A Pig's Tale

If goats make mischief, sheep induce serenity (and relieve the insomniac), and the hen house is full of clucking female banter, then the barnyard attribute I assign to the pig is pleasure.  When the acorns litter the ground, the leaves are aflame in a golden blaze, and the air is crisp and dry, there's no place like our wooded pig pastures for passing time and taking it easy.  I mean that for me as much as our herd.  I like to think it's the pigs' favorite time of year, too.  It's cool enough for them to stay comfortable and some of their favorite treats, nuts & acorns, are literally raining down on them.  On our farm, fall is the time for the pigs to shine!  I'm sure the fact that apples, sweet potatoes, and the bulk of autumnal fare often look to pork as a culinary foundation plays a part in my connection.  But for now, I'm talking less about the end product and more about the personality and "pig-ness" of a pig. I realize that the majority of American society would have a plethora of connotations for these fine swine that might include dirty, stinky, gross, and the like (I was in that camp a mere five years ago), but our pigs generate more smiles, chuckles, and good clean fun than any other species on our farm.  Whether giving a snort with each footfall, a barking run (yes, I mean bark like a dog), the smacking of chops that accompanies any morsel, a satisfying slump in which the belly paunch rests nimbly on the ground, or a nuzzle to be near any other companion, pigs are hilarious!  It seems to me that they have an acute propensity to enjoy their present activity...whatever it may be.  I can't help but watch them and find myself smirking or wanting to give a running commentary of their actions.  "Uh, hey guys. Whacha got there? Oh cool...what a weird root! Lemme see. Come on, Lemme see!"  Slumping to the ground. "Ok, fine. I'll just, uh, chill here til you're..." Jumping up with a jerk, Run, bark. Run, bark. Run, bark. "Uh, hey gals. Whacha got there? Mmmm...that looks good.  Scooch over so I can fit." Mash, squish, slump. "Awesome."


Pure Satisfaction

I'm not the only person to be won over by these creatures.  My husband was the first in our house to have a pig-shaped sweet spot in his heart. People who have pigs tend to really like them. I find that like owners of a particular dog pedigree, pig-owners are their own breed of human.  Our first summer of marriage Weldon would return to the house and tell animated stories about our herd as if they were preschoolers at the playground.  Other days he'd come back with a bit of a smile where a disgruntled grimace had been a short while before.  There's just something about pigs that makes one take a load off, take a deep breath, and look at the bright side.  I, too, have given in to a degree.  I just can't help it...and why should I?

Whacha Got? Whacha Got?

I've never been dubbed much of an animal person. One of my sisters is lovingly known as Snow White because she has tamed many a wild beast (me included at times).  Animals have always gravitated toward her and people are often calmed by her presence.  She and my mom are the "animal lovers" in the family and between them they have graced the rest of us with cats, dogs, birds, hamsters, gerbils, horses, fish, chickens, goats, ducks and plenty else.  I, on the other hand, have owned only a few animals in my lifetime: Iggy and Ivy the iguanas, Rory and Irvin the Beta fish, and Cully the dove.  The fact that I was marrying a livestock farmer was a source of raised eyebrows at the outset.  The man wasn't in question.  But the animals?  Really?  No one saw that coming.  Truth is, all the animal experience I've had growing up got me comfortable around a variety of critters and the great responsibility it is for another being to rely on me for their existence.  It wasn't that I'd never been around cattle, chickens, or pigs before I married (sheep and turkeys might have been a first). I'd just never been around these animals long enough to pay attention to their patterns and behaviors or appreciate what they uniquely offered as a species.  For the first time ever, the animals I owned (via my farm and homestead) weren't pets -- they served a purpose besides companionship and self-discipline. They were beings on which I came to rely to provide ecological balance for our land, a means to satiate my ancestral need to exist interdependently with other species, a stream of farming income, and ultimately a source for delicious and healthful nutrition that I could be at peace both eating and selling.

