What's the pig deal?

I do seem to have pork on the brain more than usual these days. It's not intentional, it just kind of... happened. There was my first article (on pastured pork) in this month's issue of Acres USA. Then I had a lovely chat with Bev -- of EcoFriendly Foods -- while picking up some breakfast sausages and taking a little footage for my mobile market fundraising video a couple of weeks ago. (Speaking of which, have you donated yet? Hmmm? Have you?) Then a series of coincidences led me to Seth and Jon, the cool cats behind White House Meats, with whom I shared a pint and quite a lengthy discussion at the Mardi Bus happy hour earlier this week. I do like bacon. And those local, sustainable pork shares are pretty reasonable. Mmmm, Berkshire....

Well. Last night I had planned to have dinner with my dear friend Susan. But alas, she woke up yesterday morning feeling sickly and we decided to reschedule. Wouldn't you know it, this meant that I would in fact be able to attend the screening of Pig Business downtown (and the panel discussion and happy hour that followed) that I had been spreading the word about. It turned out to be quite a night.

After only just barely refraining from audibly badmouthing the security guard who insisted that I leave my nalgene bottle outside of the Capitol Building -- this same innocuous bottle that had traveled around the entire country lashed to the front fender of my bicycle and had joined me without incident on a number of, ahem, airline flights, which I would think would indicate that it, when emptied, would gain admission to such high-security-risk settings as a documentary screening in a public visitors' center on a Wednesday afternoon -- I made my way through the metal detectors to join the throngs, securing one of the few remaining seats in the packed auditorium. After some opening words and an appeal by the ever passionate Robert Kennedy, Jr., the lights went down. I watched in horror as atrocious animal cruelty, unbridled greed, and "corporate kleptocracy" unfolded. (How does Bobby Kennedy come up with these terms? As a former English teacher, I can't help but admire his exceptional vocabulary. "A+, Mr. Kennedy.") The film focused on Smithfield -- the largest and most reckless purveyor of pork in the country, which recently expanded abroad to begin crushing pork farmers in Europe, most notably in Poland. (I know, mom, I know.) It was scary to watch folks on camera hardly bat an eye as they talked about the need for more meat, how these giant hog factories were necessary, even good for their economy and their countrymen. How about... eating less meat? How about the health and environmental concerns, if not of the animals, at least of those very countrymen? I got pretty worked up.

Needing a stiff drink afterwards, I joined a bunch of other sustainable foodie friends at the evening happy hour a few blocks away. After a nice bourbon and ginger ale and a few nibblies featuring some of Bev's famous pork, I pinned a food bus button on the pastured pork farmer himself and began to feel a little better. Sure, our country's meat production system is terrible now, but we can fix it. Even my small voice, my personal choice to only consume responsibly-produced meats, makes a difference. I refuse to buy factory farmed meat. And so did the guy next to me. And the lady on the other side of him. And probably most of the people in that room (or at least they're way more likely to avoid it after watching that movie). Sure, we're not changing the system overnight, and many policymakers at home and abroad are in the pockets of these large CAFO executives, but as more of us vote with our food dollars what kind of agricultural practices we support, we begin to take back control of the system that feeds us.

What difference does it make where your pork chop comes from? Actually, it's kind of a pig deal. Don't you want to support an operation that looks like this?



[photo courtesy of Sarah Willis, Niman Ranch]

Hog heaven

Nearing the end of my stint in Iowa, land of corn and pigs -- no, really, most of the postcards in the state feature one or both of these -- I stopped to assess a few things. Had I worked on a cornfield in the state? No. Pig farm? No. Hmmm.

Now, Iowa has a reputation as largely the land of CAFO (Confined Animal Feeding Operation) pork farms and fields of genetically-modified feedcorn and soybeans (to fatten up animals crammed into the CAFOs). This is actually the case: across the entire eastern half of the state which produces most of our country's pork I never once saw a pig outdoors. (Not even on the handful of nice days over the course of nearly a month as I roamed from Dubuque to Davenport to Des Moines to Decorah.) However, I'd heard of alternatives and was hoping to spend a little time on a sustainable pork farm. I'd read a bit about Niman Ranch's commitment to free-range, humane animal treatment, so when the opportunity arose to work with Paul, who has a hog farm himself and manages the organization's pork farmers in the region, I gladly took it.

Paul and Phyllis welcomed me onto their farm -- and into their kitchen -- in Thornton, IA for a few days to learn about free-range hog farming and their lifelong devotion to raising animals conscientiously. They have been doing it for over 30 years. They have continued their work while being surrounded by confined animal feeding operations and neighbors who scowl and yell and wag fingers at the upstarts who dare to go against the grain, who have the poor manners -- it *is* the midwest -- to question the status quo. They try to be friendly toward members of the community, but at the same time the Willises stand firmly behind an unwavering code of ethics when it comes to raising their animals. (They are also avid birders and land stewards, I learned, and had converted large portions of their property back to native prairie -- also uncommon for their area. Rebels with a cause, those two.)

I tagged along with Paul on morning chores each day. I helped him relocate a mama sow and piglets who had nested outdoors during the freezing rainstorm, shepherding them to a nearby corrugated metal shed. (Dozens of these straw-filled, single pig family homes dotted each grazing field, offering shelter from the elements while one open side retained access to the pasture at all times.) I learned about the lack of market for boar meat due to its intense, er, 'musky' odor and the standard practice of castrating the young male piglets to prevent the hormone-based flavor development. (The procedure was quick and the tiny piglets healed quickly, I observed... a bit squeamishly.) We pitchforked fresh hay into the pig houses for the sows to nest and checked to be sure the feed was accessible. (Paul quite deftly sprung into and out of one of the feeders at one point -- quite spry for a man probably double my age. Must be all of the exercise and great food... he and Phyllis are quite the cooks.)

I also should admit that I was often distracted by the pigs. As I approached each section of the field, sows and piglets sprinted away, then crept back toward me. As I stood still, chatting and leaning on my pitchfork, they curiously sniffed, shuffling ever closer, and tried to nibble on the fork tines or my plastic boot covers. (So: goats like my pants, turkeys like my shoelaces, pigs like my boot covers.) Paul often smiled and shook his head, patiently reminding me after awhile that we did need to, you know, finish up the chores. The pigs were so cute!

I have to agree with Dave, who regularly visits the farm, ostensibly to collaborate on farm policy initiatives: the piglets at Paul's free-range hog farm are possibly the cutest animals ever. (Though Dave and Paul are good friends, and co-founded the advocacy group Food Democracy Now, I wouldn't be surprised if Dave stops by sometimes just to cavort with the piglets in their pasture.) They are happy pigs if I ever saw any. And after a life of fresh air, romping around in the mud and grass, and being processed a few at a time at small local butcher shops (like Ventura Locker, where we picked up the porkchops for Friday night's feast), I swear they are the most delicious.


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