When you’re dreaming about farming or homesteading, it’s easy to be consumed with the exciting things. Baby chicks. Fresh eggs. Pulling the season’s first sun ripened tomato from the vine. Sun drenched fields of green on still summer days with cotton puff clouds softly floating by overhead. You know, the things we usually take pictures
There I was. Standing in the barn with both hands firmly wrapped around the legs of a squealing three week old male pig. I held it up as the vet made an incision across each testicle, beginning the castration process. And the first squeal sent Charlotte charging at us. I had dreaded the moment most
You might be saying to yourself, I have no interest in pigs. I don’t have room for them. I don’t know anything about them. I don’t WANT to know anything about them. I get it. Not too long ago, I was at least in the neighborhood of this kind of thinking. Give me cows. Give
Let’s be real for a few moments. Can we? Because I’m going to come clean on something. When we brought the pigs home last May, I had good intentions on creating a separate space for Churchill, our boar. Because one boar with four gilts will eventually lead to…well, you know. But those good intentions are
We weren’t going to do it. At least not this soon. Adding pigs to the homestead was pretty low on the list of priorities. But then Facebook Marketplace happened. You know how that goes. A good deal too good to pass came along and…well… we decided to take a leap. We want to be a