July 2026 - On the Mountain

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July happened in a flash. Summer is half over, and truthfully? I’m a bit relieved. It’s been a Different Sort of Summer, and though there’s been lots of success and great moments, I’m looking forward to when things calm down just a smidge.

My first attempt at a sunflower was 5 years ago. It grew to a foot tall, and just before it flowered, it was axed by a gopher. Since then, I’ve put a lot of thought and work into establishing soil (thank you, rabbit poop), and the cats (aka hired assassins) have done well deterring pests.

When I noticed a little sunflower sprouting where I’d put seed for the birds, my heart soared, though I remained cautiously optimistic.

How tall would it get? Would it actually get to flower? I’m so glad it has.

On top of that, three cantaloupe plants are thriving next to the barn. A mystery - I don’t know where they came from. My best guess is that the seeds arrived when a friend brought food scraps for the goats two years ago?! I’m curious if they’ll have enough time to fruit, but not expecting anything.

Last month I realized the importance of prioritizing my tribe and my chosen family. The cheesy saying “Fill your circle with those who fill your cup” suddenly resonated with me.

I finally made the trip to visit my brother in Alberta. We grew up next door to each other; though not technically my brother, we’ve always been family. I met his silly hound, who’s obsessed with playing fetch, and we hung out just like we used to when we were kids. It was good to feel at ease in a way that only happens with family.

Back at home, one of my aunts also came for a visit. We showed her around the property, picked huckleberries, and explored some abandoned places. I rarely have so many heartfelt visits in one month, and I feel as though my heart has grown three sizes. Maybe living on a mountain all these years has made the Grinch comparisons a little too accurate.

I try not to share too much about butchering and processing my own meat. I understand it’s a difficult subject for people, but for me it’s a very real part of life and one I’m proud of. Killing cute things never gets easier (a good thing, I think), but I love truly knowing my food. Certain that they lived happy, healthy lives here on my farm and that nothing went to waste.

At about 4 months old, the rabbits start to hit puberty. They begin to fight, fling pee, and become much less cute, and it’s time for them to go to freezer camp. We make portions for the freezer and canned broth for the shelf. Hind leg cuts for bigger dinners, fronts like chicken wings and loins for anything you’d use chicken breast for. It feels good to have begun saving for the short days of winter.

Though I’m losing a battle with weeds and water has become a challenge, the garden is doing amazingly. I’m feeling more confident about my goal to live on as much of my own farmed and foraged food as possible this winter. The tomatoes I put outside too early have actually bounced back. Nights still get down to 10C, and I’m surprised at how well they’re doing. If you told me 5 years ago I’d be growing tomatoes outside here, I never would have believed you.

The sound of logging nearby wakes me up at 5 a.m., and mining has closed one of my access roads. The smell of smoke coming north from Washington fills the sky regularly, and the first time ever, the spring has stopped flowing. It’s been difficult to find the positive, but not impossible.

The logging will open up new roads to areas that were inaccessible before. The wild hares are still hopping around the yard. The ducks chase the cats away from their pond, which is somehow holding more water than it did last year. I’m hoping this summer is a one-off and winter brings deep snow and filled aquifers next year.

Summer has been challenging, yet I do feel like I have my ducks in something of a row. The pantry and freezer have begun filling, the garden is bursting with exciting flavours, and my heart is full to the brim.

July was about adapting in a way I never have before. Learning to accept things I can't change, while putting my energy into the things I can. As I write this, Curt is hurriedly preparing for another visitor. Though these are the busy days of summer, I watched him stop for a moment, smile big, and pat Sugar the cat. Somehow in the chaos of it all, we’ve learned to stop for a moment and take in the little moments. Projects can wait.

Here's hoping August brings a little rain, lots of ripe tomatoes, and maybe even a cantaloupe or two.