In the early days of COVID, with the operating season in question and no clarity about whether visitors would be allowed on site at all, I made the decision to try something unfamiliar: showing up live, every day, and inviting people into the Grist Mill virtually. The goal wasn’t polish or performance—it was connection, continuity, and reassurance at a moment when both staff and supporters were deeply uncertain about what came next.

The first few broadcasts were rough. I was learning in public, using a phone, a spotty connection, and a lot of improvisation. But the format quickly evolved into a daily livestream series, each episode focused on a single topic—heritage apples, old tools, cookbooks, ginger ale, insects, water systems, garden spaces—designed to be informal, specific, and rooted in place. Every session was broadcast live, unscripted but intentional, and later archived to YouTube as a growing digital record of the site.

I served as writer, director, producer, solo camera operator, and on-screen host. As the series progressed, I refined both content and production strategy: pre-planning topics, mapping camera moves between locations, and thinking deliberately about pacing, framing, and audience engagement in a live format. The project became a daily discipline—showing up, explaining something well, and trusting that authenticity mattered more than perfection.

The impact extended beyond audience engagement. The Heritage Branch recognized the value of what we were doing and invested in high-quality Wi-Fi coverage across the entire site. Combined with a new fibre-optic connection, this dramatically increased our technical capacity and permanently changed what kinds of programming were possible—not just during COVID, but afterward. The infrastructure improvements directly enabled future livestreams, hybrid events, and winter programming from 2022 through 2025.

The series also generated real, if unexpected, support. Viewers from across British Columbia and as far away as California purchased Season Passes during that uncertain spring, not because they expected to visit, but because they wanted to support a place that had shown up for them when travel and normal life were suspended.

Once in-person operations resumed, the daily broadcasts ended. But the project proved something useful: when necessity removes hesitation, you can build meaningful programming fast. Livestreaming, done well, works as interpretation, audience development, and community care at the same time.