Archive for December, 2009
Of Blue Heelers and Great Pyrenees
For centuries, people have been saying, “It’s a dog’s life.”
Contrary to popular belief this does not refer to pampered pets that are groomed and walked and treated for their tricks. No, it refers to the workaday life of the herder or guard dog—a much valued, purposeful existence that was, by tradition, anything but pampered. The dogs at the Glasbern farm are diligent members of the working class, selected for their utility and temperament for specialized jobs.
Intelligent, alert, and bred for action, Shelby is being trained to do what she does best—muster cattle. Australian cattle dogs, also called “Blue Heelers” for their effective technique of nipping at the heels of their charges to keep them in line are a relatively new breed. Although Heelers first appeared in the 1800s they were only fully recognized by the AKC in 1980.
The sociable brown Chesapeake Bay retriever who can often be spotted hanging with the farmers up by the greenhouses is Sue. Now that she’s gotten past the luggage-stealing phase of puppyhood, Sue’s main occupation is making friends. She’s entirely non-discriminating. Rub her and she will be your loyal friend. If you choose not to, that’s ok too, there’s always tomorrow. The Glasbern farm, with its fields, ponds, and constant parade of people is, of course, retriever heaven. A water-resistant coat, webbed feet, and a tail that acts like a rudder, make the breed uniquely styled for swimming. Ambrose Bierce once wrote, “The most affectionate creature in the world is a wet dog.” Be warned: on hot summer days, Sue is usually wet.
Three Great Pyrenees function as guards, and they take their work very seriously. The breed originated in high-mountain regions (thus the thick, shaggy coats), so the three sentries are well suited to outdoor tasks, even in winter. Teardrop, who tends the resident Katahdin sheep, demonstrates the independent streak Great Pyrenees are known for. She found her sheep and picked her post and has remained intensely loyal to her flock ever since, moving them out of harm’s way at the slightest provocation.
Sadie is equally protective of the broiling birds, as Sue discovered one day when she decided to entertain herself by chasing hens. Sadie deliberately and authoritatively placed one massive paw square on her head. Needless to say there has been no more chicken chasing. Maria, the third Great Pyrenees pooch, is in training … paws in the pipeline.
Lottie, farmer Kendell’s Jack Russell Terrier, is part pet, part groundhog sleuth. Strong-willed and much too fearless for their own good, Jack Russells were bred for small game hunting. Lottie has the perfect mix of terrier traits: a happy demeanor and a serious need to go after small garden-wrecking critters.
For the farmer and the herdsman, dogs bred for centuries to perform specific tasks are not just best friends, but able assistants. The dogs’ life is a hard life, and a much-valued one.
Lottie: fierce with groundhogs, gentle with kittens
Whey-fed Pork: the whole story
Let’s start at the beginning.
Once upon a time a farm was a family pursuit. A cow or two provided milk, cream, and cheese. Chickens scuttled about, pecking larvae from cow patties and fertilizing the ground. Pigs snacked on grass, weeds, and nuts, but got fat on whey, the thin liquid that drains from curds when milk is separated to make cheese. This circular model of farming, where every living component has a natural function and life takes care of life, is what the Glasbern farm is all about. And chef Stephen Browning prizes the home-grown products, especially the beautifully marbled pork.
But this is not about the meat. You could say it’s about cow patties drawn into the soil by dung beetles, amazing insects that roll wads of dung into balls that they maneuver with their little legs to a safe spot to bury and eat and nest. Without dung beetles making the cow patties disappear Jason would be knee deep in doo-doo. Instead the pasture becomes ever more fertile, generating grasses for the dairy cows, which then provide for the chickens and the beetles and the soil and the pigs. For restaurant diners the benefit is milk and cream rich in omega-3s.
But this is not about the cream either, although it is certainly true that cream purchased in plastic-coated cartons will offer far fewer health benefits than that offered up by grass-fed cows. Richer even than the cream is the natural cycle of life and death and regeneration, the animals providing for each other, the insects caring for the soil, the power of photosynthesis. Curds and cow patties are simply a part of the process. Berkshire pigs nuzzle gardeners and cultivate the soil by rooting out weeds. Soon, when the Glasbern farm begins making cheese from the milk of the Devon cows, the pigs will happily snack on whey. Chickens pick out slugs and larvae, and dogs function as friends and sentries. It just so happens that Berkshires that have a balanced diet of whey and weeds and nuts and seeds (rather than the bakery or other commercial waste that factory farm hogs might consume) become tender, juicy, and healthful pork. How could it be otherwise?
We like to think that happy animals make tastier food—maybe this is true and maybe it isn’t. What is true is that in our modern world food and guilt have become twisted together. Consume a commercial egg and you feel the onus of the chicken’s unhappy caged life; consume a piece of a corn-fed cow which had been injected with antibiotics to counteract problems that would not have occurred had it been eating grass as a ruminant should and you feel not just remorse but worry too. The fullness of gastronomic delight comes from knowing that the pig, the cow, the dung beetle, the grass, and all of the other partners in the process are deeply respected, and that the chef has a profound appreciation for the life he transforms into dinner.
This is about life, energy, and a natural cooperative. It’s about human and environmental health.
It’s about time.
Vegetables on the Hill
The weather outside may be frightful, but on a sunny day the temperatures in the greenhouses on the hill can be absolutely delightful. Young salad greens, fennel bulbs, green beans, baby bok choi, and other treats grow in the beds, which are kept productive even in cold weather by the warm water that circulates in pipes set beneath the soil. The denizens of the hooped gardens, Kendell and her team (Betty Lou, Lottie, Susie, Sadie, and the girls), use whatever organic means they can think of to make sure the succulent greens are harvested for the inn, and not eaten by the many wild things who may have just that in mind.
Beer, for example, is a slug deterrent. And, Kendell tells me, slugs do have their preferences. She recently put out an assortment of beer for the greenhouse slugs to sample (and subsequently drown in) and found that they prefer Samuel Adams to either Yuengling or Budweiser. Sam Adams on tap, that is. One never knows when this bit of trivia might come in handy.
The team I spoke of earlier is ever vigilant for stealthy critters who may have a penchant for vegetables, or chickens. Lottie is in charge of groundhogs; Betty Lou keeps the mice from eating seeds and seedlings; Susie stands guard at the gate just in case a stray visitor from the inn strolls by so she can give them a friendly wagging; the girls (of the hen variety) peck at insect larvae and slugs in the empty greenhouse and fertilize it for spring. Sadie keeps one eagle eye on her hens, the other in the sky where there is invariably a hawk circling. If you get too close to her girls she will act ferociously protective … it is, I can assure you, an act.
Yes, it’s a winning team up there on the hill. Just ask Chef Stephen Browning.