A Mile in His Crappy Boots

Today I walked a mile in Husband's crappy boots. Actually, they were my boots and they were only crappy because I stepped in lots of actual crap. And I had to walk largely because I didn't know how to do this thing called choke on the farm's John Deere Gator.

On the agenda today, cleaning out the pens where we keep our farrowing (birthing) sows (mama pigs).

The kids took advantage of the sunny day to help clean one of the pens, scraping out manure and putting in clean straw for the pregnant sow. How did we coax our kids away from the TV to go outside and scoop manure in the cold? 

They couldn't WAIT to do it!

While the kids were cleaning out pens for expectant sows, Husband was busy stealing the piglets from their mothers (briefly) to give them their ear notches and shots. Ear notches are small cuts to the edge of a pig's ear that will identify it for the rest of its life. Look at the notches in the sow's ear above. The notches are a secret code among farmers.

Good mothers that they are, the sows are concerned when Husband arrives to take their babies away in the recycling bin (who says farmers aren't green). The sow above paced the whole time her babies were out of her sight. One reason Husband takes them away is that the pigs squeal when they get their shots and ear notches, which further aggravates their mother and all of the other sows around too. He doesn't want the little pigs to get too cold either.

And what was my job? Well, in addition to supervising, taking photos, abandoning the stalled Gator in the barnyard and getting the wrong bulbs for the heat lamps, I'm not sure what value I added. I was assigned the job of installing heat lamps for little pigs that will be born later this week, a task I ably delegated to Morgan.

I did also take it upon myself to help capture some little pigs that had escaped from their pen. Ryan and I worked to chase them back through the gate we opened. One little pig was too afraid and ran around squealing. I tried to grab it when it flew past me and I fell on the ground. Pigs were squealing, sows were pacing and I was down. When I finally got up the boys said, good job Mom. I didn't even see the pig crawl back under the fence but I'll take it.

I helped for way less than two hours, came inside took a shower and was completely exhausted. Husband does all this 365 days a year and doesn't complain. It's nearly midnight as I write this and Husband is getting ready for bed. He will get up at 4 a.m. and go outside in freezing temperatures to check on his sows.

I wish more people--especially people who pass judgement on agriculture--could walk a mile in his crappy boots.

Snapshots on the Farm

My new I-finally-have-a-smart-phone enabled series.

Dinner during planting season. As wet as the past few weeks have been, many farmers, like my father-in-law, aren't able to stop for supper.

Spring Spectacular Club Pig Sale

It's April and that can only mean one thing on our farm. CLAUDE' IS BACK, BABY! Yes, it is pig sale season and that means haircuts for everyone--except Husband who seems to be working on a Luke Duke.

To help promote our upcoming pig sale (details here if you're in the market) Ryan and Justin and their cousins photographed some of the cute little pigs that will be in the sale, oh, I mean long-bodied, muscular, sound-footed  future champions. Take a look:

At the sale later this month it will be all hands on deck. Everyone has a job. Early in our relationship my job at the pig sale was to help brush each pig before it went in the sale ring. Well, I learned the hard way that standing right behind the girl pigs is a good way to get wet. I have since been promoted to sale clerk and all of our kids are now old enough to help too. Here are Morgan, Justin and their cousin busy prepping for last year's sale.

Just so we're clear, a pig sale is not a day to get a discount on pigs, it is an auction. We bring in a professional auctioneer to help us sell the pigs to the highest bidder and as you can see we bring in quite a crowd.

We look forward to sending our little pigs home with 4-H members and their families. I hope you will come by and check out our farm's biggest event of the year. Just remember to wave at the auctioneer until you hear SOLD! We'll explain everything later.

State Fair 101

I mentioned recently that we were heading out to the Ohio State Fair and many of you wished us well. This year I tried to take some photos of the work that goes into a state fair visit, because for us, there's very little eating of cotton candy (although last year we did have some fun milking a fake cow). 

When we arrive at the fair, we back the trailer into the barn to unload the pigs. This involves Husband skillfully backing the trailer and me not helping at all, unless you count when I let the truck hit a guard rail.

Husband enters the trailer and opens each pen to unload the pigs one by one directly from the trailer into their pen, which has already been bedded with wood chips (like their cousins the guinea pig).

After the pigs are unloaded we get the rest of our gear and stow in an empty pen. I am a veteran farm wife and so I know that everything needs to be about six inches from the edge of the gate in case a pig with a long nose gets put in the next pen.

