the pigs are back.

There’s a certain kind of energy that returns to a farm the moment pigs arrive. It’s not subtle. Pigs don’t quietly settle in. They charge in, snouts down, tails twitching, making themselves right at home in the dirt. And honestly, I love it.

For me, bringing pigs back to Burnt Hill feels like more than just another step in our regenerative farming journey — it feels personal. We raised woodland hogs here for several years before my leukemia diagnosis. Then, for a long while, everything went quiet. I didn’t have the energy or capacity to steward livestock while fighting for my life. That season demanded everything I had.

But now — standing here healthy, with life returning to this land in full color — the pigs are back. And not just any pigs: Mangalitsa pigs. The A5 Wagyu of pork.

Mangalitsa are a rare, heritage breed from Hungary, famous for their thick, woolly coats and their extraordinarily rich, marbled meat. This is pork unlike anything most Americans have ever tasted — loaded with omega-3-rich fat that melts like butter and carries deep, nuanced flavor. Their meat has been prized in Eastern Europe for generations, often reserved for charcuterie and slow-roasted dishes that celebrate every ounce of that legendary fat. It’s bold. It’s expressive. It’s delicious. And it’s exactly the kind of ingredient that belongs on a farm like Burnt Hill — a place obsessed with flavor, process, and integrity.

But their value here goes way beyond the plate.

At Burnt Hill, animals are part of the ecosystem. They’re not an afterthought or a hobby — they’re essential to the way this land functions and thrives. Pigs, in particular, play a powerful role in regenerating land. Managed properly, they are natural rototillers, aerating compacted soil, breaking pest cycles, clearing invasive plants, and cycling nutrients back into the earth. They mimic the kind of disturbance that wild landscapes once depended on, only in a controlled, intentional way that builds health instead of stripping it away.

We’ll rotate our Mangalitsa through pastures, woodlands, and orchard margins — letting them clear bramble patches, turn over understory, snack on acorns and fallen fruit, and fertilize as they go. They’ll help prepare ground for future vineyard blocks or orchard plantings. They’ll close nutrient loops by eating vineyard pomace or cracked heritage grains that aren’t fit for milling. They’ll root, roam, graze, and live like pigs were meant to live.

And one day — not yet, but someday — I can’t wait to gather people here to experience what that kind of farming tastes like. To pour them estate-grown wine from these rocky hillsides and serve them wood-fired Mangalitsa pork, raised on the same ground, finished on acorns and orchard windfalls. To me, that’s the ultimate expression of what this place can be — food and wine in conversation with the land, grown side by side, telling the same story.

Bringing animals back to Burnt Hill feels like hitting play again after a long, hard pause. It feels like recovery — for me, and for this farm. It feels like the next chapter.

And it feels really, really good.