A Day One pig would die, he said; …, she said

He (The Paulsonian) said:

One of several reasons Sharon & I believe God led us to country living is the ability to teach life lessons more easily. We can teach lessons on hard work, birth, reproduction, , and life in general more naturally on our acreage than we ever could before we moved here. It is because we see these cycles around us every day.

Last week was a good example of this. One of my neighbors called to see if I wanted to buy a pig. Now, I knew, immediately, he wasn’t asking if I wanted another pet, like in Charlotte’s Web. We butchered 100+ chickens last summer, we have eight children, and we could make room in the deep freeze. Since the price was right, I didn’t even ask my lovely bride. (Though, perhaps, I should have listened a little more closely to her, as you may read below.)

As God would have it, Thursday, Feb. 1^st was the day of “the deed” as Sharon likes to say. I went over to my neighbor’s “other place” where the hog barn is located. It was one of the coldest days of the winter with bitter wind chills that froze our fingers to the bone. However, from the time he killed the animal, and we skinned it, to the time I had the carcass in the van, it was about an hour. Now I know how it’s done, so I’ll probably do this myself, next time.

Anyway, I’m not squeamish about the process. On the other hand, it is always sobering to kill animals given by God, as any are. One moment, a live animal stood before me, and the next moment, we were draining her lifeblood and skinning the carcass. I don’t mean to be vulgar, but that’s just the way it is.

It is helpful for children to realize the source of their food. I think it makes them more thankful, and it makes them less wasteful. On Friday, our children were involved in various ways during the processing of this hog into meat for the freezer. They heard Daddy and Mommy talking about how it should be done. They put roasts in freezer bags. They helped make fresh sausage. They enjoyed fresh farm eggs and fresh sausage on Saturday for breakfast. They even helped me smoke bacon on Monday.

So, what life lessons did they learn during this process? They continued learning hard work and team work. They learned some spiritual lessons. They were again reminded, “…as by one man sin entered into the world, and by sin; and so passed upon all men, for that all have sinned. (Romans 5:12) That is, whenever we see (especially of mankind), it is proof that all of us are sinners, with the exception of Jesus Christ. Of Jesus Christ it was said, “For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him. (Second Corinthians 5:21)

And in this way we attempt to follow the commandment given to Israel (Deuteronomy 6:4-7):

4 Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is one LORD: 5 And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. 6 And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart: 7 And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. …

That’s one view of the recent events at Dandelion End. I encourage you to scroll down for Sharon’s view, however. It does look somewhat different than mine.

She (Dandelion Mom) said:

I have always aspired to be the “pioneer woman” type of wife – ready and willing to do whatever it takes to help her man pull a livelihood out of the soil, lending her strength of back and fortitude of spirit to his every plan. It’s the shoulder to the plow, so to speak. No perfect manicures and hours at the harpsichord and embroidery hoops for me. —Then came THE PIG!

I have always loved my husband’s unbounded confidence when trying something new. In this case, he needed enough for both of us. My first reaction was, “You bought a what?” “It is HOW big?” “You think we can do this? I mean, really!” Face it. A 220 lb. hog (live weight) ain’t no chicken. We don’t even have real grown-up sharp knives, let alone a meat grinder and a meat saw, etc., etc. Mostly, though, I was worried about all the … well the … YUCK!, the gore … the rivers of BLOOOOD…the no-longer vital organs and the decapitated, unanimated verydead HEAD. Strong, ready-to-face-whatever-happens woman is in danger of becoming too “delicate” to face such unsavory things. I might even squeal “eeeuuuw!” (One step further down the slippery slope toward “Pump my gas for me; I may break a nail”. Can the pink feather boa be far behind??)

Now, what I said out loud was, “Maybe it would be better to let a professional handle this.”

What was his answer? “How hard could it be? Dave said he’d help kill it.”

“So all the gore will be at his house?”

“Yes, I’ll only bring home the meat.”

“No head?”

“No head.”

“You’ll leave the head there, and all the gross stuff?” (Keep in mind, we just read The Lord of the Flies for school and I have a head full of much too vivid imagery.)

“Yes, dear,” he said. (Uh oh, the “dear” came out; he is humoring me. Also, my pioneer image is in danger.)

“Let’s do it! Where can we borrow a grinder?”

