Tag: Goats

Today at Briden Farm: Today Was one of those Days!

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Bell Road Pasture

July 31, 2026

Some days on a farm are about getting chores done.

Other days remind you why you started in the first place.

Today was one of those days.

This afternoon, our six ewes and their nine lambs made the journey to what we’ve come to call the Bell Road Pasture. For Barbara, Cloud, and Dolly, it was a familiar walk. They’ve made this trip several times over the past couple of years and know exactly where they’re going.

For the rest of the flock, however, it was something entirely different.

For this year’s nine lambs—and even for some of the younger ewes—today was their very first journey down the woodland trail to fresh pasture.

Watching that happen was something special.

I often tell people that the sheep follow me.

But after watching today’s video, you might find yourself asking a different question…

Who’s really following whom?

As always, Barbara, Cloud, and Dolly stepped confidently onto the trail. The others watched, trusted, and followed. That’s one of the wonderful things about sheep. Experience isn’t just learned by individuals—it’s passed from one generation to the next.

Those lambs weren’t simply walking to a new pasture.

They were learning.

They were learning that a move means fresh grass, fresh browse, fresh herbs, and another beautiful “salad bar” waiting just over the hill.

Here at Briden Farm, we usually rotate the sheep onto fresh pasture every four days. It’s a system that gives the flock a continual supply of natural forage while allowing previously grazed areas the time they need to recover.

The sheep benefit.

The land benefits.

And year after year, both continue to improve.

As I watched the flock disappear down the trail, I couldn’t help but think back.

Briden Farm became ours on August 4, 2020. A couple of weeks later, on August 20th, our first three goats arrived. Strangely enough, I remember the day the goats moved onto the farm even better than the day we moved in ourselves.

Back then, there were no sheep.

There was no Bell Road Pasture.

There was no Mary’s Barn.

Just a dream, a willingness to work, and a lot of brush that needed clearing.

In the fall of 2024, we first expanded into the Bell Road property and began using Mary’s Barn. The goats were the pioneers, browsing through brush and saplings, slowly opening up the land. About a month later, the sheep followed.

Looking at photographs from those first days, and then looking at the pasture today, it’s hard to believe it’s the same place.

Not because we brought in bulldozers or excavators.

But because goats browsed.

Sheep grazed.

Nature responded.

And little by little, year after year, the land became healthier.

That’s the beauty of stewardship.

It’s not about forcing nature to do what we want.

It’s about working with it, patiently, and allowing it to become what it was meant to be.

By late afternoon, the flock had settled quietly beneath the trees of the Bell Road Pasture, contentedly grazing as though they’d been there all their lives.

The pigs had already been moved earlier in the day.

Water buckets had been filled.

The gates were closed.

For the first time in a while, I felt caught up.

When I finally headed into the house, supper was waiting.

A couple of days ago, I’d made a pot of macaroni using my Mom Enid’s wonderfully simple recipe.

Mom passed over twenty-two years ago.

Yet somehow, every time I make that macaroni, she’s still here.

With a steaming plate of Mom’s macaroni and my faithful old tea pot quietly brewing another pot of tea, it was the perfect ending to a long day’s work.

Sometimes the richest life isn’t measured by how much we own.

It’s measured by healthy pastures.

By animals that trust us.

By old family recipes that still warm both the body and the heart.

And by the quiet satisfaction that comes from knowing you’ve left the land just a little better than you found it.

After five years of building Briden Farm, one pasture, one fence, one animal, and one day at a time, I wouldn’t trade days like today for anything.

“This is what happens when you give animals a job, rotate them thoughtfully, and give the land time to recover.”

Until next time…

From all of us here at Briden Farm, thank you for following along on our journey. Have a wonderful evening, and may God bless. 🌿🐑🍵 

Brian

Briden Farm 

 

Today at Briden Farm: A Sickening Thud

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Large Round Hay Bales

25 July 2026 

The day started before seven this morning, thanks to the dogs. They all needed to go out, and while Beau has continued to do remarkably well settling back into life here on the farm, River decided that after coming back inside, what he really wanted was a little attention. He climbed up beside me, content to spend a few quiet moments together before the day’s work began.

After breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, it was time to head to the barn.

The rabbits were looked after first, followed by the quail, then the goats. The sheep were due for another move, so I trimmed along the fence line, set up a new section of electric fencing, moved the flock onto fresh pasture, and then took the old fence back down so it would be ready for their next rotation. It’s a fair bit of work every few days, but fresh pasture is one of the keys to keeping healthy sheep and healthy land.

Back at the barn, I continued mixing yesterday’s feed into plastic barrels before any mice or other uninvited guests decided to help themselves. It’s one of those jobs that isn’t particularly exciting, but it saves feed and saves money.

Yesterday I managed to get about half of this year’s round bales under the carport, but the remaining bales are still waiting outside. Looking at them today, my mind started working on the next challenge.

There has to be an easier way.

Rather than trying to muscle 700-pound round bales, I’ve been thinking about using a chain hoist suspended from one of the overhead beams. Since the bales are sitting on pallets, I may only need to lift one edge of the pallet an inch or two—just enough to reach the tipping point and let leverage and gravity do the rest. It’ll have to be tested carefully, watching the beam every step of the way. If it doesn’t seem right, I’ll lower everything and find another method.

That’s one of the things farming has taught me.

You don’t always need more strength.

Sometimes you just need a better idea.

Then, in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, everything changed.

I was standing with my back to the road when I heard a sickening thud.

I turned around and saw Roscoe.

My heart sank.

After checking him over as carefully as I could, I couldn’t find any obvious injuries beyond a small scrape. He was favouring one hind leg, and I could see the shock in his eyes, but there was no crying, no flinching, and no obvious sign of broken bones. Mary drove us home with Roscoe riding in the truck. Once home, he settled onto his mattress with fresh food and water while I returned to the barn to finish the chores and bring Beau and River home.

I can tell you one thing.

Roscoe is more than a dog to me. He’s my son.

This evening, before turning in, I headed out one last time to close up the chicken coop.

Roscoe insisted on coming with me.

He was still limping, and I could tell there was still some pain there, but he was using that leg more than he had earlier in the day. His nose was still cold and wet, and despite everything that had happened, he wasn’t about to let me make my evening rounds alone.

That short walk to the coop may not have seemed like much, but to me it meant everything.

He’s not one hundred percent yet, and I’ll be keeping a close eye on him over the next several days, but seeing him determined to be by my side again filled me with hope.

As the evening wound down, I finally got around to cleaning the slow cooker from the lamb rib roast I had made a couple of days ago.

The juices had cooled, leaving a thick white layer of hardened fat across the top. It looked almost exactly like candle wax. Instead of throwing it away, I skimmed it off into a clean milk carton.

That simple little job sparked another idea.

For generations, farmers rendered sheep tallow into candles, soap, leather dressing, and all sorts of useful products around the homestead. I’ve been thinking about making candles for quite a while now. Between the empty glass jars I’ve been saving and even old soup cans, I may already have everything I need for a few experiments.

Who knows?

Maybe one day Briden Farm will have its own hand-poured tallow candles, made from the very animals that help sustain this little farm.

It’s funny how a day can unfold.

It begins with quiet morning chores, continues with sheep, fences, feed, and hay, suddenly reminds you just how precious those you love really are, and quietly ends by rediscovering a skill that our grandparents probably considered perfectly ordinary.

That’s one of the things I love most about this life.

Every day teaches something.

Sometimes it’s a lesson in patience.

Sometimes it’s a reminder to be thankful.

And sometimes, it’s discovering that what looks like waste today may become something useful tomorrow.

Until next time…

Brian
Briden Farm 🌾🐑🐐🐕🕯️

Roscoe sits on the Hillside contemplating this new day!

Today at Briden Farm: Something Shed A Little Light On Things

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Supper Under A New Light

Today at Briden Farm – Wednesday, July 15, 2026

The morning began quietly.

An overcast sky hung over Bear River, with light showers forecast for later in the day. The forecast called for an 80% chance of rain, although by afternoon it had turned into another warm summer day, climbing to around 26 or 27°C.

By 7:15 a.m. I was awake.

River was the first one outside to do his business, while Bo and Bear played in the very area where they were born and spent their first two months of life.

