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