Updated on Wednesday*:
A few years after Danny and I were married, he decided
we would raise two hogs to butcher.
First, we had to build a fence. We bought some locust
posts. Danny thought it looked better if we would take the bark off the
posts. I was laid off from Kellwood at the time, so it was my job to use
the draw blade. For those of you who have never worked with a draw
blade, it has two handles with a blade. It can be a very dangerous piece
of equipment. Luckily, no one was injured in the bark removal, but the
work was very time consuming and a real pain.
After the fence was constructed out of metal and wood
posts, the barbed wire was put on. Now, I can see why farmers get hired
help. After the fence was completed, two cute little piggies were put
inside the pen. I named the white pig, Porky, and the red one, Spanky.
They were sweet pigs, but, as they got bigger, I realized I was taking
my life into my own hands every time I went to feed them. As I would put
feed in their trough, they would corner me in the building, and all I
could think about was the horror movies where people were fed to the
When the hogs were large enough for Danny’s
satisfaction, he decided it was time to call in the Calvary. Jim Snyder
and Kenny Cavender, two of Danny’s co-workers from Hildreth’s, brought
their pistols to assist. The plan was to shoot the hogs at the same
moment, and the butchering would commence, or so we thought.
One of the guys shot one second later than the other,
and World War 3 began. We had one hog down, but the other (we later
called the demonic pig) had one-half acre to run rampant. The fellows
were trying to get a good shot on the pig, but I think they fired 20 to
30 shots. The reason I plugged my ears was not from the guns, but from
the pigs’ squeals. Finally the war was over!
I must say that we ate a lot of pork that winter. We had
every variation of pork there was to eat, we were “pigged” out!
Next week: A Goat Named Root Beer.
This Week's Editorial:By Helen Morris:
Calhoun County Map