We moved to an old sheep farm in the beautiful Stewiacke Valley completely by accident.
My sister's family was moving home from Ontario, as we had always wanted to raise our kids together, so my husband tagged along with my brother-in-law to look at properties. When the beautiful valley came into view, he instantly fell in love with this old farm. Over a bottle of wine, we made the impromptu decision to move to this small community together. My sister and I? We never even set foot on the property until the deal was done.
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Sometimes the best adventures begin with a simple decision to come home.
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But here's the thing—my Dutch immigrant grandparents farmed their own land, where my mom grew up. My husband's mother was raised on a small farm too. Like a lot of young people at the time, our parents found their way off the farm, so farming was something that happened to someone else, in another generation. And then suddenly here we were, folks with four daughters and zero clue what we were doing, knee-deep in renovating an old farmhouse and figuring out how to raise sheep.
We still work full-time jobs, so most of this happens in stolen hours—early mornings, late nights, weekends spent learning as we go. But slowly, the pastures are alive again with lambs each spring, and the rhythms of breeding, birthing, and raising animals became woven into the fabric of our family story. Our daughters grew up with muddy boots and midnight lamb checks, and we wouldn't have it any other way.
That same spirit of learning and community led us to partner with fellow Nova Scotia beef farmers to craft tallow skincare — products that honour the animals, the land, and the farmers who tend them with care.
It turns out farming roots don't have to be inherited.
Sometimes they're chosen, built on curiosity, grit, and the kind of love that makes you stay up late researching and wake early again to chores before heading to work.
Sometimes they just skip a generation, waiting for the right moment to take hold again.