Pork Producers by Ron Tuepker

Before we bought the pigs, we carefully considered where we should put the animals. They should be far enough away from the house that we wouldn’t have to smell them or have to put up with flies, yet they should be close enough that we could stretch a garden hose to the pens so we wouldn’t have to carry water. The land was flat and very sandy in south-central Mississippi, so we wouldn’t have to worry about the pigs making hog wallows because the water percolated away almost immediately. We thought the pen should be in the trees so there would be some shade for the pigs.
We wanted chickens, also. While we planned to let the chickens roam free during the day, we also planned to build a penned area for them so they would have a place to scratch in the dirt on days that we were away and wouldn’t be let out. I loved to watch chickens range around while hunting bugs and seeds, and to listen to their contented clucking. I would build nest boxes into which they could lay their eggs. They would be so happy!
Bacon and eggs for breakfast, coming right up!
A pig should have a little room to root around, I figured, so I stepped off various sized pens to see how much room the pigs would have. We couldn’t find any information on sizing pigpens, so we were “playing it by ear”: The Internet wasn’t available in the early 1980’s. Ultimately, the size of a roll of woven wire decided how big the pens would be. A one hundred foot roll would build a twenty-five square foot pen, for an area of 625 square feet. That should be plenty for two pigs. Four trees would be inside the fence, so the pigs would have good scratching posts. For the twelve chickens, the same logic prevailed, since we could get a one hundred foot roll of chicken wire. We would place the pens side by side so we wouldn’t wind up with a weed lane between the pens. I would carefully build the pens with parallel sides, ninety-degree corners and straight posts. My pigpen would be a thing of beauty!
The following Saturday, a stop at the Farm Supply Store was in order. From my planning, we bought the woven wire, chicken wire, wooden posts for corners, steel posts for line posts, staples and gates. I was surprised at the amount of the bill. This was going to be an expensive project! Dad always said that when you raise your own food, you don’t eat cheaper, but you do eat better. That seemed like making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. But we weren’t raising sows. Whatever.
Wild animals like raccoons and possums were a concern, so the first thing I did was to dig a trench one foot deep where the fence would run. When I got near a tree, I hit tree roots. Big tree roots. Back to the Farm Supply Store for an axe. Chop, chop, chop. Dig, dig, dig. Chop, dig, chop, dig. Took a week off to let the blisters on my hands heal. Mental note: Remember to buy some leather gloves the next time I am in the Farm Supply Store.
When the trench was completed, I needed to dig the postholes for the corner posts. A spade won’t dig a deep posthole because the handle is at an angle and will allow the spade to go only so far down the hole. I needed a way to dig a deeper hole. A posthole digger! Its handle is straight and allows the digging part to go as far down the hole as needed. Well, at least I could pick up the gloves this trip. On the second posthole, I ran into tree roots again. Deep roots. The axe couldn’t reach them because the hole was too narrow. I would need to enlarge the hole to be able to chop them out; that would result in a weak hole because sand is hard to pack solid. Instead, I decided to move the hole a little to avoid the roots. So much for my nice, square-cornered pigpen, but at last I had all the holes dug. I set a wooden post in the first hole and began tamping in the dirt around the post. I used the handle of the shovel for a tamper, until I hit my shoulder with the shovel blade. Fortunately, it didn’t require stitches, but I was out of commission for another week.
Finally, the corner posts were ready for wire. I unrolled the wire, which required a little ingenuity because the wire kept rolling itself back up. As I unrolled it, I set a log on the wire to keep it unrolled. Nancy held the wire on the post while I stapled it on. Then I took the staples out because the wire was too high on the post. I had to put the wire into the trench before stapling it on the post. This was definitely turning into a learn-as-you-go project. However, I had the next phase figured out. I built a fence stretcher out of two-by-four lumber and carriage bolts that would hold the wire flat and give me something on which to hook a chain. The other end of the chain went around the ball on the pickup’s bumper. I slowly eased the pickup forward…and promptly pulled the post out of the ground. @#$%^$#@!
Eventually, I got the post to stay in the ground after several more trips to the Farm Supply Store for cement, corner posts, more staples, and an imaginary case of beer. This damn pork had better be good, is all I can say! Oh, I had fun hanging the gates, too, but it is too painful to get into that here, but if one more person says anything about it dragging the ground they can just go right out there and hang it themselves. I have to sit down a minute. Maybe I’ll have another beer. God, I wish I drank beer. Where is my handkerchief? My eyes are tearing.
Through trial and error and perseverance, the pens were eventually completed, but the posts were all crooked and the wire sagged. The shelters were crude structures, fashioned out of pallets and cardboard, but functional (at least until the first rain.) Did I mention that it rains all the time in Mississippi? @*(%$#@#$. #$^*(^%#@$%. They fit right in with the crooked fence and catawampus posts.
The day finally arrived to go get the pigs. It had taken so long to build the pens that the pigs we got were from a subsequent litter, and they were smaller than I had planned on. I went to the Farm Supply Store to get some 12-inch high chicken wire to clip to the bottom of the woven wire, so the little bastards wouldn’t keep escaping out of the pen. Fortunately, I didn’t yet own a rifle. But the #%(^$@ Farm Supply Store carried those, too! And I wished I had one!!
I have to go lay down for a little while. Maybe my hands will stop shaking and I will stop sweating so much. This story will have to continue another time.

*&$%^&# sun-uf-a $%^#@ pigs.