In May, the pigs are ordered. When they arrive, they are small and sweet, and my former vegetarian heart struggles with their fate. In the summer of 2017 we raised our third set of pigs. Three pigs each year, raised from piglets in the summer to 250 pound pigs in the Fall, find a temporary home on our three acre property in Kingston, NB.
We moved to the Peninsula in 2013. Our MLS search requirements were simple: land and can we get chickens? Five years later, not only do we have chickens, but each year we raise three pigs in our backyard. The first summer we raised the pigs I was pregnant. As the summer progressed and my belly grew, I’d amble up the path each day and water the pigs. Now, if you would like to challenge your balance, carry a bucket of water over an electric fence with a third trimester belly. By October, Fall cooled the air, and I watched from the house, holding my one month old as my partner and our friend attempted to corral three giant pigs onto the trailer. I struggled that first time to reconcile the pigs I’d nurtured for months, with the food I’d prepare for my family. |
Adeline in Our BackyardThat first year was a steep learning curve for me. Not five years before I was a vegetarian who dabbled in veganism. I still had a hard time with meat, and the idea of raising our own food was my partner’s dream not mine. But we had a child and she would start to understand that the pigs we had in our yard ended up in our meals. I ate meat now, and so I started to embrace the practice of raising our own food. I gave them water. I brought them scraps from lunch and dinner. I watched them over the summer as they grew and grew. And then I watched, each year as they were towed away.
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As I started to develop the narrative I would use to explain to my child, who would inevitably ask about the pigs and understand where the pork from her plate came from, I started to see the beauty in it for myself. I know everything they eat. They are cared for. They have a large place to roam and sleep and play. And when it is time, we have food with roots in our land.
Ten years ago, I moved back to New Brunswick after four years in New York City and Toronto. I never intended to be a rural dweller. I certainly didn’t think I’d live in a place where I could barely see our one neighbour. But on a clear summer night, when I sit out at our campfire and I look up into the sky, I know my decision to leave the city was the best for me. And now I want my daughter to experience everything our small piece of land can offer her. We bring her to feed the pigs, she runs after the chickens in the yard, she digs in the gardens, she investigates the maple syrup supply, and yes, she even helps her dada smoke the bacon. |