It was Friday evening after I'd gotten off work. We grabbed the remaining beer from the Lincoln backroads brewery, the tequila, two dogs and headed to my homeland: The Placer Hills of Thermalands CA. Two or Three days prior, our fantastic, off-the-grid livin, DIY efficianado friends reported that two 400+ pound mangalitsa porkers had escaped and begun roaming the hills and oak groves of their neighbors' pastures. I knew the hunt was either in full force or perhaps would be over by the time I made my way to our friends' farm. Not to be left out of a mischevious adventure and knowing that the pigs had reached the right age, size, AND demeanor to have outstayed their welcome as consumers (and would soon become the consumed, pardon the morbidity), I had an irresistable notion that I wanted to be there. After all, the best way to prevent an ovine escape artist from carrying out it's craft is to give it a new purpose in life: turn it into a series of delicious meals.
On our way, the poor nervous doxie got sick twice in my lap. It's so much fun having such a...special...dog for a pet. Both times in my agony (and undoubtedly, the agony of the sorry canine) I looked in the back seat at the German Shepherd...passed the eff out. Such a good car dog, but that's just not in the cards for poor Kyu.
As we pulled up to the house and got out of the car, I looked at the two masses of wooly, fatty, doubtlessly tasty hogs mounted atop a trailer attached to an atv. The hunt had succesfully taken place in my absence (fine by me) and the two hogs I'd previously fed scraps from my own kitchen and garden were found and I was told that they were put to rest by two young lads from down the road. My mind instantly reeled with the possibilities of what the night might have in store for this former farm boy. A farm boy (me) who in his late childhood passed out while observing a sheep being operated on for purlapse issues, much to the entertainment of the house calling vet. I wondered if I'd make it very far into the next steps in the process before my constitution and weak stomach gave up and gave in.
An hour later, the pigs were hoisted into the air by a recently purchased tractor as two inexperienced but hopeful lads watched a well experienced gent begin the skinning and gutting process. I was surprisingly at ease and couldn't resist but to dig in and help out however I could. It was absolutely hilarious just how intrigued and excited the boys who found and shot the pigs and their sister were. One could hardly see what was going on with all the young people clamoring and crowding around the hanging carcasses. Bill Nye schmill schmye, this is real science. It's cold? One 14 year olds solution was stick your hand in the guts. Hilarious and awesome. How many 14 year olds do you know that would stick around for any of this, let alone wanna shove their hands into the belly of the beast, literally?
Eventually, pig one was skinned and clean. Danny & I were steadily working on the other hog, havin a time (and several beers). Another hour or two passes and we've got 4 halves of mangalitsa hanging, heads in a wheel barrell for cheek meat removal, offel taken care of, and we're lugging the four halves into Danny's meat locker for further cooling and drying. I could hardly believe all we'd accomplished, but WHAT a way to spend a Friday. The rest of the evening was spent trying not to boast of how proud we were of ourselves and each other (and by that I mean that's all I could do), enjoying some homemade fried rice (DELICIOUS, Eve), more beers (until they were gone, then moving onto the furnet), and sharing laughs until the midnight hour.
By no means would I claim that I had any sort of large part in the entire process when considering the big pig picture of start to finish, but if I can jump in and say that I helped (and especially get to dig into the rewards of a well raised and butchered pig), I'm a well satisfied and happy man. To have friends to share such experiences with, experiences that I somehow avoided in all my years of 4H and FFA, fills me with delight, near constant joy, and many many memories. One of my favorite memories this time around: having to ask to borrow a jacket because of previously mentioned dog-car-sickness episodes; then, as the night drew to a close, realising that the jacket had become thoroughly encrusted with bits of rich pig fat and laughing uncontrollably at the fun mess I had made.
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