What Lying Down in a Field of Cows Taught Me About Life

Farmer Joel Salatin suggested that I lie down with his cows. What happened next was magical.

Illustration by The Epoch Times, Shutterstock

Join Sina McCullough, PhD in nutrition, on her quest to uncover truths about food and health. A scientist by training and a journalist by nature, McCullough offers facts and insights about how to live healthy, happy, and free.

Clarity can arrive in the most unexpected places.

I never expected to find it lying down in a pasture, wearing a white skirt, surrounded by 10 of Joel Salatin’s cows at his Polyface Farm. But there I was—still, silent, and completely at their mercy.

I hadn’t planned on sprawling in the grass that day, but with Salatin, you learn to expect the unexpected.

His farm isn’t just a farm—it’s a testament to regenerative agriculture and harmony with nature. That day, it became the setting for a lesson I never saw coming—one about trust, stillness, and letting the world come to me.

Sina McCullough and Joel Salatin at Polyface Farm. Nolan Gunn

The Challenge

I traveled to Polyface to record a video podcast with Salatin on his iconic farm, where the grass is greener in more ways than one.

Salatin, with his usual twinkle-eyed charisma, suggested that we film in the middle of the pasture, with cows grazing in the distance. Then came the challenge—he told me to walk slowly toward the cows, making no sound and avoiding eye contact.

“If you have calm energy, the cows will trust you,” he said.

The cows were about 50 feet away, so I began my approach, step by careful step, trying not to look too eager. Once I got within 25 feet of them, Salatin told me to “lie down and be totally still.”

Lie down? I glanced at my white skirt and at the cow patties scattered across the pasture. But I did it anyway—flat on my side, gazing at the feet of the cows in the distance.

Salatin had previously explained the process.

“The key to having the cows come up to you is to lie down, completely,” he said. “They won’t come to you when you’re standing, sitting, or squatting. And don’t look at them—close your eyes and trust them completely.

“When you go completely subservient in posture—prostrate, indefensible, unknowing—that’s when they respond with such profound inquisitiveness and gentleness.”

The Cows Come Closer

As I lay there, the cows, curious and unhurried, started moving toward me. One sniffed me, then another. Soon, I was surrounded by enormous animals—gentle giants just inches away, studying me with quiet fascination.

Then one of them licked me. Have you ever been licked by a cow? It’s surprising and strangely wonderful—a mixture of roughness and warmth.

Then I made the rookie mistake.

I couldn’t resist trying to pet the cow that had just licked me. The slightest lift of my hand—a mere inch—and he immediately jerked his head back, shaking it as if I had broken some sacred rule. Salatin was right: You must let them come to you, on their terms.

So I stopped moving entirely. I lay there for 10 blissful minutes, enveloped by the energy of the peaceful creatures. Their rhythmic breathing, the scent of fresh grass, and the warmth of the sun on my face grounded me in a way I’d never experienced.

I felt completely connected—rooted to the earth, energized, yet calm. Those 10 minutes taught me more about presence and peace than years of meditation, mindfulness exercises, or self-reflection had.

A Different Kind of Trust

As I soaked in the experience, still marveling at the quiet trust I had shared with the cows, Salatin offered a perspective that deepened my appreciation even more.

“The cows lick, noodle, and brush their whiskery muzzles across my face,” he said. “I’m struck by their gentle curiosity in light of their size and strength. They could squash me, step on me, kill me, but even in a herd of 500, I’ve never been stepped on or pushed around.”

That realization settled over me—these massive creatures had the power to harm with a single misstep, yet they had moved with deliberate gentleness. More than instinct, it was a response to my energy, a quiet recognition that I meant no harm.

“To have those massive beasts act that gently is a tribute to their understanding of me as provider and friend,“ Salatin said. ”It’s like a spiritual high to voluntarily place myself at their disposal, and all they give is interest and gentleness.”

I felt it, too—that spiritual high, that quiet reverence. It’s a humbling experience to trust something so much larger than you are, only to find that trust returned in full.

A Lesson in Stillness

As I lay in the pasture, something shifted inside me, and a deep sense of connection lingered long after I got up. It left me longing for more quiet, more simplicity—more moments when time slows and all that matters is the feel of the earth beneath me and the enveloping presence of nature.

Salatin once told me that to lie in the pasture at night, surrounded by his cows, is so therapeutic that it takes a lot to convince him to leave the farm. He travels to speak or consult, but his heart is always on that pasture, on the feeling of looking up at the stars, surrounded by his gentle giants—embraced by stillness.

I understand that now.

There’s something about being still in nature that humbles you, making you feel both small and deeply significant all at once. It’s the antidote to everything that feels too fast, too loud, and too demanding.

Returning to the Hustle

Our modern world isn’t designed for stillness. Since that day at Polyface, I’ve gone through busy seasons of life that felt suffocating, when the relentless pace left me breathless. I tried to keep up, but in the back of my mind, I kept returning to that pasture—the peace, the simplicity, the calmness of those cows.

We live in a world that glorifies productivity and hustle, measuring our worth by how much we can achieve in a day. But those cows didn’t care about any to-do lists or deadlines. They taught me a different way—one rooted in being rather than doing.

That’s the message I want to share with you. Sometimes, we need to lie down in the pasture and surrender at the very feet of overwhelming force.

We need to stop running, stop trying to accomplish so much, and simply be. There’s a kind of restoration that can only be found in stillness—a kind of healing that no achievement can provide.

A Call to Pause

You may not have a pasture filled with cows at your disposal, but you can still find your version of stillness. It might be sitting under a tree, walking barefoot on the grass, or watching the stars at night. Wherever it is, give yourself permission to pause. Life’s busyness will wait.

If you feel disconnected, overwhelmed, or caught up in the hustle, perhaps it’s time to reconnect—not through doing more, but through doing less.

Find your pasture. Lie down for a while. Let the world come to you.

Join the Conversation

This week’s community questions are:

When was the last time you felt truly connected to nature? Have you ever had a moment in nature that changed how you see life? Please share it in the comments!

Disclaimer: The information provided is for educational purposes only and reflects the opinion of Sina McCullough, PhD, a scientist, not a medical doctor. It is not intended as medical advice or a substitute for guidance from your health care provider. Always consult your health care provider before changing your diet, medications, or lifestyle. Use this information at your own risk.

Views expressed in this article are the opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times. Epoch Health welcomes professional discussion and friendly debate. To submit an opinion piece, please follow these guidelines and submit through our form here.