.

And today reminded me…

Every life has a song.

Another chapter closed today as well.

Bear left for his new home.

Watching him go wasn’t easy.

It never is.

But I know he’s gone to people who will love him.

Even better, there’s a good possibility that Bo may soon go to a close family member of Bear’s new family.

If that happens, the two brothers won’t grow up under the same roof.

But they’ll still get to spend time together.

That reminded me of Lizzy and Blaze.

Last year’s puppy and one of this year’s pups were adopted by cousins.

Every now and then they get together and play along the lakeshore at their campground.

Maybe…

Just maybe…

Bear and Bo will have the same opportunity.

I hope so.

By late afternoon the chores were done.

The girls had helped me with the barn chores that morning.

The sheep and goats had been fed and watered.

Patsy had been milked.

Back here at Briden Farm, the chicks, chickens, ducks, pigs and dogs had all been looked after.

With the livestock settled, I tackled another little job around the house.

Armed with a broom, I swept the walls and ceilings, chasing down those cobwebs that quietly collect in the corners of busy old homes.

There are still lots of things needing attention.

There probably always will be.

But one little job at a time…

The house, like the farm, continues to improve.

One other lesson today…

Apparently my voice recorder only records ten minutes at a time!

I discovered that after happily sitting on the front step, talking away, enjoying the breeze, the birds and the peaceful afternoon…

Only to discover afterwards that it had faithfully recorded…

The first ten minutes.

The rest?

Apparently I was talking to myself.

Oh well.

Now I know!

By about 10:30 this evening, the day was finally winding down.

After an incredible nap, I woke feeling refreshed.

Supper was waiting.

Tonight it was pan-fried Briden Farm Heritage Pork served over a bed of mashed potatoes, with a cold glass of water.

Simple.

Homegrown.

And absolutely delicious.

After supper came another little taste of Briden Farm.

A hot mug of Briden Farm Tea, followed by a bowl of Udderly Devine Ice Cream.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with ending a good day’s work with a little treat now and then.

A few dishes found their way into the dish rack.

The kitchen floor got another sweep.

The chickens, ducks and the rest of the birds were tucked safely into their coops for the night.

Outside, everything was settling down.

Inside…

So was I.

Looking back over today, it wasn’t one big event that made it memorable.

It was the little things.

A cup of tea with family.

Old farming words carried on the breeze.

Helping my sister hear her own life story turned into a song.

Watching another puppy begin his new adventure.

Good food.

Good company.

And the quiet satisfaction that comes from an honest day’s work.

Tomorrow the chores will begin again.

The animals will still be waiting.

There will be more stories to tell.

And if today reminded me of anything…

It’s that every life has a story.

And every life…

Has a song. 🌾🎵☕