PIGS!

This is a story about preparing for pigs, but if you're more interested in reading tips on how to keep pigs, follow this link to another post.

The humble pig has to be the animal I've been most looking forward to learning about since I left London to live at Newhouse Farm. Their meat forms such a staple part of the typical British diet - bangers and mash, bacon butties, toad in the hole - but I know little about them and have rarely seen them in the countryside. When I arrived at the farm back in February I was expecting to find pigs amongst the assortment of animals kept here for their produce. However I discovered that last year's pigs had already been slaughtered and butchered several months earlier, and their meat was now piled high on the shelves of the freezer. The closest I managed to get to the Newhouse Farm pigs was to devour delicious homemade sausages and ribs that were so large you'd be gnawing at one end whilst the other end poked you in the ear!

But at the end of May all that was about to change. This year's pigs were soon to arrive! Each year at Newhouse Farm a couple of weaners (young pigs who have recently been weaned from their mothers) are bought and raised until they're fully grown in order that the household may benefit from their very own 'home grown' meat. This year Dick had reserved a couple of weaners from Manelly Fleming Farm in a little village called St Veep in Cornwall. One gloriously sunny day the phone call came that the pigs were ready to be collected. The only problem was that we weren't quite ready for the pigs!

Under the baking sun, Dick, James and I hurried around to make preparations for the imminent arrival of the pigs. First job was to prepare the area where the pigs were going to live. Beyond the vegetable beds on the upper paddock a large area had been set aside for the pigs, which had been allowed to grow wild with grasses, docks, wild flowers and other assorted weeds. The first job was to clear the perimeter where the electric fence was going to be placed. Under normal circumstances James and I would have opted for a scythe to do this job, preferring to use muscle power rather than a machine, but as time was against us it seemed wise to grab the strimmer from the potting shed to blitz through it. I'm not especially fond of power tools, always worrying that they'll whip round uncontrollably and cut off one of my limbs, so I stepped back as James, Dick and former resident of Newhouse Farm Jim Milner attempted to get the strimmer started.

Now between James, Dick and Jim there's a lot of brains and a fair amount of brawn. But could they get the strimmer started? No, they couldn't. First up to try and start the strimmer was James, wearing a large orange protective helmet that made him look like an extra from Star Wars. After several minutes of yanking the starter cord, checking the fuel tank, adjusting the harness and yanking the starter cord again, Jim tapped James on the shoulder in order that he could have a turn. Jim said that the key to starting the strimmer was to utilise a kind of swinging motion as the starter cord was pulled, sweeping the strimmer round in front of him with a flourish. After several minutes of watching Jim demonstrate his unusual flailing technique the strimmer still hadn't started, and it was Dick's turn to have a go. With Jim still wearing the strimmer by its harness, Dick vigorously pulled the starter cord over and over again with all his might. Eventually the strimmer spluttered, coughed and whirred into life, whilst Dick, James and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. James took the strimmer, lowered the dark tinted visor on his protective helmet, and set about strimming the perimeter where the electric fence was going to go.

My job was to prepare the pig house and make sure it was comfy and clean for its new inhabitants. The pig house is constructed out of a large curved piece of corrugated metal that serves as the roof and sides, whilst the front, back and base is made from wood, with a large doorway cut into the front to allow access. On the outside of the back wall a feeding trough is attached, with a wooden lid used to protect the food from rain. I needed to sweep the pig house clear of dry mud and straw residue from the previous year's pigs. I started off by using a rake and a brush, but could only reach a limited distance within the pig house, and found scraping the tough muddy piles from the floor nigh on impossible. There was only one thing for it: in order to achieve my high standards of cleanliness I was going to have to crawl inside the pig house on my hands and knees and scrape all the mud out with a trowel.

I've never been inside a pig house before, and after this experience it's not a place I'm keen to return to in a hurry. As I scraped and brushed out last year's dried mud and straw, dense clouds of brown dust filled the inside of the pig house, obscuring my vision and clogging my nose. After a bowt of sneezing sent me realing into the outside world again, James suggested I wear a gas-mask to help make my life inside the pig house more bearable. Once suitably equipped with a large gas-mask I crawled back inside the pig house and continued clearing out the mud. Clouds of dust swirled around me, my breathe through the gas-mask sounded like Darth Vader, but I didn't care... the pigs would be arriving soon and their home must be clean and tidy! Sometime later the pig house was free from mud and I staggered into the pure fresh air of the outside world, ripping the gas-mask from my face. James took one look at me, grinned, called me a muddy urchin, and recommended I take a look in a mirror. In the mirror of the downstairs loo I realised what James was talking about: reflected back at me was an incredibly grubby urchin-like face bar a perfectly clean oval of skin around my nose and mouth where the gas mask had been.

