I'm Piggy-whipped!

You ever have that fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, you're off your rocker, and everyone but you has known it all along?  In the middle of the night Sunday, I got a frantic phone call from a friend of mine that her dog, who is lean, likes to lay on her side, and when she gets up, the dog acts like it's feet have fallen asleep.  I told her that it sounded like pressure on the hip joint on the hard floor was pinching a nerve and she could try some mild anti-inflamatories from her vet.  In casual conversation, it came up that I had gone to bed early because we had gotten back late from making an epic road trip to Indiana, then Illinois, then Missouri and back.

Naturally, the question that lept to her mind and inevitably launched itself from her lips...  "Why, Taz?"

Speaking to someone who has known me for the majority of my life, from adolescence on, I caught myself feeling a twinge of guilt for the honesty I was about to share.  Guilt, shame, something akin to both of those.  I knew what I was going to say was going to sound crazy.  The entire trip felt crazy by the time we got home, with all of the trials and tribulations.  There was no way to really minimize the shock factor, so I just said, "Pigs."

"Pigs?"  she replied, incredulously.

"Yeah, had to go out there to do some pig stuff."

I don't know what was worse.  The fact that Em didn't seem surprised by this, or the fact that I had an entire defense worked up that I had thought and mulled over during the 15 hour drive back home, on how I was going to justify travelling all the way to Missouri for pig business.  Even Grandma inquired to my mother if I was aware that we had pigs in West Virginia.

Yes.  I am aware.  But the grass is always greener on the other side... of the country.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.  We started off leaving later than we wanted to because someone worked later than he was supposed to.  I had been planning this trip for weeks.  AccuWeather was advertising what I feel comfortable deeming 'Perfect Weather' for the weekend out in the midwest.  

I figured we'd run out Saturday, come back Sunday, it'd be hunky dory.  First stop was to check out poultry farming, free range style, in Evansville, Indiana.  I must have been clairvoyant, because as we were out there checking out someone else's 'chicks', one of our hens was prolapsing back home.  More on that later.

It was, in all aspects except smell, exactly what I would have expected to see.  Soggy fields, rotting brown grass, all being scratched and shredded by dozens and dozens and dozens of hens, clucking merrily as they carefully each step closer to what I'm sure they thought was a pupa lying in wait for spring.  But, with that many birds comes that much more poop, and with that much more poop, we're talking mad heinous stink.  I scolded myself for thinking the poop killed the grass, knowing full well it was the winter.  Still, it reassured me that we could make a successful poultry concern back on our farm.  

Then, we were off to Illinois.  Greenville to be precise.  Now what, if anything, is in Greenville, IL you might be wondering.  You'd be surprised.  It's like Lewisburg, really.  And, in the middle of that little city is an amazing little wonderland called "Country Depot."

I came here because I had decided that this year, we were going to do a mixed feed for the show pigs instead of buying it premixed.  The food we had settled on was not distributed in our area, or even close.  To purchase the base mix, these folks were able to get it for the day we were scheduled to come through Illinois, and even better, the wonderful gentleman on the phone gave us his cell number to call if we were coming through late, and he'd keep the store open for us.  Service with a smile.

When we stepped into the little store, we were flabbergasted.  

While there wasn't a ton of space, they made up for it with content.  Want to feed your wildlife?  Want to build bigger and better racks?  If there was such a thing as a Deer Show or Chickadee Show, would you have what it took?  They do.  How about dogs?  Got one? Want to show it?  Have to have the gear, right?  But you don't know what kind of gear you need!  They do at Country Depot.  And... the center aisles... anything and everything you could possibly ever need to show cattle, lambs, goats, swine and poultry.  They had everything, from top dresses to conditioners, show sticks to electrolytes.  They had it all.  You could never have shown a pig before in your life, walk into that store, and Mark Goodson would hook you up with the goods you needed, tell you how to use it, tips and tricks of the trade that only experience can teach, and leave you in awe in just 5 minutes of conversation.

He was exactly how we hoped he would be after talking so many times with him on the phone.  Nothing but smiles and generosity.  The information we learned in our visit with him enlightened us so much.  We had been overthinking so many things, and the K.I.S.S. method has made more winners in every industry than all the high dollar fancy goops and gucks.  A veritable genius when it came to explaining to us layfolk in simple terms what the feeds do and how, we left with our bags of basemix feeling exuberant.  The visit with Mark alone made the entire trip worth it.  

When we made it to Missouri, we were happy to get a room in Kingdom City.  The weather seemed nice.  But while we were eating at the restaurant, we noticed first one plow truck drive by... then another... then another.  Before we knew it, the entire fleet it seemed of MDot had mobilized to the roads.  After asking our waitress what was going on, we were informed that a massive ice storm was coming our way...