After unloading, the kids and I usually need a break but Husband keeps working hard, washing each pig in a special washing pen, almost like a pig shower stall.

Once the pigs are washed, we can number them. The numbers are for easy identification during the show and sale (auction) that follow. Husband uses metal numbers on sticks dipped in paint to add the right digits. Green for the white pigs, yellow for the black ones.

During the show, Husband is intense. I learned a long time ago that show time is no time for goofing off. This year, Husband and Ryan got to show against each other. I was able to capture this touching moment!

As serious business as our trips to the state fair always are--this is Husband's equivalent of a trade show--we girls do take time to steal away for some shopping. Doesn't every farm girl need pink boots?

Weekend Plans Cut Short

I haven't been at my current job long enough yet, apparently, because people still make the mistake of asking me what are you doing this weekend? I say that it is a mistake to ask me about my weekend plans because that question is supposed to be followed with an ordinary answer like going to see a movie or yardwork.

But when you ask me about my weekend plans, you're likely to get an answer like this: well, we'll be pretty busy getting ready for our pig auction. Husband has to give haircuts to 100+ pigs.

Yes, you read that right. Pigs get haircuts. Husband is grooming them for the pig auction (we call it a sale) that we are having on Saturday. In the market for a pig? Head over here.

Pigs have short, coarse hair that in days of old was used to make brushes (and maybe still today). Husband and other pig farmers clip the hair of the pigs shorter to make them look more appealing to potential buyers, who in this case are 4-H kids and parents looking for a hog to take to the county or state fairs.

What are the steps in cutting a pig's hair? And do you have photos? I thought you'd never ask.

The first step in any animal grooming project is corralling the animal to be groomed. In this case, Husband uses our farm trailer to transport a litter of pigs (brother and sister pigs) to the barn beauty parlor. Ryan, Justin and Morgan were along for the ride, along with nationally renowned pig clipper, Claude', whose secret identity we must preserve lest he be stolen from us by our swine grooming competiton. (Claude' is not his real name; his credentials may have been exaggerated.)

The pigs are then snared at the nose to keep them from running off and then Husband uses animal grooming clippers to clip all the hair on the pig's body. The pigs, surprisingly, are not keen to have their normal routine of pooping, chewing on the fence, eating, sleeping, and more pooping disturbed. While the haircut does not harm them, they do not like the process and tend to squeal.

Proving again that our children have very different milestones than most kids, today was a big day for Ryan as he clipped his very first pig.

Claude' was kind enough to guide him through the process while Husband entertained some potential buyers from out of state. Justin maintained a supervisory role while Morgan hid in the house to avoid the squealing.

Husband and Claude' clipped about 35 pigs this weekend, only 75 more to go! Fortunately, we have the services of Claude' all week. He and Husband will get all the pigs groomed in time for our sale, I'm sure.

Stay tuned for next weekend's adventures, which include bathing 100+ pigs (Husband and boys) clerking a pig auction with my in-laws (me), and closing down Frisch's in Eaton (all). 

Winter Wonder Farm

Yesterday we got eight inches of snow. My driveway is not scraped; my back porch remains icy. Here on the farm, all the shoveling and snow removal is focused on the livestock. Snowed-in farm wives, minivans and sidewalks are not a priority.

A self-proclaimed fair weather farmer, I ventured out today with Morgan, sacrificing my cozy sweatpanted existance to bring you a winter weather farm report. I even caught the farmer out hamming it up (get it!).

By the time I got out there, the shoveling was done and feeding time had begun. These hungry sows (mama pigs) were glad to have a cleaned off spot in their pen to eat dinner.

Right now we are in baby pig season at the farm. I know it seems like a better idea to have babies in the spring, but since we will be selling the majority of the pigs to 4-H'ers for the county fair and to other farmers as breeding stock, we want them mature (250-280 pounds) by August/September for fair season.

Can you believe this sweet little guy will be a big hog in six months?

Or these? I love the little Herefords. Thanks to Husband's hard work, they can come out of the little house they share with their mother and not get buried in snow.

Fortunately, this little one and her brothers love to shovel snow. If I can just get them strong enough to put the snow blade on the John Deere, we'll be all set.