While I'm more and more comfortable with the animals on our homestead, my husband still spearheads all of our livestock systems.  Simply put, it comes more naturally to him, he's got years more research and trial in the area, and I've got plenty else on my plate (kitchen, garden, etc.) for which I bear the bulk of responsibility and have a driving passion for.  Division of administration coupled with communal labor are integral aspects to keeping this homestead afloat.  He designs and fences the wooded pig pastures, gets the timeline on the calendar for their weekly moves, and keeps their schedule for water, feed, and fence battery-life in mind throughout the week.  My rule of thumb for anything on our farm is to know how it works and be comfortable doing it myself, even if I'm not directly responsible on a day-to-day basis.  I can change the fence battery, refill the water tank, lead pigs from one pasture to the other or load them on the trailer.  I can tell if an animal is acting abnormally, their feed or water consumption is low or high (and deduce why that may be), etc.  Sometimes, when I have the time, I go with Weldon to work with the pigs just so I have a personal update on them...AND so I can watch them slurp up my kitchen scraps.  Hey, if I can't eat an egg shell, carrot top, or chicken bone, someone should be able to enjoy it!




Our wooded pig paddocks


The conventional counterparts to our pastured pigs live a dismal existence indeed.   Typically they are crowded so tightly that they cannot move much.  Sows (mama pigs) are in solitary confinement in shoot-shaped pens that keep them from even turning around.  They are fed only grain -- never coming close to the nuts, grubs, forage, and kitchen scraps that they evolved to feast upon.  Tails are usually docked because of the tendency for boredom, frustration, and stress to overcome the animals causing them to nibble at their neighbors'.  Even their instinct to root causes them pain and trauma as they often rub their snouts raw on concrete floor.  Nutritionally, these animals do not have the rich minerals, vitamins, and healthful components enriching their meat for humans to later ingest.  Of all creatures, the hog is the most biologically geared to maintain the quality and substance of its food within its muscular tissues -- all the more reason to be sure they're digesting a natural, diverse, and healthful diet!  All feed-lot animals, but particularly hogs, are a truly a shameful aspect of our national food system.  For these reasons and more it's imperative for consumers to educate themselves and support local, pasture-based farms. Or, of course, they can raise their own!

I realize most folks don't have the amount of land required to keep hogs (or perhaps the burning desire to do so), but for those interested in how this portion of our operation works, here's the nitty-gritty on pastured pigs:
- We purchase "feeder" pigs after weaning at roughly 40-80 lbs. Our herd is a mixture of bars (castrated males) and gilts (unbred, young females).  After purchase it takes an average of 6 months to finish the animals.  Typically, we buy in late spring and slaughter late fall/early winter.
- For now, we don't keep a boar and sows, so we do not have the variable of farrowing baby pigs...though we hope to in future.
- When they're young, super agile, and quite inquisitive (think a mass of 10 year-olds living together without adults) these little ones stay in a light-filled open-ended barn with plenty of deep bedding and running room.  They are moved to our wooded pastures once they are larger (roughly 75-100 lbs), more suited to weather the elements, and developed enough to train to electric fence.
- Our 1/4-acre wooded paddocks offer shade from the heat, trees to scratch on, and ample room to run, explore, and root up leaf litter, seeds, grubs, and roots (of course).
- Pigs are exceptionally smart and need only to touch the fence accidentally before staying away from it from then on.  For this reason we use wooden gates in their paddocks.  If they've felt heat on a metal gate, they'll prefer never to walk through that gate even if the fence is turned off and the gate is opened.
- Currently we have a small herd of 15.  We've had up to 28 without needing to increase the barn space or paddock size.
- We feed a local bulk feed ration and use non-GMO ingredients as often as they're available. Sadly, completely non-GMO is an impossible feat in our area. We're looking forward to the possibility of raising our own open-pollinated feed mix in the future.
- Recently, we've done a lot of research on the benefits of apple cider vinegar for the intestinal health of all animals (humans, too!)  For the past month we've been adding 1 quart of ACV to our 85 gallon tank.
- Our ideal phenotype is a short-shouldered, stocky-bodied, and big-bellied hog at finishing.  Industrial varieties are typically very long and lean.  While we don't focus on a particular breed, we tend to raise heritage-type pigs that pasture well.  We've had crosses of Tamworth, Berkshire, Hampshire, Old Spot, Duroc, and Chester White. However, Chester White are not preferred as they've become longer and leaner in recent decades of breeding.  Our favorite is a Tamworth-Berkshire cross.
-Because our hogs are athletic and healthy, their meat is a rosy red color (not whitish gray!), full-flavored, and healthfully packed with vitamins, minerals, and healthy fats. We're most interested in our animals being healthfully plump with a lot of muscle tone than being lean.  
- Like every animal on our farm and in nature, frequent moving is imperative for sanitation, ecological balance, and overall health.  Over time, the pulsing pattern we implement in the woods (disturbance and long periods of rest) will create fresh soil, allow seeds to take root, and grassy forage to sprout in the upturned soil.  Think of pigs as compost-turners.  However, timing is everything...if the pigs stay too long in one place they'll over do it, ruining the existing forage bed and even killing the trees' root systems. And yes, they'll definitely stink to high heaven if their excrement builds up.
- Our paddocks sit on top of a large sandy, pine and oak-topped hill.  As you'll see in the photos, we've got our work cut out for us to build soil and increase the forage stand because it's difficult for anything to take root in the sandy, dry soil.  Patience and time will do the trick. We see improvement with each season.



