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Why should we care if grass-fed beef is grown in America, anyway?

written by

Michelle Sroka

posted on

September 15, 2026

Why does buying from a local, American family farm matter? 

To be honest, I think about this question, and write about it, all the time. 

Usually, though, I’m focused on the small family farm part of it. But recently, I’ve been thinking more about why it matters that it’s local American farms, too. 

This has been caused by two recent events: the controversial import of 600+ million pounds of ground beef from overseas (which will be labeled “Product of the USA”), and a Butcher Box ad that I stumbled across a few days ago. 

The Butcher Box ad features the owner of the company conducting a pseudo-interview, where he addresses criticisms from the “haters” of the company. 

I’m not a “hater”, although I do have qualms with the company. But I was surprised by the criticism he chose to address - the fact that they don’t source any of the grass-fed and grass-finished beef in their boxes from the United States. 

To his credit, he admitted that was true. But here’s where it took a turn. He said he’d love to source pasture-raised, grass-fed and grass-finished beef from the United States - but it simply doesn’t exist. 

Those were his exact words: It just doesn't exist. 

Not I’d love to source it, but it’s usually grown on small farms. Not I’d love to source it, but they can’t meet the scale we’re selling at. Just: It simply doesn’t exist. 

I looked up from the ad, straight out my window, to the grass-fed and grass-finished cows that were grazing directly in front of our house. 

I was very irritated by that comment, not just because I was staring at the exact opposite. I was irritated not just because it’s a false - or at the very best, a hugely misleading - statement. 

No, I’m irritated because I think it’s a deeply harmful statement for everyone, farmers and people like you who try to source meat that’s more responsibly raised. 

In another ad, the Butcher Box founder tries to provide more context for why they source overseas. Once again, he speaks in generalizations: Animals in this country are treated terribly. Meat from overseas is better because it’s held to higher standards. 

I would question: what are those standards? Why can’t they, or why aren’t they, replicated in this country? 

And: is it truly that they aren’t replicated in this country? Or that you just can’t source beef that’s been raised this way at the price you’re looking for? 

He’s right in that many instances, in many industrial systems, animals are treated terribly. And the result is meat that has less nutrition and lower quality than you deserve. 

But the problem is that if we throw our hands up and say, Well, we can’t do it right in this country. Let’s just get it from another country! We actually make the problem worse. 

As I’ve written about before, growing food on a farm should never only be about the food itself. It should be about caring for the land, preserving wildlife and native species, and supporting the local community. The food that comes from that work is the gift, the reward for doing these things right. 

When we focus on growing food only, it no longer matters where it comes from. And if it can come from somewhere else, and we can say that it’s better anyway, then what’s the point of even farming here anymore? 

Why would a local economy matter? Why preserve farmland or rural spaces at all? Let’s just develop it, come up with more buildings and pave over everything. The wildlife and trees? They can worry about that somewhere else. Probably the country where they’re growing our food. 

Buying from a local American farm matters because it says: it matters how we grow food right here. It matters how we preserve land right here. It matters that we take care of our country while also feeding ourselves. 

Telling yourself - and others - it doesn’t exist is simply spreading a lie that makes you feel better about not investing in the work of making American farms, food, and land better. 

Our bottom line is never going to look like Butcher Box’s - and I don’t want it to, either. But we’ll have done the work of treating the land right, treating the animals, and proving that there’s a different way to farm and source food in this country. To me, that’s worth it.

More from the blog

Can we care about animals - and still raise them for food?

I probably spend the most time with the pigs on our farm. Part of this is practical: since pigs can’t sweat, we spray them down twice a day to help them wallow in the mud and stay cool.  But part of it is emotional, too. I enjoy being around the pigs. When there’s a lot on my mind, or I’ve spent too much time on the computer and need to get outside, wandering over to that week’s pig paddock is one of the ways I can clear my mind.  Pigs are highly emotive and responsive. When I spray them down with the hose, they like to sit back on their haunches, prick back their ears, and snap playfully at the water as it showers down on them. And then joyfully roll around in the mud afterward, of course.  But they’re responsive to humans in general, too. They are naturally curious and, in the case of our heritage breed Red Wattles, gentle. They’ll come up and sniff you, rub their mud-streaked bellies over you, and let you scratch their ears.  And maybe this is the part where you start to wonder: But aren’t you raising them for food?  Why would you want an emotional connection to an animal that you are raising for food?  I understand where this question is coming from. I was a vegetarian for nearly a decade because I didn’t like the thought of killing animals, especially within the framework of our industrial food system.  But actually, it isn’t a problem or moral quandary for me. Yes, we grow fond of and attached to our animals, including our pigs.  Yes, we still send them to the butcher or process them on our farm for food. And yes, this still makes sense to me.  I would gently suggest that the idea that we shouldn’t have any emotional connection to our food - that we can only eat meat that comes from animals we withhold our emotions or affection from - is a sign of our disconnection to the way food is grown.  That is, after all, one of the premises of industrial agriculture. Designate animals with one sole purpose - “becoming food” - and then shut them away in buildings, cramped quarters, or far away from humans who might interact with them beyond the farmer.  And the farmer, too, should be as disconnected as possible. After all, this is an efficient machine.  The problem, from a regenerative perspective, is that growing food is never just about growing food. Food is the gift you receive at the end of your work, but it’s the work itself - and the consequences of the work beyond the food - that is the point.  The work, on our farm, is caring for the land. That means working alongside animals to nurture native plants, clear forest areas to make existing trees healthier, and create habitats for birds, pollinators, and wildlife.  And that means becoming attentive and thoughtful - to animals and to the land. Watching, learning, and yes, developing bonds with the habitats you’re nurturing and the animals that are helping you do so.  Is it sad to load up animals and take them to the butcher at the end of the season? Yes, it often can be. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I know that we’ve given them the best life possible, and that we’ve partnered with them to leave our farm better than we found it each year.  And if that doesn’t make sense, that’s okay. I’m not saying that everyone has to agree with me. I’d simply like to advocate for a way of farming and consuming meat that includes this experience - one of affection and bonding between animals and humans.  After all, this is one of the many ways we try to do things differently on our farm. We don’t want to just provide you with food that meets your standards - non-GMO, no vaccines, no antibiotics, grass-fed and pasture-raised.  We also want to help you reconnect with that food. And part of that is knowing the animals, hearing stories about them, and yes, maybe even having an emotional connection with them, despite the end goal of providing meat to you.