The Glasbern Farm, no surprise, passed every test with flying colors! Annie, Marion, Nellie, Fancy, and the rest of the lactating bovines were declared healthy; the water on the farm was tested and found to be free of harmful bacteria. The refrigeration equipment is capable of cooling the milk to less than 40° within two hours. Three successive milk samples came back clean, and ongoing regular testing will ensure that only safe and healthful milk is sold at the farm.

So why do people feel so strongly that raw milk should, or shouldn’t, be sold? After all, for the thousands of years before Louie Pasteur’s method of heating milk to kill bacteria came into commercial use, there was no other kind of milk available. History provides a clue: In Pasteur’s time, bovine tuberculosis was a serious concern, and pasteurization put an end to the threat of contracting that disease, as well as typhoid and other diseases. And once a decision is made in the name of Public Safety, backtracking can be a tricky business, especially if you’re in the governing game. It’s ironic that in our modern times the farms that produce raw milk are often the ones that give their cows access to pasture land and fresh grass. These animals are far less likely to contract the illnesses that afflict grain-fed ruminants, and are also less likely to be have been treated with antibiotics.

Fortunately, Pennsylvania is one of the 28 states that allow the sale of raw milk to consumers. And even more fortunately for locals who like their milk unpasteurized, Annie and the rest of the Glasbern Devons are producing enough high-butterfat milk for the inn’s ice cream, coffee, and cereal … and then some.

To purchase raw milk, drive up to the main entrance of the inn. It is available for $2.50 a half-gallon in the refrigerated case just inside the door. It is not homogenized (so a layer of rich cream floats on top of the milk!) and may remind you—if you’re of a certain age—of the milk delivered to your door in a past era.

The primary difference between hair sheep and wooled sheep is the ratio of hair to wool fibers. All sheep have both hair and wool, but hair sheep have more hair fibers and wool sheep have more wool fibers. What’s the difference, you might ask? Wool has a waviness, or “crimp,” that allows the fibers to be spun easily into fine elastic yarns. It is also covered with thousands of overlapping microscopic scales, which makes the fibers cling together. Hair (called kemp in sheep) has few scales and no crimp and will not bind together like wool. In our modern times of cheap synthetics, the cost of shearing can be as much or more than the value of the wool.

Not only are hair sheep valued for their easygoing natures, but they are resistant to internal parasites. This natural resistance, plus the constant moving from pasture to pasture, keeps the Glasbern Katahdins naturally healthy.

And of course it goes without saying– grass-fed lamb has a smooth, mild, and honestly excellent taste.

The process leading up to this triumphant moment took time and lots of attention to detail. First there was a pre-inspection by an independent farm inspector, who checked out the animals and the facility for potential hitches. Then a very thorough Department of Agriculture inspector spent hours checking sanitation, pasteurization equipment, containers and labels, and storage spaces—whether the operation is a 1000-cow dairy or a 15 cow family farm, the process is the same. And then, of course there is the lab testing of the pasteurized and pre-pasteurized milk, which is ongoing. The good news: Everything is in order!

As you might expect, this is no run-of-the-mill dairy. The Devon milking cows were purchased from an elderly farmer in a small New Hampshire town, where the heritage breeding line has been maintained since 1632. The Devons were chosen for the quality of their milk, not the quantity. “Having this breed makes us pretty unique,” said Jason.  “Devons produce a more healthful milk, with a good blend of omega-3 and omega-7 fatty acids. As the mega-dairies turned to cows that were bred to deliver greater volumes, the quality of the milk they produced went down.” They’re also known for being good grazers. Thomas Shaw, professor of Animal Husbandry at the University of Minnesota said more than 100 years ago, “They readily obtain good livelihood on lands where heavy bodied breeds would probably fail.” The breed, amazingly, has not changed at all since that time.

