GRYFFON’S AERIE
Get up close and personal with the heritage breeds—and human beings—that make this family farm a chef favorite.
By Steve Russell • Photos by Sarah Cramer Shields

Some people think animals don’t have souls. When I look into my cows’ eyes, I know they do.”

It’s barely 8 a.m., coppery fall sunrise slanting through the western Albemarle County foothills, pasture clover slick with dew, and Ramona Huff is already mixing chores with her frequent, uncensored musings on farm life.

At this early hour, husband Collins is down at the end of the winding driveway with their son, C.R., 13, waiting on the school bus. Catherine, 10, is still schooled at home, so joins us for the morning’s work.

Our first chore is bottle-feeding a calf named Bugeroo, a daily task made necessary because his mother, Junebug, doesn’t produce milk. “A conventional farmer would send Junebug down the road,” says Ramona, passing a rubber-tipped jug to Catherine, “but I’m not a conventional farmer. As long as I can find a job for an animal, they stay.”

Cows surround us, slipping in and out of an intermittent fog. Junebug isn’t the only one to owe its existence to the Huffs. They started Gryffon’s Aerie a decade ago to raise Milking Devon and Beef Devon cattle, old-world heritage breeds on the verge of disappearing despite a reputation for yielding superbly flavorful albeit low-fat meat on a solely grass-fed diet. Collins, who focuses on Gryffon’s Aerie’s sales, was familiar with Devons from growing up near Colonial Williamsburg, where a small herd is kept by the historical foundation. (Colonists first brought Milking Devons to these shores in 1623.) With no real previous farming experience, the Huffs obtained four of those cattle in 1999, primarily for family use. Today, they keep 250 Devons, including the largest number of purebred Milking Devons (which despite its name is also a beef breed), 100, in the United States.

Our next task is to move about 30 of these chestnut-red beauties to a fresh pasture. Ramona’s Devons are personable, so personable that I have to remain mindful of their horns when they insist on rubbing their powerful heads against my ribs. After a bit of coaxing, a “lead cow” named Avalon lumbers off in the direction of the open fence gap, and the rest follow. We do too, flanking stragglers away from clumps of green lespedeza.

Catherine is a fearless herder. When a heifer abruptly reverses course, she stands firm in her neon pink rubber boots. “Hey, you, I’ve got a knife!” she warns. Indeed, a pocketknife is clutched in her palm, though the blade stays folded for now.

As one of the original “herd matriarchs” obtained from Colonial Williamsburg, Avalon is downright spoiled; she receives regular hindquarter rubs, and even her progeny receive distinctive names. Ramona points out one of these descendants, Fifi Trixiebell, a fanciful moniker borrowed from the daughter of British rock star Bob Geldof.

“I spend way too much time out checking the cows,” Ramona admits. “If you become a favorite cow in my herd, your babies also become my favorites. If you display character and endear yourself to the lady farmer, you will have a lovely life.”

And what of cattle that don’t endear themselves? “Well, if they get angry and difficult, we eat them.”

Indeed, Ramona’s affection for her animals should never be mistaken for dreamy softness. She runs Gryffon’s Aerie according to exacting, no-nonsense standards, whether that entails frankly addressing politicians about restrictive regulations or professing a desire to shoot every deer that raids her pastures. Remember Junebug, the mama cow
that doesn’t give milk? Because that trait shouldn’t pass into the herd, the Huffs eat all of Junebug’s offspring. Yes, after a couple of years spent eating grass in these verdant hills, Bugeroo will graduate from being hand-fed by Ramona to feeding Ramona’s family.

As the sun burns off the last wisp of fog, it’s time to tend to the pigs. First, we drive the mud-streaked, fencepost-dinged Range Rover (personalized plate: devon) between the barn and a small flock of Cotswold and Karakul sheep. Annabelle, an especially intuitive ewe, has parked herself at the grain silo; we pay her toll by spilling some corn on
the ground, then fill and load several large tubs into the back of the truck.

We bounce along a farm road for a few minutes, and when Ramona gets out to open a gate, Catherine scrambles into the front seat and pilots the Rover through.

“C’mon pigs! PIG! PIG! PIG!” Ramona hollers. Suddenly, 150 pigs of all sizes and ages are running—fast—through an oak grove straight at us. These are the Tamworths, another living, snuffling part of the Gryffon’s Aerie commitment to heritage breeds. Known for foraging ability, the Tamworth is considered an English breed, although they originated in Ireland.

