Customer Hamish emailed me a few months back asking if his adult son, Hart, could come by the farm. Hart’s got an interest in animal farming, and they wondered if I’d share a bit of what I’ve learned. Simple enough request — but with fall harvest dragging on for us, it took a while to pin down a day. We finally landed on this past Wednesday.
While they were making the long drive down from Toronto, I was at the barn doing what I’ll admit was a bit of “pre-company tidying.” You know how it is — sweeping, straightening, making the chaos look slightly less chaotic. And even while I was doing it, I knew the truth: it wasn’t for them… it was for me. It made me feel a little more proud showing them around.
I hurried back to the house just in time to yank off the coveralls and rubber boots, and there they were rolling into the driveway right at 11 a.m. Anne and I met them, had a quick chat, and they handed us a thoughtful gift for taking the time. Then it was straight to the bottle-lamb pen to kick things off.
I wasn’t totally sure what part of farming Hart was most curious about, so I just… talked about everything. The history of our farm, the crops, the equipment, the sheep, the whole works. Then we hopped in the truck and headed up the lane to the main barn. Anne had suggested I clean the truck too, but I figured, no — if they’re coming to a farm, they might as well experience a farm truck in all its glory. Smell included.
And wouldn’t you know it — halfway up the lane, problem number one showed itself. They didn’t see it, but I sure did. The sheep were out. Again. And it was my fault. I’d left the gate unlatched in my irregular morning routine caused by getting ready for their visit.
We stopped the truck, and suddenly Hamish and Hart were in the middle of their first real job on a farm - walking sheep back into the barnyard. They did great, honestly. It went so smooth it almost looked staged, like a “farm experience” package you’d book on purpose.
Then came the next job: a broken fence and one overly determined ewe that I had to wrestle out of the ram pasture while the two of them blocked the rams from coming after me. If that doesn’t give a curious guy a real farm introduction, nothing will. At one point I fixed the fence with binder twine, and right then I thought, well, that’s the whole tour right there, about sums it all up. 🙂
After that the rest was pretty calm — we talked through the management practices, the feeding, the whole lamb operation. We finished with a drive to show them the slaughter plant and a coffee at Tim’s before they headed back to Toronto.
After they left, I found myself thinking about the day. I realized I had spent hours talking about the problems, the fixes, the breakdowns, the tech, the chores, the decisions, the juggling — all the stuff that makes farming look like one long troubleshooting session.
But I never talked about the good stuff.
I didn’t tell them about the feeling you get when a lamb takes its first breath. Or that little moment of pride when a crop finally comes through after months of worry. Or how a quiet morning chore with the sun just coming up can reset your whole outlook. Or the peaceful drive across a field at sunset that makes you forget all the headaches for a minute — especially when you’re doing it all as part of something with your family.
The truth is, livestock farming is 24/7, 365 of trouble… but it’s also 24/7, 365 of beauty. There’s something about this life that gets its hooks in you in the best way.
So Hart, if you’re reading this — I hope you find a path that gives you both. A bit of challenge, a bit of chaos, and plenty of sunsets worth stopping for.
Good luck, Hart.
