Tuesday, July 28, 2026

As I’ve said many times before, plans on a farm are often little more than good intentions. If there’s one thing this homesteading journey has taught me over the past few years, it’s the art of flexible planning.

Yesterday turned out to be a good day, just not the one I expected.

The morning began with a few conversations that I needed to have. Sometimes those are just as important as any chore waiting outside.

By around midday, my friend Kelly stopped by for a visit, and I’m certainly glad she did.

We spent quite a while talking—not only about life, but about Briden Farm itself. We tossed around ideas for the future, discussed ways to spruce up the atmosphere here on the farm, and explored some possibilities that may or may not ever happen. That’s part of dreaming.

One thing I do know is that our conversation helped me see Briden Farm through fresh eyes again. Sometimes when you’re immersed in something every day, you stop noticing what makes it special. It took someone looking in from the outside to remind me just how much has been accomplished here over the past few years.

For that, Kelly, thank you.

The chores here at home had already been looked after earlier in the day. The poultry, the pigs, Maple and Brooke were all fed and cared for before she arrived.

One unexpected bonus was that Kelly was able to give me a lift over to the barn. Along the way we picked up the mail before carrying on with the afternoon chores.

The rabbits, goats and quail were all looked after. Patsy was milked, the sheep were checked, everyone had fresh water, and before long it was time to head back home.

By then, I decided to take the evening a little more quietly. I spent some time tidying up around the house and simply enjoyed a slower pace.

Oddly enough, I never really became hungry for supper.

That’s unusual for me.

It wasn’t until about nine o’clock that I finally wandered into the kitchen and made a pot of macaroni with some of our Briden Farm heritage pork hamburger.

Nothing fancy.

Just the way my mom used to make it.

The hamburger had been browned in a cast iron skillet before being stirred into the macaroni with a simple can of tomato soup, a little ketchup, and a touch of salt and pepper.

I finally sat down with a small bowl around ten o’clock.

Truth be told, macaroni like that is often even better the second day… and if it happens to last until the third day, better still.

Looking back, yesterday wasn’t the day I’d planned.

Then again…

Some of the best days aren’t.

Sometimes they arrive with unexpected conversations, renewed appreciation, and simple reminders that it’s okay to pause long enough to see your own farm through someone else’s eyes.

Those are good days too!

PS: I also, finally got You the pictures of the Hay Bales all under cover in the carport!