But I didn't have time to waste giggling at myself in the mirror. After a quick face wash I grabbed a straw bale and carried it up to the pig area, cutting the baler twine with my pocket knife and spreading the bale out across the floor of the pig house. I remembered Dick telling me that a true farmer always has baler twine in his pocket, so I wrapped the baler twine into a neat loop and thrust it into the pocket of my tracksuit bottoms. Meanwhile James and Dick had placed the plastic posts for the electric fence around the rectangular perimeter that James and strimmed, and were now wrapping the electric fence wire around the posts in order to create the protective fence that would stop the pigs from trampling all over the vegetable beds.

The final job was to make the drinking pool for the pigs. James found a large round plastic barrel and dug a hole big enough for it to sit in the ground. Now all that was needed was to fill it with water and we'd be ready to go and collect the pigs. The aqueduct that feeds the waterwheel at Newhouse Farm runs alongside the pig area, so James cut a length of hose and created a siphon to get the water from the aqueduct to run down the hose and into the water trough. I was pretty impressed with James' abilities to create the siphon, which was only slightly diminished when he sucked on the hose and chocked on a mouthful of stream water. Once the drinking pool was full, James placed rocks into the bottom to weigh it down so that the pigs wouldn't be able to root it over.

By mid-afternoon the pig area was ready, so Dick, James and I all piled into Jasmine (the VW pick-up) and set off to collect the pigs. We'd secured a large wire cage filled with straw to the back of Jasmine, which we were going to use to safely transport the pigs back to their new home. We rattled along the winding country lanes as we made our way to the pig farm, sunlight pouring in the windows and the cobwebs that hung from Jasmine's wing mirrors blowing in the wind.

On our arrival we were greeted by the farmer's wife Daphne, who took us out onto one of the pastures to show us the adult pigs which were the parents of the weaners we were about to collect. Out on the pasture were 3 large pigs, the sows (female pigs) I was told, whilst in the distance, reclining regally against the wall of the pig sty, was the largest pig I'd ever seen. This was the boar (the male pig), who was stretched out on his side, napping in the balmy afternoon sunshine. Daphne called the sows, and they came trotting over to us. Although I was brought up in the countryside, I can't recall I've ever been up close to a fully grown pig before. They're surprisingly big, hairy creatures, with large strong mouths, and look like they could do a fair amount of damage to you should you annoy them. However these pigs were friendly and contentedly ate the grass around our feet, snuffling happily whilst we scratched their backs.

After being shown the fully grown pigs it was time to collect the weaners. Dick had selected a couple of gilts (young female pigs) for Newhouse Farm, and Daphne took us over to a stable where they were being kept. Inside the stable, looking up at us with suspicious eyes, were 4 small, pink pigs. All we had to do was pick up the 2 that were ours and put them in the cage in the back of the van. They looked sweet enough, and the task sounded easy enough, but those little pigs kicked up an almighty fuss! James went into the stable with Daphne to catch the pigs, whilst I stood guard by the stable door. The pigs dashed round and round the stable, careering between James's legs, refusing to make life easy. Daphne caught the first one by its hind leg, and it emitted ear-splitting squeals as she picked the wriggling creature up and carried it over to the van. Now James needed to catch the second one. The pigs were still charging round and round the stable, running rings around James until he made a frantic lunge at one of the pigs and pinned it to the ground. It began to squeal blue murder, but James calmly picked it up and carried it over to the van, where the noise instantly ceased as soon as it joined its sibling in the cage.

We were a bit concerned that the pigs might get over excited on the return journey to Newhouse Farm, and cause the door of their cage to spring open. I suddenly remembered the baler twine in my pocket, which I whipped out and used to tie the cage door firmly shut, using my pocket knife to cut it to the lengths I required. I was to find out later that the appearance of baler twine and knife from my pockets was greeted with an impressed nod from Daphne and her husband Peter, the farmer. I may not have picked up a pig, but I passed the baler twine test!

The return journey passed without any drama. The pigs were surprisingly calm in the back of the van as Jasmine clattered down the country lanes. Once back at Newhouse Farm Dick and James carefully lifted the pig cage out of the back of the van, up the steps to the upper paddock, and into the pig enclosure. I gently opened the door of the cage to allow the pigs out, but they had their bottoms pointing towards me and seemed intent on staying put. So I cautiously reached inside, picked the pigs up one at a time in order to lift and drag them out of the cage. I was anticipating the same high pitched squeals and energetic wriggling as before, but the pigs only emitted a few grunts before disappearing inside the pig house. Job done.

Now, a couple of weeks later, the pigs have thoroughly settled in to their new home and are growing rapidly. They've rooted up and turned over large areas of their enclosure, and have a special area furthest away from their house that they use to poop in. They're also getting much more used to us humans, as everytime we go into their enclosure to feed them we scratch them on their backs. At first they were very skittish about being close to us, let alone being touched, but now they tolerate the back scratching whilst they devour their food. I'm still getting used to having the pigs around, and must admit to being slightly nervous of them when I scratch their backs whilst they're eating. But it's wonderful to have them here, as they add a colourful extra dimension to life on the farm. It's hard not to grin when you see them charging around their enclosure with their ears flapping up and down, or wallowing in the mud to cool down on a sunny day.