A Deeper Reverence

On Raising Our Own Meat

The pigs left last week. Well, they didn’t actually leave on their own, say like when they were nine weeks old and had me chasing them both throughout the woods across acreages of multiple neighbors for a good five days. Rather, they were killed, gutted, and taken away by a young man with a white box truck and a big black dog to a locally owned abattoir, where the meat would get cut and wrapped into the portions and weights we chose.

It was hard.

After all, they were super sweet, and loved getting their spotted pink backs rubbed and their thin ears stroked. It was fun to watch them play with one another and bound over the increasingly turned up hill within their pen. They grunted happily when we fed them their meals and scraps from our kitchen (even though—or because of—the evil eyes our hens gave them when doing so).

Still, they were there to fulfill a purpose, and that purpose was to feed our family with pork that was GMO free, soy free, and mRNA free, having been raised in a clean and peaceable environment where natural rooting would be permitted to happen (“free TO”, then, in the positive sense of the word as well). It’s ridiculous that it’s come to this, this consideration now of every morsel of meat available for purchase from the corner grocer, because we now know that so much of it is grown on grain (sprayed with pesticides) or even garbage, or tainted with antibiotics and hormones, or raised in crowded, filthy and otherwise miserable conditions.

I never wanted to be a farmer. I never even met or had any access or knowledge whatsoever to any farmer in my growing up years or even into my adulthood. All my meat came plastic wrapped with a USDA approval, and I had zero understanding, or even interest in, where it came from. But it’s hard to unsee video and photos of factory farming, unsmell driving past it in the midwest, and unknow shocking practices that only the most willful of ignorance could approve of. Never mind the bargain per pound savings of such conventional meat; those savings end up getting spent on combating the inflammatory processes that segue into poor health.

But still. It’s hard to wrap my head, much less my interest in or physical abilities, into raising my own meat. To be certain, I’m glad I’ve raised and learned to butcher hens, but it’s not something I really want to do. I’m also glad we’ve raised these hogs, but it’s not something I’m sure I’ll do again. I’m glad I’ve milked goats and raised ducks and butchered turkeys. I’m glad I’ve had these experiences, because I have a greater appreciation for, and understanding of, the farmer’s work. It no longer rattles me that meat and eggs from locally raised and honorably treated livestock costs five or more times per pound that I might get from the public market. Our family has sought, procured, and paid for proper (species specific, organic, natural) feed for our backyard livestock, and sometimes we’ve even put forth the education and effort to blend our own. I also know the time and effort it takes to move animals from pasture to pasture on a regular basis, not to mention the greater costs for fencing and other supplies. Local farmers generally do not become millionaires.

Unfortunately, my food budget doesn’t just expand to make room for better quality meat (I wish!), and I can’t stop my taxes from being used to subsidize substandard foods and dishonestly reflecting what the true costs are. So we take less vacations. We don’t much upgrade or even get the lastest tech or other niceties. I don’t have my own car, and I still don’t have a dishwasher (other than the 17yo) in my kitchen.

Outside of raising our own meat, we try to make other choices, to the best of our ability, into bringing it into our home. Like researching local farmers, getting to know them, and giving them our business. Like buying in bulk to fill a chest freezer to bring down the cost (and bonus: a deeper pantry). Like learning which brands in the market share the same values, and choosing their products instead of the ones nearby. And yes, perhaps eating a little less meat if need be. We’re willing to make the drive, purchase online, join a food co-op, and/or go to the farmer’s markets first. In our day, we have many opportunities to choose better and to cheer on those farmers who are ethically taking care of God’s creatures.

I’m waiting for the butcher to call me, any day now. We will drive to him, pay for his time and expertise and care, and fill up our chest freezer with every cut of pork, including the lard. I know this as well: when the portion is served cooked upon our plates, our heads will bow in deeper gratitude and reverence for the meal put before us.