PIGGING OUT

A drift of piglets squeezing together.  When they are bigger they become a drove of pigs.

It has been a couple of years since I first literally met what I would later eat. 

Some five or six years ago Ken’s son bought and raised two pigs over in Starksboro, up in the mountains around Bristol.  The meat was divided up with other family members.  I thought raising your own meat was a great idea, the notion of eating meat you know was raised organically with contented animals, plus the ready selection of bacon, sausage, pork chops, ham and such right there in your own freezer.  We visited the pigs only occasionally–this was before we moved up here­–so no warm feelings got attached.  I remember thinking an appropriate name for one of the pigs would be Hamlette (pun intended).  So you can see I was already focused on the end product.

The last time I saw those two pigs they were no longer small and cute.  They had grown chubby and had, by this time, several months later, made a mess of their pen.  Bill had fenced in a large area, maybe thirty feet square, partly in the sun, partly in the shade, built them a covered shed with bedding, and provided them with a water trough: a kiddy pool, big enough to wade in.  Which they did.  Originally grassy, the turf was soon excavated to dirt and, frequently, mud. (I know, they love mud.)  Eventually there wasn’t a blade of grass remaining.  What ended all thought of cuteness for me was the day I watched both pigs walk willy-nilly into their food trough, churning in the mud from their hooves, and then–this really did it for me–peeing into their food.

It was a pigsty.

About a year ago friends of my daughter’s had an extra pig that was to be slaughtered.*  That was the first time we ourselves bought into a pig, getting half of everything:  a shoulder, ham, a bunch of pork chops, ribs, sausage and packages of bacon and what-not.  Major parts come labeled, others not.  The "what-not" can present some problems.  The primary question being, What the heck is it?  The bacon gets smoked by the people who run the abattoir. Speaking of abattoirs, what’s almost creepy is the fact that you have to plan for the pigs’ demise the day you pick up the piglets six months later.  They grow to full size those six month, from spring to October.  Genetically engineered, obviously, without the GMO hullabaloo.

This is a young pig at Agricola Farm of a variety that will doubtless be large.  

I recently visited some pigs at Agricola in the town of Panton (see my blog post “Eating Local in Locavoria,” April 29, 2015) where a goodly number of pigs live, large and small all bound for some delectable Italian dishes served at one of their farm dinners.  We were there this time not for dinner or even meat, but to pick up home-made ravioli.  (Alas, these were a disappointment.)  For the most part the pigs are what I would call big-time pigs, destined for meat markets or restaurants.  The pigs we will have half of (picture half-pigs running around!) are a smaller variety.

This year we are again going to possess a pig, half the meat for the Hustons, half for us, come October.  At present, they are merely two piglets residing at the Smiley farm.  They are hybrids of no particular variety.  Their names are Fiona and Lydia.  Although they looked terribly cute in their photo, in person, so to speak,  I can’t say they were even cuter.  Take puppies, for example. All puppies in photos are adorable, but when you actually meet them they are immeasurably cuter.  Right away you want to take that puppy home and cuddle it.  I didn’t want to take the piggy home and cuddle it.  Maybe it’s just me.

Lydia and Fiona.  Or is it Fiona and Lydia?

They are being kept in the barn for now because it has been too cold outside.
One likes being touched, the other shies away

Pig number two (everyone raising pigs raises at least two) is a necessity for the health and wellbeing of pig number one.  Pigs are highly social animals and will only thrive when they have a companion or companions.  Thriving, for the animal in question, means eating a lot.  Pigs apparently really enjoy eating.  So does our dog Skyler, but we don’t feed him and feed him to fatten him up.  Dogs we want to keep reasonably lean.  Lean is healthy.  Pigs, on the other hand, we are encouraged to feed.  Makes you wonder, in a contest with, what? dogs? cows?  horses?  would they hog all the food?  Would they pig out?  In other words, how natural is fattening up?  (I’m reminded of the meat chickens–as opposed to egg-layers Lesley raised one year; because of their obesity several died of what may have been heart attacks before their scheduled demise, and the rest of them could barely walk they were so fat.  How natural is that?)

They kept up this activity for quite a while.  Did I mention they are sisters?

Where cows with their complex four-part stomachs, are built to turn forage into meat (and milk), pigs are not. (Actually, I’d always thought cows had two stomachs, but that’s not actually true.)  Pigs have a single stomach and have traditionally been raised on grains with a hefty helping of scraps. They need a protein rich diet.  Pasture isn’t really necessary, and will likely be turned into dirt anyway, which is why we see cows in the field and pigs in a pen. 

According to Mother Earth News’ calculations, a four- to eight-week-old piglet should weigh anywhere from 20 to 50 pounds. The start-up investment isn’t terribly great, about $35-$45.  By October the pig could weigh about 200 to 220 pounds.  This is what the butchered weight may amount to, approximately:

            24 pounds of ham

            20 pounds of bacon

            17 pounds of pork roast

            18 pounds of picnic shoulder

             7 pounds of pork chops

             8 pounds of sausage

             7 pounds of "miscellaneous"  (the "what the heck do I do with this?)

             6 pounds of salt pork

           31 pounds of lard  (although I can't remember ever getting any lard at all)

I have a memory of writing an essay about pigs when I was in one of the lower grades in elementary school. (Why I remember this piece of trivia I’ve no idea.)   I didn’t know the first thing about pigs then and it’s quite possible I’d never even seen one close up.  I lived in New York City after all.  I wrote in my slanting script about how every part of a pig was used for something, and I accounted for everything but the tail. The hooves, I wrote, were used to make glue, and the bristles for hairbrushes.  (Hairbrushes?)

*** 

Piglets are only one of the events of spring, just like the birth of deer, raccoons, foxes, coyotes, owls and more.  Soon the sand cherry bush near our bird feeder will be ornamented with goldfinches.  At any moment the grass will start shooting up.  A few ducks–a pair of wood ducks, a couple of pairs of mallards­­–have already visited the pond, as happens every spring.  No herons so far.  Blackbirds have long been back, but no swallows building their nests on our porch yet.  And we haven’t put up the hummingbird feeders.  Still waiting.

Crocuses, battered by snow, wind, rain, rally in the sunshine

*Words, words:  slaughter:meat; sacrifice:research