Tuesday, July 21, 2026

The day began around 7:15 this morning.

The first order of business was cleaning up after yesterday’s wonderful supper. The dishes were still waiting in the sink, a pleasant reminder of one of the finest meals I’ve enjoyed in quite some time. Once they were finished, it was time for my usual breakfast before getting started on the day.

Someone had asked for fresh eggs, so my first farm chore was washing and preparing a dozen for pickup. Around here, eggs aren’t washed until they’re ready to be sold. Leaving the natural protective bloom intact helps keep them fresh longer, just as nature intended.

From there it was out to look after the chicks and chickens, Maple and Brooke, the pigs, and the roosters.

By the time those chores were finished, it was about 12:35 when I headed toward the barn.

Before leaving the house, I filled a container with grain for the sheep. Since their new pasture now lies along the woodland trail to the barn, I knew they’d be expecting their daily treat if they saw me walking by. The fresh pasture provides plenty of grass, but the nursing ewes appreciate the little extra grain, and I’ve learned over the years that contented animals are much less likely to go looking for adventure.

The sheep were my first stop.

After giving them their grain, I continued on to the barn where the rabbits were waiting.

With them looked after, I carried the sheep’s feed troughs and tubs across from the pasture they’d left yesterday to their new home. I’d intentionally left them behind during yesterday’s move because the flock had already been fed before making the seven-hundred-foot journey. Carrying the troughs along at the time would only have convinced them another meal was coming. Today seemed like the better time to finish the job.

Once everything was in place, I returned to the barn to feed the quail and goats before milking Patsy.

By about 2:45 I was back home.

Adding the afternoon chores to the hour and twenty-five minutes or so I’d spent outside this morning, something occurred to me.

My routine is becoming more efficient.

The total time spent on chores is gradually coming down, yet I don’t feel as though I’m rushing.

In fact, I’m managing to complete little extra jobs along the way while somehow spending more time simply enjoying the animals.

I suppose that’s what happens when a routine settles in.

Instead of constantly thinking about what comes next, the work begins to flow naturally from one chore to another.

The chores themselves haven’t become smaller.

I’ve simply become better organized.

And somehow, that leaves a little more time to stop, watch the lambs playing, scratch a dog behind the ears, or quietly stand beside Patsy while she enjoys her grain during milking.

After a short rest, Roscoe and I headed into the village for an afternoon walk.

The plan was simple enough.

Mail a few items.

Pick up whatever was waiting in my mailbox.

Enjoy the walk home.

The first part went perfectly.

The second…

Not quite.

I’d remembered everything I needed to mail.

I’d remembered Roscoe.

I’d remembered the walk.

What I’d forgotten was the one thing I actually needed to open my mailbox.

The key.

So whatever was waiting for me would simply have to wait.

Sometimes that’s just the way life goes.

You accomplish most of what you set out to do…

…and discover the most important thing has been left sitting at home.

Back at the farmhouse, it was time for supper.

Tonight’s meal was another reminder of how fortunate I am to enjoy so much good local food.

The menu was simple but delicious.

Two Briden Farm lamb burgers on toasted bread, each topped with fresh goat feta made here on the farm from Patsy’s milk.

Both burgers were finished with a combination of Garlic Rosemary Jelly and Tarragon Peppercorn Mustard from Tangled Garden near Grand Pré and Wolfville. The sweetness of the jelly paired beautifully with the mustard, while the creamy feta brought everything together.

There’s something satisfying about a meal where almost every ingredient has a story.

The lamb was raised here at Briden Farm.

The feta was made from milk Patsy had given only days before.

And the condiments came from another Nova Scotia business celebrating local flavours.

It wasn’t fancy.

It didn’t need to be.

It was simply good food, prepared with gratitude after another rewarding day on the farm.

As ten o’clock rolled around, I finally solved the mystery of the missing mailbox key.

Or perhaps more accurately…

The key had been waiting patiently for me to solve the mystery.

After my walk to the post office earlier in the afternoon, I’d convinced myself I’d somehow lost it. I was already thinking about the twenty-nine dollars it would cost to replace it.

Then something clicked.

The last time I’d actually carried the key was Saturday when I walked down to the Cherry Carnival.

“I was wearing my new boots.”

Now…

Where had I put those boots?

Eventually I spotted them sitting partway up the stairs, exactly where I’d left them so Beau wouldn’t decide they looked like his next chew toy.

But before I even reached the boots…

There they were.

My mailbox keys.

Sitting in plain sight.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Good thing it wasn’t a bear.

It might have bitten me.

With keys finally in hand, I left the dogs at home and made one last quick march down to the post office.

The mailbox wasn’t quite as exciting as I’d hoped.

Waiting inside was another colon screening test kit.

Let’s just say it joined the others.

Whatever I had actually hoped would be waiting…

Wasn’t.

Maybe tomorrow.

Earlier in the afternoon, River had given me quite a scare. I suspect he’d been stung by a wasp or hornet that had somehow found its way into the house. For several hours he paced from one end of the farmhouse to the other, clearly upset and unable to settle. Thankfully, by bedtime he seemed much more like himself again.

After returning from the post office, I closed the chickens safely into their coop as darkness settled over Briden Farm.

By a little after eleven, Roscoe, River, Beau and Pete were outside for one last wander before turning in for the night.

Tomorrow’s forecast is calling for rain.

That means another walk over the hill, through the woods and down the trail to the barn with raindrops falling through the trees.

But you know what?

A rainy day at Briden Farm is still better than a sunny day sitting in some office cubicle.

Besides…

Rainy days have a way of slowing the farm down just enough to remind us that not every day has to be rushed.

As long as nobody gets stung tomorrow…

I think we’ll all be just fine. 🌧️🐑🐐