Our first spring here in Oklahoma was beautiful, magical, and inspiring. It was our first time owning an entire farm, and the possibilities tingled in our veins.
We moved in as the world began to thaw, so grateful to be in a more southern clime. After unloading our moving truck together we left all of our boxes in the carport for a time and chose to live simply out of our suitcases for a few months. During this time we got busy setting up our country home. We painted and painted and set up shelving all around the walls–because let’s face it, we own too much stuff and about a thousand books too many.
But in the midst of unpacking, on a bit of land criss-crossed by dilapidated fences, isn’t the best time to begin adding to your farmyard hopes and dreams. We thought we would wait a tad before acquiring animals, recover from moving, get really set up and all of that. Take it slow, right? Very sensible.
Umm…yeah…that resolution lasted about 24 hours.
Exactly four days after we moved in, the lure of livestock won out and Mark brought home our first family goat on Valentine’s Day, 2014. (Naturally, we named her Valentine.)
And so it began.
With boxes still littering our world we added two feeder calves, then 13 more, tried to keep our half-grown golden retrievers from demolishing our shoes and our storage, and settled our stressed out Illinois bunnies in our old barn.
Then came the piglets.
We set out to look for Large Black Hogs, which we had actually been on the lookout for over the last couple of years. We were thrilled to find a farmer only a few miles away who not only had them to sell, but was a wealth of information. Even more heartening, he soon became a good friend.
We bought 3 weaned cuties whom we hoped would become the basis of our future hog cohort: 2 little gilts and a young boar. They squalled unhappily upon being captured and loaded, of course, but soon settled in to trotting around our yard as free range piglets. They were joined soon after by a 4th little pig, a modern cross that we planned to simply raise as our own personal butcher hog (the price was right at the sale barn).
Our children were delighted with the four darlings, and each claimed one as their own to name. The little gilts were dubbed Buttercup and Lillian, the small boar was named Blackie Hog Jr. Snort (namesake of our Illinois pig), and the little modern cross was called Friendly. They soon became attached to one another and roamed together as a herd, loving especially to congregate under our front porch. Some days you could feel the whole porch vibrate with their happy scuffling and snuffling below.
At first they didn’t know us and would stop stock-still, snouts wiggling suspiciously, whenever we tried to approach them, then scattering at the last moment with high pitched squeals. But with grain feeding and a whole lot of attention from our fascinated kiddos, they quickly warmed up to us. Soon they were rolling over appreciatively to have their bellies scratched, and joining us for picnic lunches. They even tried to flop on our blanket for naps while we did outdoor school, closing their eyes sweetly and contentedly as they rested beside us. They had it pretty good, those pigs.
When they got so big and brave that they felt wandering up the dirt road to root up the yards of unsuspecting neighbors was delightfully diverting, we decided it was time to pen them properly before they got themselves into anymore trouble.
There the real action began. We tried electric, which worked great until a storm placed branches across the wires (frequent, as our storms are big here), or when a startled pig ran through the wire before even registering the shock, allowing the others to leap through the gap in its wake. We placed goat fencing beyond the electric, but when the electric failed, those stout snouts came into play and they rooted and wriggled their way under the wire fairly often.
There were peaceful weeks, of course, but whenever they broke free, now in the hundred pound range, they wreaked piggy havoc on our grain storage, caused carport chaos, obliterated trash bags, and even partially clambered onto the deck to steal scraps from the cats.
They were very fond of our white van, too, rubbing along its sides enthusiastically and leaving a regular swath of muddy smears behind them. That poor car was inducted into the farm vehicle world in short order.
But we loved our troublemakers anyway, even when I had to chase them with a broom. Eventually we got it all battened down pretty well, and as they fattened they could squeeze out of random places less easily.
They grew and grew, as piggies do, and they stayed sociable and sweet, even as they methodically rooted and grazed down their paddock, and guzzled a mountain load of grain.
The kids were sad to see Friendly (the modern cross) reach butcher weight, but they had known his fate all along and accepted it with admirable equanimity. When the meat was placed in the freezer, they soon forgot their original loyalties and deigned to eat their pork and sausage. (He was as delicious as pork as he was affable as a farm pet.) But they remembered him fondly ever after.
The motto of my childhood farm days was that we would give our critters as much love in their short lives as two farm girls could give, thus making their time on our farm as happy as possible before they had to hit the freezer. It is much the same now with our children, and they handle the reality well.
Shortly after Friendly was sent to the butcher that winter (hence the muddy photo), we found out that just as we had hoped, our little gilts were on their way to becoming sows and Blackie Hog Jr. Snort was to be a proud father in the spring!
We were so excited to see the pig plan coming together for real. Come April, 2015, our Large Black Hog venture would begin to truly multiply.
First of all, everyone needs a turkey. They add spice to life. Zest to your farm. Pizzazz to your menagerie. And strike terror in the hearts of grasshoppers everywhere, which is useful.
Ballard Creek Pastures 