Come And Get It!

 Earlier this week I walked out the door with a massive bowl full of the vestiges of broth-making and dinner fare.  I had a special treat in my other hand -- a bucket of beef tallow cracklings from my first ever tallow-rendering experience (soap-making here I come!).  I rode the four-wheeler up the hill with Weldon, gingerly balancing my offerings so as not to spill a drop or get any on me (...ick!).  It was a gorgeous day -- 60s, sun shining, blue skies, cool air, and a light breeze.  We sauntered back toward the pig pasture engrossed in conversation, as usual.  Upon our arrival, we found pigs scattered at the far end of the lot.  Some were splayed out in a cool wallow, others were sitting on their rumps with their back legs stretched out in front of them looking off at who knows what.  If Forrest Gump had lent them a park bench, it'd have been a perfect fit.  Our presence interrupted their reverie and a few of them leaped to their feet.  Curious creatures, they had to check us out!  If four were coming, all of them were coming.  In an instant there were barks of glee and blasts of energy as the mass of them came bounding in our direction with their ears flapping wildly over their eyes.  I flashed a smile and started tossing out the hard stems of my swiss chard (stuffed swiss chard with lemon cream sauce).  Then some egg shells (broccoli rabe frittata).  Then coffee grounds, onion peels, and a slurry of colorful unrecognizables came flying out of the bowl in a semi-circle around me as far as I could fling.  The pigs were in a frenzy. Finding this, chomping that; sniffing this, stealing that.  I got my bucket-o-cracklings and dumped it with a thud on a stage to my right that was all it's own.   One interested party took a step or two in my direction. Snout wiggling.  A few more hurried steps and this guy hit the gold mine.  Snorting and smacking, his back legs danced like the hands of a clock gone haywire.  True to form, when one pig enjoys himself, another comes to join in. And another. And another. And another. Until I began to wonder how much of my ice cream bucket-sized blob could be left with that many heads cramming at it and pig bodies streaming out from it like rays of the sun.  From start to finish, this whole scene took about three minutes.  Undoubtedly, when they've finished off the fresh feast, they're usually at my pant-legs looking up at me with a look that says both, "More?" and, "I bet your jeans are worth a nibble!"  I scrambled out of there to safety on the other side of the fence to watch the rest of the show.  Don't get me wrong...the pigs are safe, I just don't prefer to have my leftovers smeared all over my clothes.  Weldon and I finished filling the waterer, wagging our heads with a smile. One by one the pigs found a cozy nook to stretch out and cool off or sit with (or "on" to be more accurate) each other until the next interesting stimulus manifests.  We headed back to the four-wheeler engrossed in conversation, as usual.  But like the pig, we were enjoying our present, taking it in with pleasure.  Now, if I could only do that while I write the bills or wash the toilet!