It is with mixed sorrow and relief that I tell you the pigs have gone off to "freezer camp." I miss them. When I go out to the pasture I look down to where their large pen was and am startled not to see their dark, hulking forms. I listen for their companionable grunting to each other and only hear the wind over the winter grass.
I would have told you that I could never, EVER raise an animal and then have it butchered. I've loved animals all my life, and could not imagine becoming attached to one, then eating it. But my perspectives have changed. Much of this is due to the
influence of my friend Marion. She got me to thinking about raising animals for food one day while we were riding our horses together. I may have blogged this before, but will repeat this bit. Marion raises wonderful beef cattle. She loves her cows, takes excellent care of them, and enjoys having them. I told her I didn't understand how she could see a calf be born, all innocence, big eyes and wobbly legs, then know it as it grew, then eat it. She is German and precise in both her actions and dialog. She simply said, "I know my animals have had a wonderful life, with just one bad day."
When one looks at the food system in our country, it is clear that most of the animals that end up in tidy packages at the grocery store did NOT live a wonderful life. Marion's words got me to thinking. This was all several years ago. Since that time I have raised chickens, lambs and now pigs for our table.
I can tell you this. It is an awesome responsibility to raise livestock for food. I have spent hours reading up on the proper care and feeding of these animals. I have been up at dawn carrying food and hauling water in the dark of evening, and we have spent more money than I really care to think about to provide proper food and housing for each critter on the property. I take great pains to make sure that their physical, social and nutritional needs are met, and that the short lives they have are happy. I also take pains to make sure their end is swift and humane. And when I sit down to a meal that originated from here on my tiny farm, there is a reverence, respect and gratitude for the food that I never felt when I bought it at the local market. And if you are curious, I will tell you that home-raised chicken, lamb, beef and pork do taste different from any you ever bought at the grocery store. The flavors are intensified somehow, the texture more firm. The experts tell us it is better for us, too.
The relief I mentioned in the first line of this post? Getting the pigs to the butcher was a bit stressful. Marion kindly brought her livestock trailer to our house several days beforehand. She parked it in the pigs pasture, so they could get used to the look and smell of it. The plan was that I would feed and water then in the trailer, so it was not a scary thing. The girl pig hopped on moments after it was parked, eager to explore a new place. The boy pig was wary. I fed them there, and if he hopped on I never saw it, until the day before they were to take the "big ride." Then he clambered up and ate his breakfast, and I figured we were home free. But that night he refused to go in for his supper. I spent a sleepless night fretting and worrying. If he would not get on in the morning we'd have a problem. He was too big to muscle, and one reserves a butcher date months in advance. Besides, my friend and her trailer were reserved for this specific date, I didn't want to inconvenience her further. To my delight the boy pig did hop on, after a few heart stopping moments. But then there was an episode of truck and trailer being mired in the mud. Mud! In December! In Maine! It is practically unheard of. But in the end the pigs rode calmly, unloaded easily and didn't seem to be the slightest bit upset. This weekend we'll bring home boxes of home raised pork and try to fit it in our freezers, which are already crammed with beef, chickens, ducks and lamb. And I will mix in some feelings of pride and gratitude to go with my sorrow.
