Part 2: The In-Between Season — Bread, Beads, and Trust at Elysium Lake Farm

A quiet moment by the lake, Arielle learning that care and patience make things grow.

One of the things that struck me most during our stay was just how long farmers have to wait for their work to bear fruit — or in Jen and Al’s case, garlic. Months of planting, weeding, and tending go by before a single bulb is ready to sell. In the meantime, bills don’t stop, and the farm still needs to sustain itself.

Jen found a brilliant way to bridge that gap: sourdough. Every week she bakes dozens of loaves to sell at the farmers market. It not only brings in a little revenue to keep things moving, but it also keeps their presence strong in the community — a way of reminding people, “We’re here, we’re growing, we’re feeding you.”

I decided to join her one morning, setting my alarm for 5:30 a.m. to learn (and hopefully help). I love baking at home — it’s one of my favorite simple pleasures — but this was a whole other world. Mixing, folding, shaping, timing everything just right… it demanded a level of focus and patience I wasn’t used to at that hour. By the time the loaves hit the oven, I realized just how much work goes into each one, and how much dedication it takes to repeat this week after week.

Between folds, Jen would slip out into the garden to weed, water, or transplant, moving seamlessly between bread and soil. It was such a beautiful rhythm — the kitchen and the earth speaking to each other. I joined in too, doing some planting, weeding, and watering. Somehow it never felt like I was doing enough — the work of a farm stretches on endlessly — but I started to understand that it’s less about “finishing” and more about showing up, bit by bit, day after day.

Jen grinning after planting cabbage — joy rooted in the simple work of the day.

The days themselves followed a rhythm too: every morning began with a walk with the dogs, and every evening closed with another. The farm seemed to breathe in and out through those simple routines.

Hand in hand, step in step — simple moments that made us feel part of the family.

While I was elbow-deep in flour, trying to keep pace with Jen’s sourdough rhythm, her daughter Tanyle came by with a sparkle of kindness. On an earlier visit, she had promised the girls she’d come back and teach them how to make bead animals — and true to her word, just like her mama, she did exactly that. She even brought pony beads for them to use. She noticed Arielle and Élyssa stringing their usual bracelets and, without hesitation, sat down to coach them into “upping their game.” What started as a simple craft turned into a mini masterclass — and a great lesson in creativity, math, and tenacity. The girls were beaming, proud of what their small hands could suddenly do.

That same spirit of encouragement runs through everything Jen and Al do. Every Saturday, they bring their garlic, vegetables, and loaves of sourdough to the Skeena Valley Farmers Market. It’s their lifeline — a way to bring in revenue, yes, but also to stay connected with neighbors, friends, and the wider community.

Jen and Al’s booth at the Skeena Valley Farmers Market — baskets of sourdough, trays of plants, and smiles that keep the community coming back.

That week, they extended that generosity to our daughters. Jen and Al told Arielle and Élyssa they could have their own little table at the booth. The girls lit up at the idea of selling their bead animals alongside stacks of golden sourdough.

When Saturday came, we packed up for the Skeena Valley Farmers Market. Jen and Al’s booth was simple but inviting — baskets of freshly baked sourdough stacked high, a few trays of small vegetable plants for sale, and the warm smiles of two people who’ve become familiar faces in their community. The garlic wasn’t ready yet, but that didn’t stop them from showing up with what they had, keeping their presence strong and their connections alive.

Arielle and Élyssa grinning proudly behind their table — bead animals and bracelets ready for their first market day.

For Arielle and Élyssa, it was their debut as “mini vendors.” After spending a whole day carefully creating as many bead animals as they could, they laid them out proudly on a little corner of the table. I watched as they explained their creations to curious passersby, eyes sparkling when someone chose to buy one. It was more than just pocket money — it was a chance to feel part of something bigger, woven right into the fabric of market day.

Every day at Elysium Lake Farm had its own rhythm, woven together by meals. Breakfast was always fresh homemade granola with kefir, lunch meant slices of sourdough still warm from the oven, and dinners were varied but always shared. What mattered wasn’t just the food, but the table itself — we’d all sit down together, and everyone had a role in making it happen. Setting the table, stirring a pot, washing dishes afterward — it became a team effort. Those moments reminded me that farm life isn’t only about the work in the fields or the sales at the market. It’s about the quiet rituals that feed both body and spirit, and how each small role contributes to the whole.

Rolling out more than dough — rolling out patience, laughter, and new skills.

Each day, Jen and Al expressed gratitude for the help we brought to the garden, the kitchen, or the market. Yet we were equally — if not more — grateful for their steady and patient presence. Their way of moving through each day reminded us that strength doesn’t come from rushing, but from trusting and showing up consistently.

Because in the end, farming is all about trust — trusting that the seeds will sprout, the rain will come, the market will be there, and the community will respond. And maybe that’s the quiet wisdom of this rhythm: you show up, you do your part, and you trust that everything else will unfold in its own time.

Of course, our stay wasn’t only about farm work and routines. We also got the chance to explore beyond Elysium Lake Farm — little adventures that gave us a whole new perspective. That’s the story of Part 3.