2-year old Annie, 7-year old Marion, and Marion’s best friend Nellie were the first to make use of the new milking stations. Nellie doesn’t actually have any milk yet, but Marion doesn’t leave the pasture without her, Jason explained. Besides, she’s ready to give birth so it won’t be long before she’s a contributor too. Each milking yields just 1½ gallons of the high-butterfat liquid, which is separated into milk and cream. And this is just the beginning. With Harry, a Devon bull brought up from historic Williamsburg to keep 15 to 20 cows productive, two milkings a day times 1½ gallons … you do the math. Fancy (that’s Fancy and her calf on the right) just gave birth so she’ll soon be joining the three girlfriends in the milking stalls.

It was a sweet moment when chef Stephen Browning created the first batch of brownie ice cream using eggs from the chickens that spend their days pecking the soil in search of bugs and eating leftover produce, and cream and milk from the grass-fed cows. It was a moment I’m sorry I missed!

Try the gumbo.

Of course you won’t go wrong with the house-cured meats, the Glasbern-raised greens or any of the other homegrown goodies chef Stephen Browning transforms into pure delectability. Or should I credit the sun?

House-cured Meats

From the brandy-glazed chicken liver pate to the garden greens to the crème brulee, the meal was photosynthetically driven. Cattle, hogs, and chickens thrive on the grasses and weeds that contain that remarkable pigment, chlorophyll, which (to make a long story short) absorbs solar energy so that plants can make their own food. Whether we pick and eat that food directly, or consume it secondhand through meat, milk, or eggs, we are taking advantage of the largesse of the sun—which, thankfully, has energy to spare.

You may recall that I’ve admired the shaggy tresses of the Highland cattle and the cute curly tails of the Berkshire pigs. Despite Sadie’s stern warnings I’ve stood entertained by the chickens as they forage for insects (that feed on bits of detritus once powered by the sun). But the fact that all of these animals contributed to my dining experience was not upsetting. On the contrary. It was humbling.

When I asked Browning about that—whether using familiar beings in his craft caused him to think twice—he reacted as a chef should, that is, with matter-of-fact realism. “I appreciate the quality of the ingredients,” he replied staidly. But then he told me about the time when, walking from his apartment to the inn, he noticed a young bull with a (and I quote) “green crown of grass” on his head and a mean sparkle in his eye. When the bull began stomping the ground Stephen knew he was in trouble, so he did the sensible thing. Ran like hell! The next day, he related, the young bull was a young steer. Does he think about this as he braises the brisket? He wouldn’t say.

But, back to the meal … Browning credits his amazing gumbo to his former mentor, New York chef Eric Lind, who came by the recipe honestly when he lived for a time in Louisiana. But Browning has made it his own by adding smoked poultry in addition to the traditional ingredients. The spicy Andouille sausage is made, naturally, on site. Gumbo starts with a roux, he says, and is cooked down until the color and texture are like “Mississippi mud.” He adds okra, of course, and certified organic heirloom Carolina gold rice from Anson mills, then lets the Creole stew age and … ok, I’ll stop.

The Amish-style ham loaf recipe I tried as my main course was passed down from his mother, who got it from an Amish friend. Served with a delicate mix of just-harvested baby fennel and braised red cabbage, and swimming in a tangy “gastrique,” it was a revelation. This was ham? Smoking and curing meats is Browning’s current obsession, and the menu reflects this. Andouille sausage, smoked salmon, pork terrine, prosciutto … and did I mention the gumbo with smoked chicken and turkey? Speaking of the chicken, you may or may not know this but it is a fact: there is grocery store chicken and there is free-roaming, seed-scavenging, insect-foraging chicken. And there is a world of difference between the two. Full of rich taste, with just a trace of the gaminess of the modern chicken’s ancestor, Glasbern chicken does not “taste like chicken.” Next time Sadie barks at me I will thank her for protecting these wonderful broilers from high-flying hawks and roving foxes.

Being an omnivore had never quite felt so good. It was partly because of Browning’s talent, but also because knowing that the meats and vegetables were thoughtfully raised and respectfully prepared saturated the experience, just as the sun saturates the grasses that miraculously convert its energy in order to feed the cattle and the pigs.

Oh, just try the gumbo.

Well, now that you’ve asked, I’ll admit it. It’s my fault.

