For The Hog Killing

The dark early winter morning washed over us, enveloping us in its frigid embrace. Alarms went off on time, warm feet hitting cold floors long before most else were awake. Pigs were loaded into the trailer uneventfully, and warm coffee enjoyed, making our hot breath even more visible against the icy air.

The drive was quiet and solemn, winding rural roads empty, me lost in my thoughts, uttering silent prayers. I pray each time we take an animal’s life. Prayers drifting up to the heavens for the lives to be taken that day, for a swift, painless, and unexpected death, for calm and comforted hearts in our chests, for forgiveness and reassurance, in thanks and with immense gratitude.  

Blessed are we to spend our days in such a beautiful, picturesque place, experiencing so much life, immersed in so much joy. Even in pre-dawn darkness the beauty of our surroundings was visible, a welcome distraction. Hills rolling into mountains, farmhouses not yet coming to life, animals still shadows in the field.  

Raising our farm animals for meat means that death is a frequent companion, a reluctant friend. There is no hiding from death, no turning a blind eye or pretending it doesn’t exist. There are planned deaths, such as today, and unexpected ones, each carrying with them their own unique grief. Regardless of whether we pull the trigger, or wield the knife, the weight of being responsible for taking that life is present. I’m still learning to embrace that grief, learning to gracefully carry the weight and responsibility, to allow myself to be immersed in it and then feel it transformed into appreciation, acceptance, and gratitude.

I would prefer that all our animals take their final breaths on our farm, just as they do their firsts, in the comfort and familiarity of our Heavenly Acres. In truth, with regulations and the realities of running a business, it’s just not possible at this time. Maybe one day. For today, comfort is taken in the wonderful people who show care to our animals as they walk them through their final moments.

Climbing into the truck, empty trailer in tow, the sun began peaking over the horizon, melting away the somber chill of hours passed. I thought of our pigs, who I helped birth, of their now empty paddock back at our farm, and of the next litter already growing their way to an inevitable end that we will all one day confront.

And yet, my heart is full. I love this life. With all its challenges and triumphs, sorrow and exultation, farm life is truly the best life. In the quiet moments of our drive home I feel thanks for having spent some of my life with those pigs, and when we sit down at our table to enjoy the flesh of our animals, we acknowledge them, and utter prayers, professing deep gratitude and appreciation for the sacrifice of their lives as it gives nourishment to ours.

When you sit down for your next meal, I embolden you to do the same.  

Think of the animal. Think of the farmer. Offer thanks.

Blessings,

Your Local Farmer