A Pig Becomes Pork, Part 1

This morning, a neighborhood butcher came over to our farm and killed our largest pig. Orrin fed the pigs their grain, and while they were eating, the butcher shot the pig in the head to stun him, and then his son stepped in and immediately slit his throat. Pretty shocking. The pig lay there on the ground twitching for several minutes before he stopped moving, and then they loaded him up on their trailer and left. It was probably over in less than 10 minutes. The pig will hang for a few days, then we'll go over on Sunday to help wrap the pieces as the butcher carves the pig into the specific cuts of meat that we want.

We had explained to Oliver beforehand about what was to happen, and asked him if he wanted to be there. He said he did, so Oliver and I stood a little ways away to watch. It is really amazing to see the difference in a child's reaction in this situation, who is growing up around killing and butchering animals, versus me as a 37-year old watching it for the first time, with all the cultural stigma that I, and most of us, was raised with (mainly that you buy your meat from a grocery store wrapped in saran wrap on a styrofoam plate and don't need to know where it comes from, and that killing is done by “someone else”, or that you don't even have to think about something dying for you to eat). Growing up in Alaska, my dad did go out and hunt the occasional moose, but I was never with him when he killed them. I remember skinned moose hanging from the beams in the garage to cure (and thinking “ewwww, gross”), but that is the closest I got to participating in seeing where meat came from.

Oliver took it completely in stride, didn't seem grossed out at all, but asked questions throughout the day about it, as he processed what happened. I was definitely processing it too. My first thought was thinking about the pig being in pain. I'm sure he was, and that's hard to think about. I can console myself by thinking that it was only for a few minutes. I suppose that's better than the idea of an animal being in pain for hours or days, but pain for a few minutes is still pain. I can't really rationalize it away, and make it better. For a second I thought, “maybe I should be a vegetarian or vegan”, but I can't honestly do that. First of all, because it's important to me to be as local as possible in my food choices (and if I'm not eating meat than I'd have to eat faraway things like avocados for healthy fats, and soy for protein), and second of all because, well, I like to eat meat. We can – and are – raising pigs (and other animals) for meat in a compassionate way, giving them free range to root around in large paddocks, not crowding them in to small spaces or keeping them cooped up in a barn for most of their lives. We feed them organic grain and don't use any hormones or antibiotics. They are healthy during their lives, and as a result we are eating healthy meat. 

So at the end of the day, I am thankful for that pig, for he helped clear land here to start creating pasture, and he will put food on our table. That is honest, and I can live with that.