Watching those two together brought back a memory.

Having two puppies can be just a little hectic.

They seem to feed off one another.

One starts something…

The other decides to improve on it.

By the time they’re finished, they’re both convinced it was a great idea.

As I watched them yesterday evening becoming just a little stubborn, I couldn’t help but think back to my oldest nephew and me when we were about five years old.

If he dug in his heels…

I’d dig mine in a little deeper.

If he got into mischief…

I’d try to outdo him.

Looking back now, I suspect we weren’t nearly as charming as we thought we were.

So perhaps Bo and Bear are simply my payback for being that stubborn little five-year-old boy.

It’s funny what animals do.

Sometimes they teach us about themselves.

Sometimes they remind us of who we used to be.

And every now and then…

They quietly teach us something about ourselves all over again.

By mid-morning the chores here at home were finished.

The broody hens and their chicks had all been fed and watered.

The chickens.

The ducks.

The pigs.

Maple and Brooke.

The puppies.

Roscoe and River.

Everybody had been looked after.

I even managed to get a couple of sinkfuls of dishes washed, move the quail into a better location, and tidy up around the house a little.

Little jobs…

But they all count.

One thing I was especially pleased about today had nothing to do with livestock.

A fellow I booked a couple of weeks ago came by to install a new light in the parlour.

That’s another word that’s slowly disappearing.

Many younger folks have probably never heard it.

In old farmhouses, the parlour wasn’t the family room or the formal dining room.

It was simply the room where visitors were welcomed, stories were shared and, more often than not, a cup of tea found its way into your hand.

Ours has served that purpose for generations.

The old light fixture finally came down, and a new one went up, snug against the ceiling, complete with a built-in night-light.

Nothing extravagant.

Just a simple improvement.

The whole job, including the fixture, came to about seventy dollars.

It wasn’t that I’d been putting it off.

I’d wanted to have it done for years.

For one reason or another, it simply never happened.

Until today.

Standing there looking up at the new light, I couldn’t help but smile.

In a way, it had done more than brighten the parlour.

It had shed a little light on things.

Sometimes moving forward isn’t about making huge changes.

Sometimes it’s finally taking care of one small thing that’s been waiting far too long.

One little job.

One little victory.

One more step into a new chapter.

During the hottest part of the afternoon I stayed inside.

Not really hiding…

Well, maybe just hiding from the heat a little.

Around 4:15, it was time to make the familiar walk through the woods to the barn.

It’s about ten minutes each way through mostly mixed hardwood forest.

The hardest part is the beginning.

The first sixty or eighty feet is a steep climb.

Once I’m over that first hill, though, the rest of the walk becomes one of my favourite parts of the day.

It gives me time to think.

Roscoe and River usually make the trip with me.

Roscoe is excellent.

River…

Well, River still has a mind of his own now and then.

But he’s improving.

Today I carried the feed in two smaller buckets instead of one larger one.

Altogether it weighed about the same, but splitting the weight between both hands made it much easier to carry.

I’ve found the same thing with water buckets.

Sometimes farming isn’t about working harder.

It’s about working smarter.

Over at the barn, the sheep, goats and rabbits were all fed and watered.

Patsy was milked and gave about a litre and a half of milk today.

Could she produce more?

Probably.

But we don’t believe in pushing our goats simply to see how much they’ll produce.

If we can’t use the extra milk, what’s the point?

I’d rather have healthy, contented animals than chase production records.

Little Rose continues to do well.

And while checking the sheep, I noticed one of the ram lambs has the tiniest little horn beginning to grow.

Only…

It’s a little crumpled.

Who knows?

Maybe he’ll become the unicorn of Briden Farm.

I doubt it…

But stranger things have happened.

By the time I walked back home, it was about 6:45 p.m.

Looking back over the day, I realized something.

The chores had taken about four hours altogether.

About an hour and a half this morning.

About two and a half hours this evening.

That’s become my goal.

Four hours or less.

Not because I want to rush.

But because it’s sustainable.

When Denis and I worked the farm together, those same daily chores often took the two of us about two hours each.

Today proved something important.

Briden Farm can continue moving forward.

The routine may be different now.