Farmer's Dictionary

You've heard of the Farmer's Almanac. That's the book that farmers consult to determine the best route from the Middle of Nowhere to Des Moines. What? Oh, yeah, driving directions and map come from the Farmers' Atlas. The Farmer's Almanac is the book other people consult to determine the weather--farmers just watch their local TV news station for weather. It works out well because farmers also LOVE sports.


Since the kids are asleep, the satellite TV isn't working and Husband is in line at the elevator (see definition below), I thought I would provide a handy reference for those of us/you who are unfamiliar with basic agricultural terms. Hence. The Farmers' Dictionary.

elevator - The elevator stores and sells grain. All rural men are contractually obligated to visit the local elevator at least once a weekend. During harvest, local farmers bring their grain to the elevator to be stored and eventually sold.

gravity wagon - A type of grain wagon designed to narrow at the bottom, allowing all the grain inside to flow out when the valve is opened at the bottom.

cow - Female bovine who has had one or more calf

sow - Female swine who has had one or more litters of pigs

ewe - Female sheep who has had one or more lambs

popper - Aluminum box that fits on the back of a pick-up truck. Designed to haul pigs.

This is by no means a complete listing of agricultural terms, but a good start. Join us again soon to learn more from the Farmers' Dictionary. I'll leave you with a few terms that farmers never use.

Terms/phrases not used by farmers:
- vacation
- day off
- repair man
- new
- Hello, I'd like to order flowers for my wife

Mending Fences

When you live on a farm that last made a fencing purchase in 1972, sometimes the animals are able to escape. Most times, Husband deals with the escapees on his own, my only evidence of wandering cows the "pies" they leave at the back door.

Sometimes the little escape artists are so cute you just have to watch them explore the big world outside their pen. This is cuter to me than my in-laws who have to shoo little pigs out of their garden and flower beds.


One time we came home from being gone all day and saw suspicious manure/mud wiped on our back door. Apparently, the pigs had escaped from their pen, leaped into the nearest puddle, and then decided to pay their respects to the farmer and his family.


This past summer Justin and Morgan ran in the house to breathlessly report that there were cows in the barnyard. Only half believing them I walked outside in time to see a herd of mature Ayshires dashing down our gravel driveway toward the road. Husband raced past them and turned then back toward the house, and they stampeded right past us again. After detouring through my father-in-law's garden, they eventually returned to their barn.

Sometimes the animals are loose by design. These ewes (mother sheep) are grazing near Husband's old basketball court by the pig pens. Ah, the old basketball court by the pigs pens--isn't that where most kids learn the sport? Anyway, the sheep are there because Husband's father let them out. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure why. I guess he figured the ewes wouldn't wander far without their lambs.

Yes, most women have a lot to worry about when the phone rings in the night or the police knock on the door. But farm women have one more thing on their mind--broken fences.

Is There a Pig Farmer in the House?

pigs
Originally uploaded by Flamestitch

How often are any of us called out in public to perform our special occupational skills? Do people stop at the mall and scream out, IS THERE ANYONE HERE WHO CAN COMBINE SYNERGIES OR OPTIMIZE INDUSTRY-LEADING SOLUTIONS?

No, unless you are a physician, your day-to-day work abilities are very unlikely to be tapped in a public crisis.

So imagine my surprise this past weekend at the Ohio State Fair when the ability to rouse a lactating sow would come into play in a crowd situation.

Inside the hog barn at the State Fair is a nice air-conditioned store called the Pork Schop. Staffed by a team of dedicated volunteers, the shop sells anything and everything with pigs on it. The area features a play place for kids, and, in a separate pen, a real live sow and a litter of pigs.

Morgan and I were enjoying some down time at the kids area next to the growing crowd of non-farmers and children checking out the cute little pigs. When one piglet started squealing I didn't pay attention. There are always pigs squealing somewhere in a hog barn.

The squealing stopped and people started turning away. I heard one woman say I can't watch this. Figuring the sow was doing something gross, like peeing on unsuspecting urbanites, I kept shopping and Morgan kept playing.

Finally, someone said to one of the volunteers that a little pig was getting squashed. In moments, these women, who fortunately were retired farm wives, sprang from behind their table of figurines, opened the gate and began fearlessly smacking the 400 lb sow to make her get up.

One retired farm wife pushed and one kept smacking until they were able to pull the piglet out from under its mother. His little ears were purple from lack of blood flow but he was breathing.

The heroics of the volunteers was the talk of the Pork Schop for days. Husband said I should have jumped in to get involved but I am holding out for a crisis that meets my unique skill set.