Fast forward past phone calls and the trip to buy freezer bags. It is dark-forty-five and the wind chill is approaching the dry-ice zone when my man steps into the house. He stands just inside the back door with red, foamy bloood frozen onto his boots, coveralls, etc. and a shell-shocked look on his face.

“Was it bad?” said I.

“You do what you gotta do.”

“But…was it BAD?”

“I didn’t enjoy it, but I will enjoy the meat.” (Suck it up Sharon, says I. If he can do THAT, you can handle the easy part.)

Fast forward again, past laundry and other boring stuff. Scott is freshly showered (good wife that I am I put his sweats and towels in the dryer to be hot and ready for him) and installed on the couch with home-made hot cocoa. I gave him the full treatment of ,“Way to bring home the bacon you hunka-man, you.” Ego fortified, he gives me the question I have steeled myself for since he left. It is the dreaded, “Wanna see it?” My confident “sure” came out sounding more like “I’ll see it tomorrow when we cut it, anyway, won’t I?” Ooops! Try again. Proverbs 31 pioneer woman wouldn’t say that!

“Okay, at least I am just looking at meat…no head or anything.”

“Wait, let me go move that out of the way, first.”

“YOU BROUGHT HOME THE WHAT?!?”

“I thought you would want to cut off the ears for dog treats.”

“YOU BROUGHT HOME THE WHAT?!? YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?!?”

Let’s fast forward past the next ten minutes of this to, “I guess that means you don’t want the heart, either.”

“YOU BROUGHT HOME THE WHAT?!?”

“I thought you could dissect it for science.”

“YOU BROUGHT HOME THE WHAT?!? YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?!?”

Again, let’s skip the next hour or so. I looked, and saw, not Miss Piggy, but meat under a tarp. No problem.

Fast forward, past bedtime for all the stubby people, to the really funny part. You need the full picture here, so bear with me. Pioneer man and pioneer wife are snuggled on the couch. He is reading some deeply meaningful book or other, and she is working on (ironically) embroidery. He looks up lovingly into her eyes, gets a sheepish grin on his face, and says, “So it wasn’t a good idea to bring the liver, too, then?”

Let’s all say it together, now. “YOU BROUGHT HOME THE WHAT?!?” Then, we laughed. Liver I can slice and bake for dog treats.

Come morning (butchering day), I learn something very frightening. I, as keeper of the kitchen, am supposed to know how to cut this ginormous – no hugantic – thing into chops and hams and other tasty bag-sized pieces. YIKES! I have exactly 1 mimeo (Yes, I said mimeo—remember those?) of the primary cuts in the back of my cookbook, circa 1984 Home Ec. (I can just hear myself now… “WHY am I learning this? AS IF I will ever need to cut up a PIG!”) I think we spent 10 minutes trying to orient the chart to the beast. First, we flipped the pork over. Then we turned it around. Next, we turned the chart, etc.

Then we forged ahead, w.h.a.c.k.i.n.g away and hoping it would look something like the way the butcher does it. We paid the grocery store $3 to grind the bits we designated “sausage”. (AKA “I don’t know what else this part is called, so let’s grind it.) Thankful for our internet connection, we Googled a recipe for the seasonings. Most of the lard stayed at the neighbors with the skin (but not the YOU-KNOW-WHAT) so no rendering had to be done. I think Scott is still mourning the flaky pie-crusts that could-have-been!

In short, we filled our freezer and every nook and cranny with pork. This was very satisfying indeed. At the end of butchering, as we were loading the freezer, he brings in a HOOF, and says, “Thought you might want a souvenir.” Gotta love him, dontcha?

The next morning over home-made (and a bit strange-tasting) sausage and freshly laid eggs, I was thinking, “I am so glad it’s over.”

Scott said, “That wasn’t so bad. I bet we could do it ALL by ourselves next time. This sausage is sure good!”

HOO BOY!

P.S. to anyone who wants to comment that a true Proverbs 31 Pioneer woman would not only know how to but willingly make pig-snout burritos and ear-wax candles, I dare you to say it to my face. I will wash your mouth out with my home-made laundry soap. THEN, I will tell my strong provider man on you and he will go to great lengths to protect the delicate flower that I am. SO THERE!

–’Til next time, The Paulsonian and Dandelion Mom