Savvy farmers open the gate to agritourism

In keeping with Polyface's locavore leanings, residents of surrounding counties pay $300, while non-Virginians must pony up $700.

As for that $1,000 tour with the owner, "we had several takers last year, which astounded us," says Salatin, author of six books on the natural food movement.

For city slickers with notions of commercial farming shaped by headlines about beef recalls and overcrowded chicken warehouses, a visit to Polyface is literally a breath of fresh air. Salatin describes his holistic alternative to industrial agriculture as "grass farming" — minimal machinery, no chemical fertilizers or pesticides, and rotational grazing in which multiple species forage in the same fields.

The result: lush green expanses that stand in sharp contrast to those of his neighbors on an early spring afternoon, and a chance to commune with murmuring chickens and grunting pigs that nuzzle Salatin with an easy familiarity.

"People just go nuts over this. Smithfield (the world's largest pork processor) doesn't let you rub the bellies of their hogs, not that you'd want to be there, anyway," says Salatin, scooping up a handful of fresh compost (yes, it really does smell like a forest) and looking every inch a Farmer MacDonald in wide-brimmed straw hat, battered Carhartt jacket and mud-stained jeans.

Almost all Polyface visitors buy some of the farm's products, from $25-a-pound filet mignon to $3.50-a-dozen brown eggs, cradled in a cardboard carton with a "Taste the Difference!" sticker.

"On paper, it might look like our food is more expensive," says Salatin. "But think about the potential for problems when you eat a fast-food burger" that contains parts of many different animals. "When you know your farmer and where your food comes from, you're in a much better place."