The day after Thanksgiving we took a day trip to visit Profitt Family Farms – a ranch in Kings Mountain that raises organic chicken and grass-fed cattle.
Just 35 minutes after leaving Downtown Charlotte we arrived and found ourselves surrounded by acres of green pasture. In New York, 35 minutes would get me three quarters of the way to the Great Lawn in Central Park, four miles from my apartment, where Manhattanites graze.
Green Acres were not the only thing that surrounded us. A quick look around and we realized that we were also surrounded by ridiculously, jaw-droppingly good looking people. Scott gestured toward a man in a blue flannel shirt, cowboy hat, muscular physique and a square jaw that looked angular enough to crack walnuts. He looked more suited for a classic Western than at a family farm holding a toddler in his arms.
Moments after we saw the Marlboro Man, as our friend Jen called him, we saw a tall blonde walking out of the farm house. With long golden hair that flowed in the breeze and skinny jeans tucked into tall riding boots, I wasn’t sure if she was a member of the family farm or Gwenyth Paltrow filming a Pantene commercial. Twenty feet away, Scott spotted another attractive figure. With a sun drenched complexion, wind-swept hair extending long under a weathered cowboy hat, faded Levi’s and a pair of worn leather gloves tucked into the back pocket, I saw visions of Jennifer Anniston in character as a farm hand.
We all agreed that they would make a great reality show.
Our visit wasn’t all about gawking at beautiful people. Our guide Tanner walked us through the fields of pastures and explained how they herd cattle to graze on one section at a time. Apparently cattle have preferences and if they were allowed to roam free in a large open field, they’d eat all the four-leaf clovers first and leave all the tall grasses behind. I guess tall grasses are for cattle what broccoli is for humans.
The farm breeds its own cattle and Tanner told us about a calf that was rejected by her mother at birth. They had to bottle-feed her for four months and nicknamed her “Precious.” Once you name an animal you can no longer see it as meat. So thanks to her mother’s rejection, Precious is now being groomed to be a mother instead of beef.
Next he led us to the stables to see the horses. Two stuck their noses out to be petted. I was taken by one named Fireball who just stood there in profile, aloof and dignified, as if posing for a portrait. Beyond the horses there were a couple of empty stalls. It crossed my mind that the real family was hiding in there while a group of models took over as hosts for the day.
The real attraction was the tour of the chicken coop led by 11-year old Dewi. With the experience and tone of one who’s done this hundreds of times, he told us about the flock of guinea fowls that are mean and nasty but they keep them around to eat bugs. He told us about the Ameraucanas that lay blue eggs, the Plymouth Rocks that like to wander off to the driveway, and the rooster that was hatched from an egg found under the chicken coop. We would have asked him a dozen more questions about chickens if his little cousin hadn’t come along pleading with his big brown eyes and basketball clutched to his chest for his playmate to finish working.
At the farm store we learned about cuts of beef that we never see in a supermarket. When cattle are “processed” in mass quantity, only the standard cuts of meat are made available and a whole lot becomes ground meat and sausage. At this farm, cattle are butchered in small quantities and more unusual cuts are available, like Coulette Steaks and Petit Tenders that are supposed to be amazing.
The storekeeper swore that she could taste the difference between supermarket beef and their organic grass-fed beef. Allegedly the daughter of the family could even taste the difference between grass-fed beef raised by different farms.
Just 35 minutes after leaving Downtown Charlotte we arrived and found ourselves surrounded by acres of green pasture. In New York, 35 minutes would get me three quarters of the way to the Great Lawn in Central Park, four miles from my apartment, where Manhattanites graze.
Green Acres were not the only thing that surrounded us. A quick look around and we realized that we were also surrounded by ridiculously, jaw-droppingly good looking people. Scott gestured toward a man in a blue flannel shirt, cowboy hat, muscular physique and a square jaw that looked angular enough to crack walnuts. He looked more suited for a classic Western than at a family farm holding a toddler in his arms.
Moments after we saw the Marlboro Man, as our friend Jen called him, we saw a tall blonde walking out of the farm house. With long golden hair that flowed in the breeze and skinny jeans tucked into tall riding boots, I wasn’t sure if she was a member of the family farm or Gwenyth Paltrow filming a Pantene commercial. Twenty feet away, Scott spotted another attractive figure. With a sun drenched complexion, wind-swept hair extending long under a weathered cowboy hat, faded Levi’s and a pair of worn leather gloves tucked into the back pocket, I saw visions of Jennifer Anniston in character as a farm hand.
We all agreed that they would make a great reality show.
Our visit wasn’t all about gawking at beautiful people. Our guide Tanner walked us through the fields of pastures and explained how they herd cattle to graze on one section at a time. Apparently cattle have preferences and if they were allowed to roam free in a large open field, they’d eat all the four-leaf clovers first and leave all the tall grasses behind. I guess tall grasses are for cattle what broccoli is for humans.
The farm breeds its own cattle and Tanner told us about a calf that was rejected by her mother at birth. They had to bottle-feed her for four months and nicknamed her “Precious.” Once you name an animal you can no longer see it as meat. So thanks to her mother’s rejection, Precious is now being groomed to be a mother instead of beef.
Next he led us to the stables to see the horses. Two stuck their noses out to be petted. I was taken by one named Fireball who just stood there in profile, aloof and dignified, as if posing for a portrait. Beyond the horses there were a couple of empty stalls. It crossed my mind that the real family was hiding in there while a group of models took over as hosts for the day.
The real attraction was the tour of the chicken coop led by 11-year old Dewi. With the experience and tone of one who’s done this hundreds of times, he told us about the flock of guinea fowls that are mean and nasty but they keep them around to eat bugs. He told us about the Ameraucanas that lay blue eggs, the Plymouth Rocks that like to wander off to the driveway, and the rooster that was hatched from an egg found under the chicken coop. We would have asked him a dozen more questions about chickens if his little cousin hadn’t come along pleading with his big brown eyes and basketball clutched to his chest for his playmate to finish working.
At the farm store we learned about cuts of beef that we never see in a supermarket. When cattle are “processed” in mass quantity, only the standard cuts of meat are made available and a whole lot becomes ground meat and sausage. At this farm, cattle are butchered in small quantities and more unusual cuts are available, like Coulette Steaks and Petit Tenders that are supposed to be amazing.
The storekeeper swore that she could taste the difference between supermarket beef and their organic grass-fed beef. Allegedly the daughter of the family could even taste the difference between grass-fed beef raised by different farms.
It was time we did our own taste test. We finished the day on the family porch enjoying the fruits – in this case grilled cheeseburgers – of their labor.
