It’s been a quiet week on the farm—sort of a holding pattern. Lambing is due to start any day now. We’ve had one early set of triplets, tucked into the warm shop. They’re still wobbly on their feet and need to be hand bottle-fed every six hours, but otherwise, it’s just the waiting game.
And I’m not great at waiting. I get fidgety, aimless. It’s like when there’s too much time to think, I end up thinking about everything all at once.
Then Thursday morning, Anne was lamenting about needing to go get groceries. The weather was dreary, and I could tell she wasn’t exactly jumping at the idea. And, out of nowhere—completely out of character—I said, “I’ll go.”
She looked at me a bit sideways. I mean, I don’t think I’ve done a solo grocery run in… well, maybe once? Ever?
But I had already decided I’d go to town for a haircut that day. It had been over four months since the last one, and I figured if I was going out, might as well make the trip count. So off I went.
First stop: Ruth’s chair. Now Ruth and I go back a long way—Grade 2 at least. She's one of those hometown constants that just makes everything feel familiar. We caught up on life and farm and local news, and by the time I left, I already felt a bit more grounded.
Then came the grocery store.
I had Anne’s perfectly organized list in hand and a deep sense of purpose. I checked labels, picked the good lettuce, hunted down the right cheese, and stuck to Canadian-made the best I could. But despite my best efforts, I was clearly not a regular.
Seasoned shoppers could smell it on me.
I backtracked through aisles, poked the cart out into main traffic, and left it abandoned while I went back to get something I’d missed—again. I’m pretty sure I was being judged by a lady in the dairy aisle who had the precision of a Formula 1 pit crew. At one point, I thought maybe the store should issue “Caution: New Shopper” signs to hang on carts—kind of like the “Student Driver” bumper sticker of the grocery world.
But I pushed on.
And I pulled off a strong finish in the frozen section with a big tub of Canadian-made Kawartha Lakes ice cream.
On the way out, I ran into a couple of familiar faces—quick hellos and a few laughs. Just enough to remind me why I love this small-town life.
It wasn’t a vacation. It wasn’t a break, exactly. But it was something different. And it reminded me that sometimes the things that feel out of character are exactly what we need to reconnect—with the people around us and with ourselves.
Now the pantry’s full, my hair’s trimmed, and I’m back home, ready for the lambing storm that’s sure to hit any minute. And even though the farm hasn’t changed a bit, somehow I feel a little more ready to take it all on.
Farmer Rod
Life On The Farm:
If you caught last week’s story, you’ll remember my optimistic plan to repair a muskrat hole in our dyke with the help of a little positive thinking (and a big orange excavator). Well, I’m happy to report—it worked! The repair turned out to be as straightforward as I’d hoped. Adam and his shiny machine made quick work of the problem. Big thanks to Adam Anderson once again for saving the day!
