Pigs, But No Pigs

The boys and I stayed home and did fun school for much of the day. Phil had to deal with various paperwork/bookkeeping things in a location with electricity. The biggest, best news came from Michelle Bessette, who let us know that neighbor Gail just got WildBlue satellite internet, and it works great—with a south-facing hill. Which we have! Praise God: we will not have to commute forever!

During a bathroom break in the afternoon, the wind was gently blowing the trees, which are just starting to turn. Because the goats have cleared the underbrush, I can see into the woods next to our house. A few leaves fell in the shining sun, and the sheep and goats were ruminating in peace just down the hill. It was a beautiful, if fleeting, moment.

Phil poured the concrete today for the electrical panel. It is in place. (And it did rain a bit, but I am hoping that won’t make a difference.)

The last paddock we made for our sheep and goats was twice the size of the previous one, but the four ladies have concentrated only on the area that is more in the open, not venturing into the woods at all. Now that they have nearly demolished the open area, Phil cut down some of the thicket, so they could see how far back they could go. And they became more willing to forage into the woods. Silly ladies.

In the evening, we went to buy pigs. I was tentatively excited, but on seeing the ten pigs rushing around the pasture, I was a little more hesitant. And did you know that pigs bite with sharp little teeth? At one point, I asked the taciturn man how much the pigs weighed. He grabbed one by a back leg, then the other back leg. Eventually, he manhandled it up and held it while it SCREAMED and SCREAMED. I have never heard anything like it. Unnerving. “Squealing like a stuck pig” is an apt description, but it doesn’t quite show the volume or the desperation. Blah.

“I’d say it weighs about 100 pounds,” he said.

Sadly, this little episode made all the pigs jittery, so we were unable to catch even one to transport home. Which was fine, since we didn’t have a pen set up for them anyway. We had a pleasant talk with the wife for almost an hour. She told us of their nine years of hobby farming: chickens don’t work because feed prices are too high; turkeys grow slowly and are really stupid; grapes all died except for Concords, but who wants to eat that much jam anyway?; peaches never produce, or the deer get them; the garden started out enthusiastically and on a grand scale, but they have had to scale way back; the sheep shearer doesn’t come; the pigs are challenging to market.

This is not super-encouraging. I knew homesteading was challenging, but I am beginning to wonder if it is possible to homestead without becoming bitter. I pray it may be so.

It was embarrassing for me, though, to see myself reflected in the taciturn man. He said several times, “I shouldn’t have picked up that pig until they were all corralled: that was so stupid. Stupid of me.”

I have said those exact words several times since moving here, in moments of irritation or frustration. The baby dumps out the glass of water because his reach is incredible: “I should have SEEN that that water was going to fall. I’m so STUPID.”

I hope never to say those words again. It’s UGLY. (And the truly embarrassing thing is, I know when I say it that I’m behaving badly. Sometimes my disappointment in myself or my life is so great, though, that I just want to express it—somehow.)