Porcine Love

Watching a boar on loan from our neighbor ignore Delores and a friend’s gilts reminded me of this post from the archives:Delores and beaux 005

Lord Emsworth and Lady Constance (Clarence and Connie to their friends) followed me this evening into their new paddock. They had been living in the spring garden paddock, snacking on cowpeas, tomatoes, pepper and eggplants. I opened the walk-through gate and they trundled after me, noses to the ground sniffing and snarfling, reaching out to nibble on volunteer turnips, pumpkin and squash vines and the other remains of the summer garden.

Clarence and Connie, our Berkshire boar and sow, were ushered into their private matrimonial quarters a few weeks ago after he began to show interest in consummating this arranged marriage. He’d sidle up to her and place both forelegs across her mid-section, standing at a right angle to her body. She’d continue eating, which we took to be a sign of at least mild interest, assuming that if she wasn’t interested she would bite him.

She would reciprocate by pushing her haunches against him as he walked by, he’d keep going. He’d stop an hour later, take a look at her, drool running down his jowls. She’d ignore him.

We figure some night soon the combination of emerging sexual maturity; hormones and timing will culminate in a mating. Meanwhile, I watch as Connie is body blocked by a snarling Clarence from nabbing a 7-top turnip. Porcine chivalry is still apparently in its Viking phase.

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Reading this weekend: 200 Classic Chess Problems by Frank Healey. That explains the lack of new output on the blog. Fiendishly elegant ways to not get anything done this Sunday.

An Economy of Satisfaction

Our language is shot through with sayings that originated in our agrarian past. “Don’t bet the farm” and “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket” are two. Both have resonance for a small diversified farm such as ours.

 

Hogs in the woods

Hogs in the woods

This past week we have been working on our 12-month farm plan. No surprise to anyone, fencing does make its perennial appearance. But the biggest change, a turning of the wheel, brings us back to the first years of our farm: the presence of breeding stock. In those early years, we had Milking Devons, Berkshire hogs and a flock of Border Leicester sheep. But as the years progressed and our needs and the economy changed, we sold our breeding stock and focused instead on feeding out weanlings.

Over these past 16 years, we have bought virtually no meat from the grocery. In that time our farm has supplied all the beef, pork, lamb, chicken and duck for our table and for dozens of other families’ tables as well. Sales of the first three helped us pay off the farm and house in 10 years. Making this small-farm market economy modestly successful has taken work and sacrifice.

That work produces a household economy of vegetables and fruits for the table. In spring, summer, and fall the gardens feed us, friends, and the pigs. Fruits from the orchards and honey from our bees are used to make various country wines and meads, jams and jellies, and … to feed our pigs. A household economy measured in quality and satisfaction: Only a fool would wonder about financial inputs and gains when enjoying fresh crowder peas or a ripe tomato plucked from the vine.

Alongside hard work a degree of luck factors in. We were lucky that both of us escaped the Great Recession relatively unscathed. We know from the experiences of most of our neighbors that our farm life could have gone completely off the rails. Lucky as well that Michael Pollan wrote The Omnivore’s Dilemma and that the documentary “Food Inc.” were released when they were. Both helped create a larger audience and culture that valued the work we did in producing food.

But the market wheel continues to turn and we adapt. Maintaining breeding stock, for many years, paid off. Then one day it didn’t. That’s when it became more cost effective to buy feeder pigs, weanling steers, and lambs from local farmers. Then the wheel turned again. The cost for buying lambs doubled, then tripled. Our response was to buy a few ewes and a ram and ease back into the breeding business. That small investment had quick returns both financially and in flock numbers: what started out as a flock of five or six now consists of 20 ewes, a ram, and 26 lambs.

Red Poll Cattle

Red Poll Cattle

Our return to breeding stock in pigs proceeded from the same reasons. Replacement prices have risen in recent times, if feeder pigs are available at all. Hence, the purchase of our sow, Delores. Likewise, cattle prices have exploded, while the prices paid by consumers have increased more modestly. Years ago we could get 400-pound replacement steers for about $300 a head. Last fall the price was $1300. The wheel turned with a vengeance. So this week we took receipt of two bred Red Poll cows and two heifers. We plan to phase out our existing stock of steers in the coming two years and, hopefully, replace them with steers from our new Red Poll herd.

“Don’t bet the farm” and “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket”—there is a reason those two adages are still in use. Flexibility, foresight, diversity, and a bit of luck are all important in the success of a small-farm economy and of the larger culture.

But without factoring in an economy of satisfaction, the investment would all be for naught.

A New Year

Our limbs may be cold this morning but spring still beats in the heart.

