I lived in Gillette, Wyoming, when I ran across an article about a woman raising pasture pigs just outside of Baker City, my hometown. I was ecstatic and emailed her immediately. I didn't know what would come of our communication, if anything, but I had to let her know how excited I was about what she was doing and that if I could support her somehow, I would. Amy was doing something I thought was incredibly important: growing quality meat in a way that supported and improved the environment. She had a few sows and a boar that she kept on leased land that was mostly sagebrush and by moving her electric fence regularly was using pigs to do rotational grazing, stirring up the seedbank in the land with their rooting and little hooved toes. Imagine that! Pigs were helping rangeland become more productive and were growing pork for us to eat at the same time and were never confined unless they decided to sleep in their hut if the weather was bad.
Amy wrote back, thanking me for my support and enthusiasm but saying she wasn't sure she was ready for an investor and yes, when I came to visit, she would be happy to meet. Meeting her and supporting her seemed like a good way for me to be involved in something I really believed in that was also good for the community that had supported me and my family for so long, despite my living so far away. Although, I wanted to do what Amy was doing, I didn't expect to own land or raise pigs again, for quite a while. I didn't even know if I was physically able to raise pigs on pasture. Besides, I had a wonderful job that paid better than any job I'd ever had and a property that was a great investment and an excellent retirement started. I planned to stay in Gillette for ten years, pay off the property, and then buy an acreage. I had worked hard to become Dr. Rudolph, for goodness sake. I was ready to quit moving and be a stable, responsible citizen. A grown up! And yet, I had chickens and I felt an anxiousness building in me about being so far from home for so much longer. Money wasn't everything, was it?
I learned about Amy's farm in August 2019 and moved back to Baker City in May 2020. I met Amy and at the end of June in 2021 I bought Clementine, my first pasture pig who was "probably" pregnant. By August, she had given birth to seven healthy baby pigs with no help from me. Clementine quickly became renamed Mama Pig or often just "Mama."
Mama was about ten months old when her first litter was born, a little earlier than recommended, but Mama tends to follow her own rule book. She lived at Dad's when she gave birth. In high school, I used a metal farrowing crate when my pig gave birth. She did it in a barn with a concrete floor, during an FFA banquet when I was receiving an award so I wasn't there to watch. Mama had hers in a pasture with tall green kochia and lush green grass thanks to Dad's irrigation sprinklers. In the winter, he feeds yearling calves in this pasture. As soon as grass grows well enough, he moves the yearlings out of this pasture. Mama had about half an acre for her and her piglets. I had been checking her every day for babies, not quite sure what to watch for. High school pig farrowing was 30 years ago! One morning I arrived to feed her and was greeted by...silence...and found a nasty, bloody, ok enough detail, odd looking chunk of flesh? where she normally waited for me. I called Dad. I had heard and read that pigs could be dangerous when they've just given birth, in an effort to protect their young. The kochia was 3-4 feet tall and I'm not agile, even when I don't have to struggle through that sort of footing. Dad is not a fan of pigs, definitely leans towards the beef side of farming and ranching, but he came to check out the situation. He cautiously stepped over the electric fence and quietly walked across her pen, scanning for a crazed mother pig. He came back smiling. "You're right. She's made a nest and she's in there talking to her babies. Want to see?"
Yes! I walked into her pen, holding Dad for stability while stepping over the fence and while following her trail. There they were! The little pig family! Mama softly grunted, her whole belly jiggling like a waterbed, while seven tiny pigs squirmed to find a nipple, latch on, and drink some warm, nutritious colostrum. It was incredible, a sight I don't think I will ever tire of.
Her nesting skills fascinate me. Whatever plant material she uses, she gathers, pushes and shapes into a giant nest worthy of Sesame Street's Big Bird. I've given her giant straw bales, put her in pasture with tall grass, tall kochia, and always a pig house as an option but she always builds a nest and keeps her babies in it for a week or more. In the next picture, you can see that her pigs are almost invisible in the weed pile. Along her back is a pile of weeds she made to protect them from the weather. Even in August, we can have cold nights and rainstorms.
In the next picture, she is in the middle of her nest, feeding her pigs.
I had my first hands-on experience castrating pigs about ten days later. A friend works for a veterinarian who offered to show us how to do it. Not expecting an electric fence to stop Mama from defending her babies, we snatched up the male piglets and put them in the back of the pick up and drove to the other side of the barn. If you've ever handled pigs you know that any time you go against their wishes, they make a huge, noisy fuss. When these little babies were picked up, gently and with caution, they screamed, Mama went on high alert and my friends ran for the pick up on the other side of the hot wire. We quickly took care of all but one who escaped our capture technique and returned them to Mama for some milk to help them forget their troubles.
See? As long as you don't make them do anything they don't like, they're fine.
Mama successfully raised 6 of the first litter. A downpour just after castrating may have caused one piglet to get chilled. Trying to let Mama do what Nature told her to, I left it too long before seeking help. He spent the night getting warmed up and coddled but it was too late. One thing I have learned is to trust my instincts. Now. if I think a pig needs attention, I find a way to do it. For example, the day after giving birth to her second litter in February, Mama was shivering despite warm winter. temperatures. My vet came out and checked her. She does not like strangers, especially when she has new babies. He gave her a quick shot of antibiotics and rejoined me outside the fence, joking, "Well, she feels good enough to try to eat me so I think she'll be fine but give me a call if she seems to get worse." She was fine. I happily paid for his visit, reassured by someone with much more pig experience.
Mama has raised 30 piglets since coming to live with me. She takes them on runs, or trots , now that she's older and heavier (let's leave it at that 😉). She teaches them to freeze or hide when there seems to be danger. She feeds and protects them until they are weaned. She teaches them to come when she calls them with soft gentle grunts from the moment they're born. How do they know what those grunts mean? She feeds them. That is the secret to pigs. Want them to do something or go somewhere? Make sure they're hungry and then offer them food. That's how Mama ended up pregnant with her third litter. She is terrible to load into a trailer to go anywhere, even to see a boar that she really, really loves. And that is a story for another blog.
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