Green Eggs and Ham: 4-H raised goodness.

So, last Saturday, every one who was participating in the Ham and Bacon end of things this year had to meet at the school to pick up their pork that was coming in on a refrigerated truck.  Me, being the super savvy and ultra cool parent that I am, had the great idea that I would go 20 minutes early to get a good parking space and be first in line to pay.

Well....

I pulled up to find that I was the proverbial tail over the fence.  The last one to arrive.  The parking lot behind the school was filled with parents that were way more 'with it' than I was.  They had chairs, snacks, canopies, and had already divided up amongst groups who had all the information already.  One boy even had time to build furniture out of cinderblocks.   It was abundantly clear to me that not only was I not early, I was practically late!  I wanted to hide in the bushes.

"Hi, Elizabeth." AAAAAAGHH!!!  I had been spotted.  It was too late! I had to engage in conversation with the many parents who were far superior!   Begrudgingly, I responded, "Hello."  Not hi, not howdy, hello.  I said it in as low and defeated a voice I could muster.  I felt low.  It only got worse from there.  I found what was the line.  We waited and waited.  I finally made it to the table, only to be asked, "Do you know your amount?"

Amount?  AMOUNT?  *panic* I didn't know my amount.  I had just braved and survived an epic line to get to this table.  Options.  I needed options.  The answer is C!!!!  No, no that's not right.  I had only two choices.  I hated both of them.  Make up an amount, give them money, and play the price is right with my pig meat, or... be stuck sitting in the green chair of shame on the sidelines because I had failed again, and did not think to call and get my amount.

I shuffled over to the chair and sat, stewing in my frustration.  At that point, several parents were kind enough to tell me that they had called ahead to get their amounts.  I didn't think to call.  In fact, I had thought that they would tell me what I owed when I got here.  I brought extra money for that reason.  They asked for cash.  The Green Goodness.  As I watched one parent after another rip checks from their hatefully cute bound little checkbooks, I had a growing troll inside me banging on my insides, demanding to be let loose so it could cause troll-y havoc.

When the papers finally arrived for those of us rejects who didn't call, and I really think I was the only one, I got back in line and paid for our pork.  Kevin had already loaded it into the car, and since everyone was working their hams on the very same day, we opted to go do some things while we left Tiffany behind to work the hams.

That troll got loose, by the way, when we got to the shop and I discovered our order was not how we had placed it.  Thankfully, the shop is made of cinderblocks and concrete, and the damage was minimal.

Fast forward to yesterday.  We were all hungry.  Starving.  Starving like Chris-Farley's-hair-is-prettier-than-mine starving. 

The fridge was empty, the freezer was not.  We thawed some sausage, and some short ribs.  I fired up the grille, trying very hard not to think about what I was going to do.  I grabbed some eggs that I had gotten from the Tuckwillers.  I made little cups out of the sausage, and cracked an egg into each one.  I seasoned the ribs and oiled them, tossing them on the same grille.  20 minutes later, we took our first bites, and we had crossed the hump.  We made it.  The circle was complete, and everyone felt better.  Did we feel better because we had done our farmer-ly duty, or because we were no longer famished?  Not sure.  But, it had been done, and we were all talking about the beginning of the cycle all over again. 

"Onions Are The Only Food That Make You Cry." - Liars.

This past weekend, we had to say goodbye to Rootin' Tootin'.  Every time, it gets a little harder.  I know to be a farmer, you have to steel yourself when it comes time to send the animals off to slaughter, but I swear, he knew.  He knew we were saying goodbye.  He knew we were leaving him and not coming back.  What's worse, the kids knew.  What's worst, I knew. 

I think, had we bought him as an 8 week old piglet, it might not have been so hard.  But we held Rootin' when he was born.  He was the runt.  The smallest pig in the litter, and all of the literature that we had read said that fuzzy piglets, in other words piglets who had hair that stood on end, were never going to be good growers, and would likely die early in life. 

As time went on, we just couldn't help but fall in love with the littlest piglet.  We always knew there would be a chance he would not make weight for the State Fair.  It didn't matter.  He was a favorite, and we just told ourselves that he could be our Ham/Bacon pig, without really weighing the ramifications of such a declaration. 

When the day rolled around to haul him to Valley View Farm for the grand haul to the western part of the state for processing, there weren't many words spoken.  We all just got in the truck, and went down to the barn to get him.  I think he knew something wasn't right.  Animals can sense it.  We opened the gate, and as usual, he didn't want to go into the trailer.  Lucy, Marigold and Petunia all ran into the trailer where they ate the food that was waiting inside.  After a minute, Rootin' Tootin' went in.  We ushered the girls out, and he was alone in the trailer, eating the food. 

When we got there, and he walked slowly out of the trailer into the pen, he turned around.  He wasn't interested in the other pigs.  He was interested in saying goodbye.  It wouldn't be such a big deal if he was a jerk, but he wasn't.  He was a doll.  A real sweet pig.

Now, I know it will get better.  I know that two weeks from now, we'll be okay with it.  Working the hams will be therapeutic in a cauterizing way.  And when we butcher Marigold and Petunia, it won't be that big of a deal, because they're meat hogs. 

There's a huge difference between meat hogs and a pig you've developed a relationship with.  To show them,  you have to develop a relationship with the animal.  They have to trust you, and you them.  You're asking an animal that is almost 300 pounds of pure muscle to do things just because you ask it to, and not run you over or hurt you, and that animal has to trust that you're telling it to do something that violates its instinct to fight or flee.  You are concerned when it gets a sniffle or has a limp.  You'll do almost anything to make sure it gets the best food and is in best condition.  You'll experiment with a hundred different treats desperate to find out what your pig likes from peanut butter to marshmallows with a touch of jam.  Meat hogs, you just show up, dump some feed in a bin, and walk away. 

Show pigs take a little bit of your heart with them when they go.  You see, onions aren't the only food that make you cry.  Whoever said that was a liar.  Pork makes you cry, too.