December has been mild, though this morning is the coldest at 25 degrees before sunrise. The now annual too soon bud swell has begun with the plum and peach trees threatening an early bloom disaster. Seed catalogs are stuffed in the mailbox each day and in another few weeks we will begin to disc the pastures and sow with rye and clover for an early start to the grazing season.

Meanwhile the cattle and sheep are eating last year’s forage in the form of square and round bales of hay. Each morning and evening we bring a half square bale to the sheep and every few days a round bale to the cattle. The bees are being fed sugar water to avoid starvation. And we are still getting greens and turnips from the garden, where the garlic and onions for next year are thriving.

So, even though winter is now only nine days old our thoughts are on its end game. New lambs, baby chicks and ducks, gardening, pastures, orchards and grapes, it all begins again in just another 8-10 weeks. Between that new season and today we have cattle and hogs to get to market, orchards to be pruned, seed to be started and a few freezes to be endured.

But for now our old year is limping out the door, battered by unexpected freak weather and the usual predations by our species. Let us raise a glass and pledge to treat the New Year a bit better. I pledge to plant a garden, drive less, recycle more and learn a new skill, save some seed, visit with neighbors (including those I don’t particularly like), write letters (email counts, texting doesn’t) and be a good steward to this patch of land we call home.

Happy New Year!

When Pigs Fly

When Pigs Fly

Pigs are not the sedentary creatures portrayed in pastoral memoirs, childhood nursery stories and my beloved Wodehouse novels. Although pigs may not fly, they can leap fences, tunnel under or push through, spending much of their time galloping to and fro. If pigs could ride motorcycles they would have been the perfect companions for Steve McQueen in The Great Escape.

When we bought our Berkshire breeding stock, the youngest sow, Snowflake, needed to be kept separate. She was tiny compared to the rest of the pigs. She needed to have all the food she could eat without competing with larger stock. We put her in a specially constructed pigsty with 3-foot walls. She was about the size of a small dog, maybe 15 pounds. Within minutes she had leapt the wall and fled.

In the next few days we would invariably find her running back and forth in front of the fence for the other pigs. Grunting and squealing, she was demanding vocally to the neighborhood that she wanted company. After a few attempts at returning her to the sty, we gave in and put her with the other pigs.

They are contrary animals: after putting her up with the other pigs she spent the next 3 weeks leaving that enclosure at will. We would find her out in the chicken coop, among the tractors, in a neighboring paddock, etc. She would catch sight of us and flee back to the “secure” paddock with the other pigs, squealing the whole long way.

As time went on she finally grew big enough that she couldn’t squeeze through the gaps in fencing. But, she was still vocal with always something to say…we just didn’t know the translation.

An omnivore’s revenge

Pigs may be smart. They may be escape artists. But, be careful not to anthropomorphize their lives. They live to eat. They Live To Eat!

Cindy went into the pen with Clarence and Connie a day after a heavy rain. One of her Wellingtons got stuck in the mud. She found herself falling forward, one foot in the mud behind, one hand on the water trough and one hand on the feed bucket. Both hogs were taking turns knocking into the bucket of feed and nipping at her. She finally flung the feed behind her and escaped, leaving the boot behind.

As an experiment stand stock still in a pigpen. Within a minute they begin to pull on your clothes with their teeth: Just testing the waters. God forbid you have a heart attack. “Hey! Look guys, Brian is in distress…boy, am I hungry”.

The best revenge on their untrustworthy nature is ours. We can sum it up with one word: bacon.

Piggy Love

Lord Emsworth and Lady Constance (Clarence and Connie to their friends) followed me this evening into their new paddock. They had been living in the spring garden paddock, snacking on cowpeas, tomatoes, pepper and eggplants. I opened the walk-through gate and they trundled after me, noses to the ground sniffing and snarfling, reaching out to nibble on volunteer turnips, pumpkin and squash vines and the other remains of the summer garden.

Clarence and Connie, our Berkshire boar and sow, were ushered into their private matrimonial quarters a few weeks ago after he began to show interest in consummating this arranged marriage. He’d sidle up to her and place both forelegs across her mid-section, standing at a right angle to her body. She’d continue eating, which we took to be a sign of at least mild interest, assuming that if she wasn’t interested she would bite him.

She would reciprocate by pushing her haunches against him as he walked by, he’d keep going. He’d stop an hour later, take a look at her, drool running down his jowls. She’d ignore him.

We figure some night soon the combination of emerging sexual maturity; hormones and timing will culminate in a mating. Meanwhile, I watch as Connie is body blocked by a snarling Clarence from nabbing a 7-top turnip. Porcine chivalry is still apparently in its Viking phase.