There was a time when everyone in Dutchtown knew what it meant when someone said it was “hog-killing weather.” That just meant the day would start below freezing and not warm up too much. From a practical standpoint, the outdoors provided natural refrigeration that allowed you to process the meat without any risk of spoiling.
We didn’t have any pigs on our property, but Papa (my paternal grandfather) did. I can remember loving to help feed the pigs. They would eat anything, so any table scraps would be thrown into a five-gallon bucket and become part of the pig’s food that we called slop. Anything growing inside the pig’s fence would be eaten, so it was always bare red clay. I remember pulling up ragweed and throwing it over the fence where the pigs would quickly gobble it up.
Of course, the pigs were their cutest when they were tiny. We had some get out of their fence one time, and we were trying to catch them. The first time I tried to pick one up, it squealed so loud that I thought I was as scared as it was and let it go. I got over it, though and eventually was able to catch them. We gave some of them names, but there was always the knowledge that they would eventually be killed. If I hadn’t been exposed to that from an early age, maybe it would have been traumatic, but it wasn’t for me. I won’t lie. There was a certain sense of loss at times, and some of the processes are gory, but it’s necessary if you’re going to eat any kind of meat.
It was always amazing to me to watch how Papa did it. He always looked like he had done it a million times. I’m sure his methods were passed down from previous generations. I will spare you the details, but virtually everything from the animal was used. Not by me – I never got a taste for any organ meats, and there was no way I was eating chitlins. There was something to do for everyone, so a hog killing was a neighborhood event. Even as a kid, I can remember feeding the grinder or turning the crank to grind up meat for sausage. Papa would season it to perfection, and I’ve never had sausage that good since.
Of course, it’s a lot easier, and probably cheaper, to get your meat from Kroger. But, it has also essentially removed us from our connection to our food. Papa knew how his pigs were raised, what they were fed, what medications they were given, how they were killed, and how they were processed. When you’re growing your food as Papa did, you also have to do it sustainably, which is also important. It wasn’t always something I wanted to see necessarily, but I’m glad I did.