Of course, right?  But... it gets better.  Settling into our hotel for the night, Kevin kindly says, "Honey.  I don't want to worry you, but we don't have any four wheel drive."  *facepalm* I had hit the 4wd button while going 70 the other day, accidentally mind you, while putting the cell phone back in the cubby while Kevin was driving.  There was mad panic at the time it happened, but I knew, and so did Kevin, that the bangbangclakclunkathunk was bad when it happened.  I don't know.  Maybe I thought it would fix itself.  But, for crying out loud, the weather was supposed to be gorgeous!  Again, leave it to me to glibly believe those stupid meteorologists.

And, for the record, it's not that hard to accidentally hit that button.  Chevrolet put it in the most stupid place EVER.  

Anyway, Kevin insisted it wasn't my fault, but I knew it was.  We needed to figure out which component failed, so naturally, we went to a dealership.  The dealership, while well meaning, misdiagnosed the problem, while Kevin patiently tried to explain the symptoms of the failure.  Kevin kept saying, "I believe it's the encoder, but I need you to hook up and check."  The tech, however, insisted that it was not the encoder because his fancy uber savvy flowchart was pointing to the computer module, that conveniently cost 500 bucks, but inconveniently was located in Indiana.  One hundred and fifty dollars later, and no closer to a repair, we thanked them and left.  On a Saturday, I'm calling junkyards who are closed for the holidays until I'm able to find one that lets us go yank a computer out of a truck to test it on ours to see if, by some strange coinkydink, the dealership was right... they weren't.  A wasted half hour later, still no 4wd.  

Our parts company's closest sister store was near Saint Louis, which was the better part of two hours away. So, reluctantly, we called O'reilly Auto Parts, and found that not only did they have the part we needed, but they were a scant 5 minutes from where we were currently at.  We made a beeline for their store.  They watched, amused, as I confessed to being the culprit destroying the 4wd, and Kevin yanks the truck apart in their parking lot.  He pulls the TC, then the TC motor, does basically surgery on the truck, running into the store every few minutes for a part or a seal.  The guys at O'reilly's really hooked us up.  Twenty minutes later, and a full 6 hours after this entire thing started from the hotel, we have 4wd.  O'reilly's, DJ, all you guys in Macon, MO are great.  Thank you. 

In the dark, we arrived at our destination.  Now, Farming in the midwest is different than here back East.  Corn is king.  Yards are no bigger than a postage stamp, and if you're raising livestock, chances are they're in little pens, in barns, never see the light of day, because every last scrap of land you have is going to be devoted to grain.

When you ask a farmer out here, 'Hey, what do you farm?'  You're likely to hear in response, "Oh, a few hundred head of cattle, sheep, chickens, hogs, y'know, just a little of everything."  The eastern farmer is usually a diversified farmer that lives by the adage, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket."  This is partially because the volatile market that all farming plays party to, but also because our land varies in quality so much.  You're going to have property that is in no way suitable for crops, due to rocks and crazy grades, which is well suited to livestock.  It's just the way things are.

Out there in the land of flatness, however, you'd be crazy not to capitalize on the flatness.  During WWII, the British Ministry of Agriculture determined that grains were of greater importance than livestock.  They practically wiped out all livestock production to repurpose pasture for grain production.  At the beginning of WWII, the UK imported 20 million tons of food a year (70%), including more than half of its meat, 70 percent of its cheese and sugar, nearly 80 percent of fruits and veggies and more than two thirds of its cereals and fats.  Germany determined that by cutting off the supply ships to England, they would essentially starve them into submission. What followed was considered one of the greatest feats in world history, as the little island of Great Britain went into massive rationing mode, leading campaigns like Digging for Victory, and Food Will Win The War.  By the end of WWII, the face of agriculture had changed from jacks of all trades to specialized agriculture.  Domestic grain production increased to almost 10 ton annually, and has steadily increased since then as new farming methods have encouraged greater growth.

But, sadly, as a result of this, most breeds of English livestock are now threatened and in danger of extinction.  I think that were it not for the differing regions within the United States, our own domestic livestock would be at risk for loss.  

But, moving on... We visited a pig farm.  Buildings filled with feed, filled with pigs, with fields sitting dormant until spring would allow them to raise another year of corn. We had a grand time talking 'pig', and it was no surprise to anyone when we hit the road that we had a new member to our family.  Calysse.  Named for the daughter of Andraste, a Gaul warrior goddess.  Haven't had a chance to take any decent pictures of her, but did get these couple.  She's bred, and due to farrow in January.  Most of her babies will not stick around here, have to recoup on our investment of course, but we might keep one or two.  Who knows.  It will be fun!

She's very very very sweet.  More details to follow on her, as she settles in to be part of our family.  

Oh, and regarding the chicken prolapse that we discovered when we returned home.  By the time we made it back from the land of Ice and Snow, she had been pretty abused by the rest of the chickens in the coop.  I could have tried to reset the oviduct and done a purse suture, but after talking to the vet, they agreed that putting her down was the best thing.  Plus, I had nothing thawed for dinner. So, she was appreciated up until the end.  By the by... farm raised chicken is waaaay better than store bought.   Peace out, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all that jazz.