Saturday, July 18, 2026

Sometimes the best journeys aren’t measured by how far we travel.

They’re measured by what we discover along the way.

Today was one of those days.

It was Cherry Carnival Day here in Bear River.

If you were one of the many who took in the parade, the festivities or simply enjoyed spending time with family and friends, I hope you had a wonderful day.

Mine began the way most days begin here at Briden Farm.

With chores.

Breakfast was my usual bowl of porridge, toast and, of course, a mug of tea before heading outside to feed and water the chicks, chickens, ducks, birds, pigs and dogs.

The animals don’t know it’s Cherry Carnival.

As far as they’re concerned, today is simply another day.

And that’s perfectly alright.

By about eleven o’clock I headed over to the barn to look after the sheep, goats and rabbits.

Patsy was waiting to be milked, the water buckets needed checking, and there were all the little jobs that somehow seem to appear every time I arrive.

The morning turned into a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with friends.

David arrived with his family.

If you happened to read yesterday’s edition of Today at Briden Farm, you’ll remember David from the days of Hobbit’s Hollow in Bear River.

It was wonderful seeing him again after so many years and showing him what Briden Farm has become.

Another group arrived from the South Shore.

The farmer who had raised Darius—our ram and the father of this year’s lamb crop—came with his wife and a couple of friends to see how the sheep and lambs were doing.

What made the visit even more special was realizing that I already knew the couple who had come with them.

Years ago our paths had crossed when we lived in Yarmouth County.

Now, years later, there we were again, standing together beside the sheep at Briden Farm.

Nova Scotia really is a small world.

I also enjoyed spending some time visiting with Mary and Albert and several other friends throughout the afternoon.

For a day that started with chores, it became a day filled with conversations, memories and reconnecting with people.

By the time I arrived back home it was shortly after two o’clock.

I was tired.

But before sitting down to rest, I noticed there was more than a gallon of fresh goat milk waiting in the refrigerator.

I simply can’t drink milk as quickly as the goats produce it.

Most of mine ends up in my porridge and tea.

So before too much accumulated, I decided it was time to make cheese.

It’s probably closest to a feta, although after draining I like to press it into a container so it becomes firm enough to slice, even if it still crumbles a little.

Today’s batch included onions, garlic, oregano, salt and pepper.

Instead of rennet, I used white vinegar along with a little apple cider vinegar to separate the curds from the whey.

Very little goes to waste on a farm.

The cheese is only part of the reward.

The whey makes an excellent base for soups and chowders.

I didn’t happen to have any seafood on hand today, so I think I’ll freeze it for another day.

There’s always another opportunity waiting somewhere down the road.

By the time the cheese had finished draining, I couldn’t resist taking a closer look.

I pressed it into one of my containers, giving it a nice firm shape.

Although it’s similar to a feta, pressing it makes it firm enough to slice while still crumbling just a little around the edges.

This batch turned out beautifully.

As I cut off a small piece to sample, I couldn’t help but smile.

Yesterday morning that milk was still in Patsy’s udder.

Today it had become cheese.

That’s one of the little miracles of farming.

The animals don’t just provide food.

With a little time and a little work, they become something entirely different.

And tomorrow…

I’m thinking a slice or two might find its way onto a Briden Farm lamb burger.

I have a feeling that would make a pretty fine supper.

After finally taking a much-needed nap, I woke feeling that familiar wave of mixed emotions that sometimes comes with big life changes.

It passed.

Sometimes all we need is a little rest.

For supper I finished the “kind of soup, kind of stew” I’d made yesterday from the last of the roast, potatoes, mushrooms and broth.

Today it had become even better.

I added a handful of vegetable crackers, and somewhere overnight it had transformed itself into one of the nicest soups I’ve ever made.

Sometimes leftovers aren’t leftovers at all.

They’re simply tomorrow’s meal waiting for their turn.

As evening approached, I almost stayed home.

Truthfully, I wasn’t looking forward to answering the inevitable questions that sometimes follow major life changes.

Then I realized something.

I wasn’t going for anyone else.

I was going for me.

So I started walking.

It’s only about half a mile from Briden Farm into the village.

A light drizzle had begun to fall.

The air smelled fresh.

The scent of hay drifted from a nearby barn.

There were horses quietly grazing along the way.

The trees carried that wonderful smell they seem to have after a summer rain.

It felt less like I was walking to the Cherry Carnival…

And more like I was waking up to the world around me.

By the time I arrived, the Carnival was beginning to wind down.

The fire ban had cancelled the evening fireworks, so many people had already headed home.

That suited me just fine.

I bought a few raffle tickets.

If I’ve won anything, they’ll let me know.

I wandered across the bridge into Annapolis County and took a quiet stroll along the river behind the Legion.

Someone had flattened a pop can and left it behind.

I picked it up and dropped it into the garbage.

Hopefully it wasn’t somebody’s masterpiece.

On my way back I stopped for a box of cherries.

They had already finished selling them for the day, but they had a few boxes left over and kindly gave me one.

So I wandered back across the bridge, eating fresh Bear River cherries one at a time.

Sometimes it’s nice to have nowhere you have to be.

Before leaving the village, I wandered into the fire hall and bought a couple of bingo cards.

Not because I expected to win.

Just because it’s one small way of supporting the community.

I managed four numbers.

Not enough.

After two games I smiled, wished everyone well, and started the walk home.

As I write this, Roscoe, River and Pete are relaxing nearby.

Bo, however, seems convinced that the front step is where big dogs belong.

He’s growing up quickly and learning something new every day.

Today I also received his registration papers, another small step in his own journey.

Looking back over the day, I realized something.

The Cherry Carnival was wonderful.

Seeing old friends again was wonderful.

Making fresh goat cheese from Patsy’s milk was rewarding.

Even that bowl of leftover soup somehow tasted better than it had any right to.

But perhaps the most important part of today wasn’t any of those things.

It was the journey.

The walk into the village.

The walk back home.

The quiet realization that this community is still my home.

Sometimes the best journeys aren’t the ones that take us somewhere new.

Sometimes they’re the ones that remind us exactly where we belong.

And today…

The journey there and back…

Was exactly where I was supposed to be. 🌾🐑🐐🧀🍒🚶