It will probably continue to evolve.

But four hours…

I can live with that.

Back at home, the slow cooker had quietly been doing its job all day.

The pork roast had been cooking since about nine that morning, with the potatoes added later in the afternoon.

By the time I sat down, supper was ready.

Nothing fancy.

Just slow-cooked pork, potatoes and a cold glass of water.

As I sat there, I looked around the table.

Truth be told, it hasn’t been used much lately.

Over time it had become a place where things got set down rather than a place to sit down.

It slowly collected clutter and, without a decent light overhead, it just wasn’t an inviting place to enjoy a meal.

Today felt different.

The clutter had been cleared away.

The new parlour light was shining overhead.

For the first time in quite a while, I simply sat down and enjoyed my supper.

Funny how one small improvement can change the feel of a room.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

It helped shed a little light on things.

Sometimes moving forward isn’t marked by big, life-changing moments.

Sometimes it’s as simple as clearing off an old table, replacing a light fixture that had needed changing for years, and sitting down to a home-cooked meal after an honest day’s work.

Looking back over today, that’s exactly what it was.

An honest day’s work.

The animals were cared for.

The chores were done.

A few long-overdue jobs were finally crossed off the list.

And, perhaps without even realizing it…

A new routine quietly began taking shape.

Tomorrow…

We’ll do it all again. 🌾 Read More

This Week at Briden Farm: Week Ending July 4, 2026

Circus Tricks with Briden Farm Goats

There are weeks on the farm that quietly pass by, and then there are weeks that remind you exactly why you chose this life.

This was one of those weeks.

It really began the Saturday before, with our Birthday BBQ and Landowner Appreciation Gathering.

The day celebrated two birthdays, but it was also our way of saying thank you to the neighbours and landowners who have trusted Briden Farm with pieces of their property. Although we own 22 acres, today Briden Farm has access to about 117 acres of grazing land because of those relationships. That’s something we never take for granted.

Like most farm gatherings, not everything went according to plan. The charcoal barbecue never got used after someone decided the gas barbecue would be enough. The baked potatoes took longer than expected, and we finally confirmed what we’d suspected for some time—our kitchen oven isn’t heating properly. The crown rack of lamb had to be finished on the barbecue.

There were a few hiccups.

But by the end of the day every bit of the pork and lamb (actually a 3-4 year old Ram) had been eaten, people were talking about how good it tasted, and before everyone left I took a moment to thank them for allowing Briden Farm to graze our livestock on their land.

Looking back now, I think that gathering set the tone for the week.

It reminded me that Briden Farm isn’t built only on fences, fields, and livestock.

It’s built on relationships.

Then came the heat.

Friday was one of the hottest days we’ve seen this summer.

Temperatures reached at least 31°C, with the humidex feeling much closer to 40.

Instead of one round of chores, the weather demanded three.

Morning.

Afternoon.

Evening.

The sheep emptied an entire water container between morning and mid-afternoon, confirming something we’ve suspected for a while. On days like that, checking water isn’t optional.

It’s essential.

The pigs spent much of the day wallowing in the wet spot in their paddock. I’ve often wondered if it’s an old spring that’s been covered over. Maybe someday they’ll uncover it for us.

Yesterday I left a bucket of water sitting in the shade near their pasture. It meant one less trip pushing a wheelbarrow full of water through the afternoon heat. Sometimes the best chore you do today is the one that makes tomorrow easier.

Earlier that morning I spent three hours trimming fence lines and moving the sheep to a fresh paddock.

The move itself reminded me how much the lambs have grown.

Just a few weeks ago they stood watching, unsure of what was happening.

This week they simply followed.

I opened the corner of the electric netting, hung the post in a small tree, and every ewe and every lamb calmly followed me into their new salad bar.

Watching those lambs move confidently with the flock told me something.

They’re not just following their mothers anymore.

They’re learning the Briden Farm routine.

That will become especially important over the next few days as we prepare to move them into the barn for Monday’s shearing and hoof trimming.

We usually shear in April, but finding shearers has become increasingly difficult. Sadly, we learned this year how important timely shearing can be when we lost our Babydoll ewe, Baby, to fly strike.

Some lessons are hard.