So if anyone ever has a crisis that involves breastfeeding a baby in the hog barn while prepping the COO by phone for a media interview--then I'm your woman.

Image from Flickr.

Multi-Media Pig Show Report

Welcome to the only place on the internet where mad communications skilz, almost unbearable maternal pride and swine come together. It's the first ever Multi-Media Pig Show Report®.

Welcome to our report from the National Swine Registry Summer Type Conference. Where else would a Multi-Media Pig Show Report begin but the pig barn at the Expo Center in Louisville, Kentucky, where the pigs were very happy. Aren't they cute when they're sleeping.

Oh, and this little one is cute too. Shhh don't tell Grandma S. that she's in your computer--she won't like it!

Back to the report... Todd showed pigs, Ryan showed pigs and Justin won first place with his poster all about pigs. The end.

But wait! I promised you a Multi-Media Pig Show Report and I don't disappoint. We have next our first-ever Bringing Home the Bacon video production, starring Ryan and featuring jerky photography and jumpy editing by yours truly.




Wait! There's more! If you act now, I'll throw in the complete photo montage on Flickr, a $24.99 value--yours FREE!

If for any reason you haven't enjoyed your Multi-Media Pig Show Report, just return it for a full refund. Minus shipping and handling.

Road Trip

Husband and the boys left this week for a farmer-son road trip to, where else, the World Pork Expo.

Really, I should just stop the post now. World Pork Expo seems to be a punchline in and of itself. But this is serious business--it's like Comdex for hog farmers. (Oh, sorry tech geeks, Comdexdoesn't exist anymore, does it?)

I attended last year's World Pork Expo, a very strategic move, it turns out, because I wouldn't have wanted Husband to be tempted to bring me back any weird souvenirs.

This year Husband and his father loaded up four Yorkshire gilts (white females), two Yorkshire boars (males, with balls), and one Hampshire barrow (black with a white belt, no balls) for the 10-hour drive to Des Moines, Iowa.

Our pigs travel in deluxe aluminium accommodations. I would mention the trailer brand just to be nice but they don't seem to have much of a Web site, let along a social media program. So I'll just say this: We would have brought our Carhartt Jackets but it was too warm for Carhartt Jackets and we left the Carhartt Jackets at home [I'm not compensated, just fishing for a comment from the nice people at Carhartt who seem to "get" the Internet.]

Anyway, Ryan and Justin were very excited to head out on an adventure with Daddy. Husband is to be commended for taking such a big trip by himself. I just hope he can get a little shuteye while Ryan drives through Illinois.

More World Pork Expo updates and this blog's FIRST EVER photo contributions from Husband, coming soon!

Hey, It's Hay

Welcome to the sequel to my smash hit and highly educational post: Hey, That's Not Hay.

Attention ignorant hayride riders the world over: THIS is hay. It is valuable cow food. No one would ever let you sit on it.


Actually, this is hay when it has just been mowed. (Is it necessary to say here that BEFORE being mowed, this area just looked like a grassy area--that needed to be mowed?)


Oh, and look what we have here: hay that's been raked. This must be how it feels to work in Martha Stewart's kitchen--where the next major step in every process is magically complete and ready to show.

Now I will share a view from my patented hay-cam, showing exactly what a piece of hay sees right before it is raked or fluffed or molested somehow by this machine.

After the hay is mowed and raked, it is baled. Please note--and this is important--that hay can be baled in large round bales (called round bales) or in smaller square bales (commonly known as square bales). NEITHER KIND IS USED IN HAY RIDES. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?

We bale our hay mostly in round bales and use this cool hay-wrapper thingy (yes, that is the official name for it) to cover them, saving the hay from the ravages of weather and critters. Also, this machine is really cool for those hard-to-wrap gifts (just kidding).

So now we have a giant tube of hay across from our house. I do want to point out something VERY COOL about our hay-wrapper thingy because you may be wondering how it pushes the hay bale through, especially since it is connected to this long and heavy hay tube. BUT the genius of this machine is that IT MOVES and the bale stays still.

See, the bale goes in and then the wrapper MOVES BACK as it wraps the bale, making way for a new one... Sorry, did I lose you? I just get so excited sometimes about the brilliant simplicity of farm machinery.

Anyway, we'll spend the rest of the summer baling hay. Well, not me, actually. I have a hay-less hay ride to plan.

