It’s not everyone’s idea of a heavenly scent, but when I don’t have pigs around all the time I really do miss their pungent, sweet odour. For years, pigs have only been on the farm during the spring and summer to fatten for pork and bacon, so during the winter months I miss their presence and unique pong.
When the grass has recovered in the pig paddock and the frosts are over, it’s usually time to trundle half a dozen Berkshire weaners from the chosen breeder across Dartmoor and home. At eight weeks old you can carry them in your arms like a baby. Held firmly they lay happy and quiet; as soon as you loosen your grip or they feel less than secure, the squealing is ear-shatteringly dramatic. Every time I pick up the first one to move it into the trailer, the memorised smell hits me. The particular perfume of a young porker is lovely, warm, porcine, healthy; not Après L’Ondée perhaps, but comforting all the same.
But this year will be different. It’s time to add a more permanent presence to the farm. The call of the breeding sow has finally been heard and noted.
As ever, she will have to be a Berkshire. Those pricked ears, revealing the eye and the thoughts within seems to me to be an important factor when dealing with a large animal with a mind focussed on it’s own viewpoint rather than your potentially divergent interests. The thick black hair of the breed is also far better than any slathering of nappy rash ointment or sun protection cream in keeping sunburn at bay; this I learned when scampering optimistically after white pigs with blistered ears. And the rare breed Berkshire is made for outdoor living, with a strong constitution and a perfect covering of fat to keep her warm and her offspring ultimately delicious.
My sow will need a fine set of nipples, strong legs, a fabulous rump, be long of back and meet that essential criteria of being good to handle. To make life a little easier, she’ll arrive already “in pig”; I won’t have to decide whether to hire a boar or go the artificial insemination route for several months.
Now that the barns are restored from dereliction to their former glory (April/May 2008 Issue), the Grande Dame will have somewhere comfortable to farrow; dry and draught free for her, warm for the piglets, and close to the house and with lighting for me to observe progress.
It’ll be six or seven months before the young are off to the butcher and a piece of twine comes in handy to estimate their weight. You measure them from neck to tail, round the chest and apply a simple formula, even though wrapping string round a pig is not itself a simple task.
But from now on the pig paddock will never be empty, and I won’t need to wait ‘til spring for a new lot of weaners to take their turn to rummage and explore. The sow will be there, awaiting the next birthing and contentedly sharing her scent.
Published in The Landsman February/March 2009 Issue12
