It was a strange feeling. I’ve been eating pork my whole life. I’ve known my pigs, thanks to my family’s gentleman farmer, Uncle Bill. Born in the spring meant a nice fat fresh ham on the Christmas table. But this day was different.
Tara of Silverlake Farms found us a pig farmer, met our baby pig and then, months later, waited while the pig was slaughtered, and brought it back to my kitchen for butchering.
It was an all day ordeal and thanks to the stylings of Lindy and Grundy,
it went well into the evening. It was, oddly enough, a spiritual experience. We were all quiet as we stared at the carcass in the back of the van; in awe of the pigs sacrifice and daunted by the reality of getting it into the kitchen. I held her little foot and said a prayer of thanks while the ribs were sawed and the belly was divvied up.
I am currently living a vegan lifestyle, but I will partake in the fresh ham from this glorious pig I have brining for Christmas Eve. And I will again offer my prayers of thanks to the pig divine.