The ‘Forest Pansy’ redbud tree leafed out last spring and then dropped every single leaf a few weeks later. A dreaded virus? A bump from a produce truck? A roaming goat? Anything is possible at the Glasbern, and we will never know what caused the sudden leaf drop. The tree remained naked for weeks, saddening the landscape around it. And for weeks I suggested to the property manager that it was only getting deader, and the only solution I could think of involved a chainsaw. But still the dead tree greeted me every week when I came to the garden. One late July day as I weeded and pruned it occurred to me how lively the branches would look—if only they were not gray. I was midway into that thought when owner Al Granger raced up on his 4-wheeler (like magic) and asked, “Need anything?”

“As a matter of fact …,” I replied, “I was just thinking about a project.” Now what you need to understand is that Al loves projects. He lives for projects. You will quickly realize this if you just look around at the grounds and barns and lodges. “What project?” he asked. (aha, I thought with a glimmer of hope)

“I would like that dead tree down there to be blue,” I responded, pointing. The typical farm owner would let out a guffaw and wheel away. After all there were cattle to feed, fences to mend, fields to mow, events to plan. But nothing about the Glasbern is typical. “What color blue?” he asked.

Between that Friday and the next Al picked a chicory flower, took it to the paint store, and brought back a couple of gallons of chicory-colored paint. When I came back a week later the tree was the exact blue of chicory, which is also the color of the sky on a brilliant summer day (but try taking that to the paint store). It was elegant and majestic. It was a sensation!

But this is not the end of the story.

Guests marveled at the blue tree over the next few weeks. They photographed it and touched it. They posed with it. And after a period of being noticed and admired, the tree, which had been bare for well over a month, began to grow leaves! I kid you not. It was almost as if its little taste of fame gave it a reason to live.

Last summer, the blue tree was a lively note of surprise in the choreography of the garden. Now that winter is here it stands cool and regal in the snow-covered landscape. In a couple of months it may magically spring back to life. But, more likely, the color will fade and with it the dying spirit of the tree.

A consulting company visited the Glasbern the other week and suggested that the blue tree was somewhat out of place. You may agree, or you may not. Either way, I believe there is a lesson to be learned.

Life is fleeting.

Live it colorfully.

Large Blacks were on the way to extinction fifty years ago. Why? Because their outdoor foraging habits were not a good fit with the new-fashioned ways of raising pork, intensively and indoors. The breed is entirely dependent on dedicated farmers who have an interest in tending and preserving hogs that can live off the land, such as the Berkshires and the Large Blacks that graze at the Glasbern. The massive animals are known for their exceptionally docile and friendly dispositions—as long as you don’t threaten their young ’uns that is—and are natural grazers. Lop ears hang over their eyes, which would seem to be a sight handicap, except that they are always looking down. Simply put, Large Blacks live to eat, and those ears actually shield their eyes as they graze their way around a field. And, unlike many hog breeds, the Large Blacks are protected from sunburn by their black coats, which allows them to live comfortably outdoors.

Another thing the breed is known for is exceptionally tender meat–it is considered a “bacon” type, rather than the more common corn-fed “lard” type. Chef Browning’s interest and skill in curing and smoking bacon will ensure that the Large Blacks have an extended and tasty afterlife. Sustaining valuable heritage hogs by breeding, delving into traditional methods of curing and charcuterie, and preserving the meats themselves without commercial nitrites by skillfully combining natural flavorings … all this comes together at the Glasbern farm.

So if you happen to catch a fleeting glimpse of Al as he herds livestock, inspects grasses, or does another of the hundreds of tasks that keep the farm running, you might thank him for taking that bump on the rump. The commitment of farmers to heritage breeds and good land stewardship benefits every one of us.

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

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.

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.

Diners will soon see yogurt, butter, ice cream, and eventually cheese, all produced in the building up on the hill, on the menus in Glasbern’s dining rooms. This will bring the restaurant and Inn another step closer to being reliant on its own land. Grass-fed products are significantly higher in good Omega-3’s, CLA’s, vitamin A, E, and Beta-carotene, compared to grain-fed. They are simply healthier.