March 20, 2025
Category: Farm Practices
The sun’s just peeking over the Virginia mountains when we lace up our boots at Brookhaven Farms. By the time most folks are sipping their coffee, we’re out in the pastures, ready to move the herd. It’s not just a chore—it’s the heartbeat of our farm. Cows and sheep to fresh grass, chickens trailing behind, all part of a dance we’ve planned weeks in advance. This is rotational grazing in action, and it’s how we grow food that’s good for you, the land, and the future. Want a peek into our day? Pull up a fence post and let’s walk through it.
Dawn: The Plan Comes Alive
We don’t wing it out here. Every move is mapped out—where the herd’s been, where they’re going, how long the grass needs to rest. Weeks ago, we stood on this hill, eyeing the paddocks, gauging the growth. Too soon, and we’d overgraze; too late, and the grass gets tough. Today’s the day for Paddock 7—a quarter-acre of knee-high fescue and clover, waving in the breeze. It’s been 30 days since the cows last hit it, and it’s ready.
First up: the cows. Our grass-fed herd—stocky, big-gutted beauties bred for pasture—knows the drill. We roll out the portable fencing, a lightweight web of polywire that’s our secret weapon. It’s quick to set up, easy to move, and keeps them where we want them. The gate swings open, and they lumber in, heads down, tearing into the green. They’re not just eating—they’re working, trimming the grass to spark regrowth. It’s a pressure that keeps the plants in their prime, tender and packed with nutrients.
Midmorning: Sheep and Synergy
The sheep follow next, a smaller flock with a lighter touch. They’re picky eaters, nibbling what the cows skip—broadleaf weeds, clover tips—polishing the paddock like a cleanup crew. We move them to a corner of Paddock 6, yesterday’s spot, where the grass is still recovering. This layering isn’t random; it’s teamwork. Cows hit the tall stuff, sheep refine it, and together they keep the pasture diverse. That diversity feeds the soil, which feeds the grass, which feeds the meat you eat. It’s a loop we’ve honed over years.
By now, the sun’s climbing, and the mountains around us—part of Virginia’s rolling backbone—frame the scene. We’re not just farming land; we’re stewarding a piece of this earth, tucked between peaks that have seen centuries of seasons. It’s a reminder: what we do today matters tomorrow.
Noon: The Chicken Hustle
Lunch can wait—here come the chickens. Our pasture-raised hens and meat birds roll up in their mobile coops, towed behind the tractor. We park them where the cows were two days ago, Paddock 5. The grass is cropped short, dotted with cow pies, and that’s their playground. They spill out, scratching and pecking, hunting flies and maggots that hatch in the manure. It’s not gross—it’s genius. They’re our pest control, keeping the herd healthy without a whiff of chemicals.
But they’re more than bug-zappers. Their droppings hit the ground like a fertilizer bomb—nitrogen, phosphorus, a jolt of life for the soil. We watch the grass rebound faster where the chickens have been, a green flush that’s ready for the cows again in a month. It’s a cycle we’ve tuned to perfection: cows graze, chickens clean and feed, soil thrives. Every step builds on the last, and nothing’s wasted.
Afternoon: Checking the Pulse
By mid-afternoon, we’re sweaty and the herd’s settled. Time to check the pulse of the farm. We walk the paddocks, eyeing the grass height, the soil’s moisture, the animals’ vibe. The cows in Paddock 7 are content, chewing cud under a oak’s shade. The sheep are scattered, nibbling quietly. The chickens cluck and strut, oblivious to their big job. It’s calm, but it’s not still—everything’s moving, growing, working.
We tweak tomorrow’s plan—Paddock 8’s grass looks a day shy, so we’ll shift to 9 instead. It’s a game of inches, adjusting to rain or heat or a herd that’s hungrier than expected. This isn’t a factory floor; it’s a living system, and we’re the conductors. A quick scoop of soil in our hands—dark, crumbly, alive with worms—tells us we’re on track. That’s the payoff: land that’s not just holding up but getting better.
Dusk: Why We Do It
As the sun dips behind the mountains, we wrap up. The herd’s moved, the fences are set, and the day’s work sinks in. It’s hard—hauling wire, towing coops, trudging through mud when it rains. But it’s worth it. This isn’t about pumping out meat fast; it’s about growing it right. Our grass-fed beef carries the flavor of these pastures, the health of this soil, the care of this routine. Our pork and eggs? Same story—rooted in a day like this.
Families pick our food because it’s clean, no junk for their kids. Eco-warriors love it because every move heals the land—carbon locked in, soil built up. Health buffs grill it knowing it’s fuel—lean, nutrient-dense, pure. We can’t churn it out like the big guys; our scale’s tied to these paddocks, this rhythm. But that’s the point: good food takes time, and we’re in it for the long haul.
Your Part in the Dance
Tomorrow, we’ll do it again—new paddock, same mission. It’s a grind, but it’s ours, and it’s why our meat’s different. You don’t just taste it; you feel it—the work, the land, the life. Want to step into this cycle? Every order you place keeps it spinning, from our pasture to your plate.
Join the herd—grab some grass-fed beef or pasture-raised goodness at shop.brookhavenfarm.net. Sign up for our list to see more of our days and score recipes straight from the farm.