Lucy is still keeping us guessing.

She’s still waiting to freshen.

Every morning and every evening I check on her, making sure she has clean water, grain, and a comfortable place to escape the heat.

The Saanen goats continue their daily routine, spending part of the day outside while Lucy stays separated to avoid unnecessary jostling before she freshens.

Sometimes the calendar says one thing.

The goats have other ideas.

One of the highlights of the week was Patsy.

Milking her is beginning to feel less like a wrestling match and more like a conversation.

The first time she screamed, kicked, and protested every minute.

Tonight she calmly kept her head in the feed bucket while I milked her.

We collected over a litre, but more importantly, she trusted me.

Near the end I stopped, left the rest for Rose, and didn’t ask for more than Patsy was ready to give.

Every milking shows improvement.

I think we’re both being trained.

The dogs had a big week too.

The DOGOITM GPS virtual fence project reached an important milestone.

Both collars were independently programmed and tested.

Walking along Parker Road and later driving west on River Road with the collars sitting on the truck seat, both collars beeped and vibrated at almost exactly the same location.

That doesn’t mean the testing is finished.

It does mean the results are becoming repeatable.

Now the next step is to fine-tune the boundary before Roscoe and River begin their training.

Speaking of dogs…

Blue reminded me how hard it is to say goodbye to a good one.

Before she leaves for her new home, I sat with her while she ate and told her how proud I am of how far she’s come since returning to us in March.

I gave her a hug.

She quietly lay down beside me.

She’s never done that before.

I think she was saying,

“Okay Dad, if you think it’ll be good for me, and it’ll help you, I’ll go.”

Bear, meanwhile, is growing up fast.

He’s learned his name—or maybe I’ve finally learned it.

He’s coming when called, following us around the farm, and this week he made one of his first trips to Mary’s pond.

Roscoe swam.

River waded.

Bear watched.

Eventually curiosity won, and he got his feet wet.

Sometimes the best teacher isn’t me.

Sometimes it’s another dog.

This week also reminded me that good neighbours are one of Briden Farm’s greatest blessings.

While I was tending to the goats, Albert stopped to chat.

He asked when we were planning to bring the pigs over. We’d talked about it in passing a year or so ago.

Then he told me that if I ever wanted to use more of their land, all I had to do was ask.

That meant a great deal to me.

It wasn’t simply an offer of more pasture.

It was an expression of trust.

Briden Farm has grown because people have trusted us to care for both their land and our livestock.

That’s something we never take for granted.

Another change this week has been in how we’re managing the farm itself.

We’ve started buying livestock feed a month at a time.

The feed store isn’t far away, but every trip costs fuel, wear and tear on the truck, and usually a few things that weren’t on the shopping list.

Planning ahead means fewer trips, fewer surprises, and one less thing to worry about.

The same thinking led me to buying extra dog food while it was on sale.

We’ll use it.

It’s dry.

It stores well.

So why not buy it when it’s cheaper?

It’s all part of making Briden Farm a little more manageable.

We’ve been doing this for nearly six years now.

We’ve learned a lot.

Now we’re refining what we’ve learned.

The goal isn’t simply to make farming easier.

It’s to build a system that someone else can understand.

Someday we may need help.

Someday we may want a few days away.

And someday, perhaps, another small farm will adapt what we’ve learned here to fit their own operation.

That’s one of the reasons we’re building the Briden Farm Operations Handbook.

Not just to remember.

But to pass it on.

Looking ahead, next week promises to be another busy one.

The sheep will move into the barn ahead of Monday’s shearing.

The goats will have their hooves trimmed.

The GPS collars will continue their testing.

Lucy will, hopefully, finally freshen.

And life at Briden Farm will carry on, one chore at a time.

Some weeks are exhausting.

Some weeks are heartbreaking.

Some weeks are deeply satisfying.

Most weeks are all three.

That’s farming.

And when the chores are finally done, the boots are by the door, the animals are settled for the night, and the sun is slipping below the trees, there’s still something special about sitting down with a bowl of orange pineapple ice cream and a cup of old-fashioned #BridenFarm Tea.

Until next week,

Brian Hurlburt
Briden Farm, Bear River, Nova Scotia