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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Lydia and Fiona. Or is it Fiona and Lydia? |
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| 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?)
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| 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.
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| Crocuses, battered by snow, wind, rain, rally in the sunshine |
*Words,
words: slaughter:meat; sacrifice:research