Coming of Age on the Farm

Farm kids have different milestones than other kids. While Suburban-Dwelling kids may mark growing up with the distance from the house they can travel on their bike or the hour at which they must come home for the evening, country kids find different ways to age.

In our family, the rite of passage surrounds our annual spring pig sale--pigs we sell to 4-H'ers to take to county and state fairs. This event includes trucking over 100 pigs to a neighboring fairgrounds in the morning, spending the day washing and bedding them, and then all evening running the auction.

Last year marked the first year Ryan was allowed to leave with the pigs in the morning, spend all day working, help with the auction all evening and stay up for our 11 p.m. thank you dinner to our helpers. Yes, allowed.

Like past years, little sister Morgan spent the afternoon with her grandma, making an appearance at the sale and then heading back for a sleepover at bed time.

Justin didn't spend the whole day working pigs but got to arrive two hours before the sale, help all evening and even go to the late night dinner (he almost made it). See here how excited he was. (Actually, I've never seen a kid with the ability to ruin a photo like this one can.)

It won't be long until they'll be driving the pigs to the sale themselves; then their father and I will have to go through some milestones. How long til we can make an appearance and then slip out for a sleepover?

Master of My Domain

Recently, all the professional farmers in the family were either on vacation or off at a pig show (I count my seven year-old son as one of the professionals). By a crazy twist of fate, I was the only person left to be officially in charge of the farm for the day.

So I did what any hardcore farm wife would do when left in charge of the farm--I went shopping. Luckily for me, Husband had retained the services of a real farmer to help with the feeding. My only real job was to make sure that everything was still here when the real farmer came to feed.

After my shopping trip I took the inventory:

Cows. Check.

Road-kill munching farm dog with adorable patch on her eye. Check.

Tractor. Check. Hay bales. Check.

This thing. Check.

Pigs. Check. Observational cat. Check.

Fortunately, Husband found the farm in pretty good shape when he got home. I hope I get to be in charge again soon. I could use another trip to the mall.

Agri-Tourism

Sometimes farm life becomes all about the downside. The spouse who works 365 days a year (no, Santa doesn't feed the sows on his way through), the semi-tanker milk truck that rumbles under my bedroom window in the middle of the night, the non-air conditioned farm house, the dust--good God, the dust.

But when people learn we live on a farm, they are always fascinated and often ask if they can bring their kids to visit. And we are happy to oblige. Walking around with other Moms who just hope that their kids can retain some knowledge about where food actually comes from and/or the family's long-gone agricultural roots, I realize how great I have it.

Today we hosted some very cute kids whose parents (and grandparents, aunts and uncles) we knew when we were kids. They live in our largely rural community but still were not familiar with raising pigs or milking cows. Morgan helped her new friend look for a crawdad.

There's nothing like seeing a child realize that the farm mommies and babies they see in books and the animal noises they practice as a game are REAL.

Our farm is a lot more National Geographic (real, gritty) than Disney (clean, perfect) but our guests never fail to help me see the genuine, natural goodness of farm life and increasingly, the rareness.

How many times have we said to the locals you are so lucky to live here. And like anyone else who lives in a tourist destination, it always helps to see things through the eyes of our visitors who in our case never fail to say what a great place to raise kids. Amen.

The Pig Ate My Homework

I'm sure that many schools in this country would be hesitant to condone absenteeism due to swine exhibition obligations but fortunately we live in Small Town America, so our son's absence from school to take his pigs to Georgia last month was OK.

Ryan participated in the National Junior Swine Association Southeast Regional show held at the Georgia State Fairgrounds.

He exhibited two Yorkshire gilts with the help of his GrandDad who accompanied him on the trip. He discovered he really likes Waffle House. Ryan made the discovery--GrandDad, who in the great tradition of our forefathers regularly worked until all the normal restaurants are closed, already knew about Waffle House.

This was the first (of many, I'm sure) hog road trip Ryan made without his Dad. He did a great job.

Once again, Ryan brought home multiple awards, including first place with his gilt and sixth place overall among his age group.

And lest anyone accuse us of taking him out of school for some sort of pig vacation, Ryan was tested on his swine farming knowledge. He performed the best he's ever done in this test, called the skillathon.

The last thing we want to do is raise one of those weird kids who have no social skills and wear blue jeans and flannel shirts year round, but we're proud to have a son who wants to learn as much as he can about agriculture.

Someone's got to help the next generation of Friendly Suburban-Dwelling Co-Workers.