Later in the fall, they’ll be moved onto a nearby field planted with barley, winter peas, and turnips. Currently, a good portion of their diet is made up of clover and the acorns they’re hunting among these trees. Though foodies salivate over Spanish pork fattened on nothing but acorns, Ramona explains that our local acorns are different and would give the meat a tannic flavor. Therefore the herd’s diet is supplemented with one feeding a day of corn, which she and Catherine toss on the ground by the bucketful.

“Pigs are endowed with charm,” Ramona declares as she circulates among the herd, calling them by name, looking for any sign of injury or sickness. She sidles up to Waverly, the waist-high boar, and scratches his back as if he were a 700-pound cocker spaniel with tusks. Waverly has been on the job for a while now, and soon will be retired to his own barn suite.

Ramona points out the younger, 150-pound boar that will assume Waverly’s duties. He was obtained recently from a farm in North Carolina and transported back to Gryffon’s Aerie—in the back of the Rover. “I was supposed to buy a smaller boar,” she laughs, “but I just liked this one better. He made the trip fine. He lay down, we turned on NPR, and he occasionally grunted his opinion on the news.”

As the pigs continue to gobble their ration, Ramona spots a section of fence that needs mending. That chore will wait till the afternoon, however, as she has to get Catherine started on her schoolwork and look over some notes for an upcoming conference. Ramona, who has a background in advertising, regularly gives lectures to livestock groups about the preservation and marketing of heritage breeds. “Heritage breeds aren’t for everyone, but for those willing to make the commitment, it can be so rewarding,” she says. “Plus, we do believe they taste better.”

On the way back to the house, Ramona’s cell phone rings. It’s Collins, who after seeing C.R. off to school, is out making deliveries and sales calls in a succession of restaurant kitchens. Understandably, he inquires about what to fix for supper that night. As usual, they decide on a cut of meat of which they have an extra supply. Ramona stops and plucks a package from “inventory”—the barn freezer.

Some days, the Huffs are lucky to dine on their own meat at all, such is the demand for their unique product. About 25 Virginia restaurants source beef and pork from Gryffon’s Aerie, and even the state’s top chefs are willing to line up for their twice-a-month butchering.

“We tend to be passionate about what we do in the kitchen, and it’s nice to find that same passion in local farmers like the Huffs,” says Keswick Hall executive chef Craig Hartman, who serves a Gryffon’s Aerie burger in Fossett’s Bar and just added tournedos of beef Jefferson—twin medallions of Gryffons’ Aerie filet topped with brisket cannelloni—to the menu of award-winning Fossett’s restaurant. “They defied common practices of raising cattle. That takes guts, and provides me a rich story to share with our customers.”

Chef Todd Gray of Washington D.C.’s acclaimed Equinox restaurant, which offers a Gryffon’s Aerie burger for lunch and—when available—tenderloin and strip steaks, concurs about the appeal of the Devon beef. “It has incredible richness and robust flavor for grassfed beef, and a unique acidity level that isn’t found in Angus or other breeds,” he says. “My serious beef-lover customers agree that it’s exceptional, and want to know when it will be on our menu again.”

Devon beef’s chef fan club may never have even known of the breed had it not been for Collins’ personal sales efforts. “When I was first approached by Collins, I told my staff they had to meet this character,” says Gray. “He’s so enthusiastic about what Gryffon’s Aerie is doing, and extremely knowledgeable.”

Back at home as the day draws to a close, Collins chuckles at his reputation. “I can talk a blue streak about Gryffon’s Aerie, but as soon as I can get the meat in their mouths, I can stop talking.”

This evening, Collins is turning the cube steak plucked from the barn freezer into beef Milanese (see below for recipe) for the family supper. The wonderful aroma of frying meat and baking butternut squash stuffed with pecans and maple syrup fill the kitchen while Catherine sets the table and C.R., a discerning foodie, chops a tomato. (Fencing lessons have honed his knife skills.)

Ramona spent the late afternoon mending the pig pasture fence and now, presumably, is using the last bit of daylight to tidy up the barn. Magically, she comes through the door just as the meal is served. Between hearty mouthfuls, there is talk of school, animals, and a reminder that tomorrow C.R. will man the farm store, one of two days a week the public can buy Gryffon’s Aerie meat. So are they ready to get up in the morning and do it all again?

“Absolutely,” says Ramona. “There is not a day that goes by that I don’t realize how great all this is.”

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