Pigs need protein to gain the lbs. We feed them outdated dairy products and veggies that we collect from local convenience stores to minimize our feed costs. Feed, whether it is GMO free or just your average grower variety, gets spendy.
The other day Hubby Dearest took over pig chore duties for the evening. While he was attempting to lean over the fence to pour the milk into their tray he lost balance and high-centered on the hog panel. He was flailing for many minutes trying to get vertical. Apparently the ground wasn’t close enough so he used a pig (who was coming to investigate the milk) to push upright.

While he was taking one for team and doing nightly chores, I was inside- completely oblivious to his misadventure- consoling a very cranky Baby Q by rapping a pig-centric version of Sir Mixalot’s “I Like Big Butts.”

My version: “I Like Pig Butts”

I like pig butts and I can not lie
You meat eaters can’t deny
When rump roast wafts up in my face
And it’s salted just to taste
I get hung – ry
Want to feed you up
So that butt gets plumped
Pasture grazed pork fairing
I’m hooked and I can’t stop staring
Oh piglets I’ll jump in with ya
And take some pictures
I’ll get my oven warming
Because that butt you got makes me so hungry
Oh those markings are akin
To a duroc Hampshire cross
Well keep eating, eating, you ain’t a light weight piggy
I’ve seen you grazing
Pastured hog raising
You’re heat, meat, keep growing fatter please

So farmers YEAH farmers YEAH
Has your piggy got a butt?
HELL YEAH
Well give them milk
And veggie scraps
Even vegetarians gotta shout
Piggy got back

My butcher don’t want none unless they’re market weight son
Piggy got back

Baby Q was thrilled with my performance. She even giggled throughout the encore for Hubby Dearest. He was not nearly as impressed.

The Hubby Dearest, Baby Q and I have had quite the eventful weekend.  We began our adventure at 4 pm Friday night when we decided it was about time to construct the pig pen since we were getting them Saturday morning (in less than 18 hours). We thought it would be ready in an hour, a piece of cake, walk in the park. Oh how foolish we were.
We ran down the road to the barn to pick up the hog panels and tools to only realise that the panels were too long for our pick up. No problem, we called my parents to let us borrow the utility trailer and wouldn’t you know it, the panels were too long for that too. So Hubby Dearest ran to the neighbor and returned to the barn with a man in a heavy duty pick up hauling a 12 ft trailer! My husband is a miracle worker but the fun didn’t stop there.
The sun had set as they loaded up the panels into the trailer and drove to our farm. Upon arrival they realised that all the panels had bounced out of the trailer onto the road at some point during the mile and a half journey.  Meanwhile down at the barn, my loving father was scrambling to get the panels out of the road as an oncoming car headed his way – the panels didn’t even make it 50 ft from the barn driveway! The crew of men reloaded the panels delivered them safely to Melville Farms and we began to construct our pig pen at o’dark’thirty, but the fun didn’t stop there.

The next morning sweet Baby Q woke up with pink eye- goop so thick she couldn’t open her eyeballs and when she did green goo leaked out. She needed the doc. So Hubby headed out to pick up the pigs brought them home and put them in their paneled hog heaven.  They were a little younger and smaller than we anticipated so we thought it might be a good idea to put up some chicken wire along the panels with larger gaps. I left to pick up meds for Baby Q and a few more zip ties to secure the chicken wire and Hubby calls to say that our golden retriever is playing with our pigs in the front yard -apparently having the time of his life.  Hubby Dearest ushered them easily back inside their pen, but the fun didn’t stop there.
Obviously the extra chicken wire hadn’t done the trick so we secured all the fencing we had to the pen, left to the barn to pick up more substantial fencing and upon our return – pigs were gone. We searched until after dark with no sign of them and called in my parents as reinforcements for an early morning search.  Hours later, after searching over acres of timber, brush and brambles with no sign of pigs we broke up the search party, but the fun didn’t stop there.
My sweet mother went to a neighbor’s house to ask them to keep an eye open for our escapees.  She called me to let me what houses she went to and then she started screaming that she saw the pigs walking down the double yellow centerline! I grabbed baby Q, yelled for Hubby as I put on some boots and went running down my driveway onto the road. By the time I got there they were trotting down a gravel road behind our house headed for the hills with my mom trying to call to them. As a last ditch effort I started calling to them, “a pig pig pig suuuueeeeeee” and I kid you not they stopped, turned around,  and started coming back to me!  Meanwhile Hubby had run all the way around our field, into our neighbors field, dove through a fence to cut them off and when he popped out onto the road the pigs had already headed towards me – the pig whisperer. Next thing we know they had walked back into their pen as docile as could be.

After days of pig adventures we have three little piggies snuggled into their hay. Hopefully they will take pity on us and stay in their pen. The day is not over, but I’ve had enough fun to last me a while.

Tool belts are an under appreciated  item. Useful, practical, and when Hubby Dearest has one on- sexy as hell. Oh menfolk, with that hammer loop filled and a pocket full of nails you are a gift to women-kind. Not to say women can’t rock a tool belt. There are plenty of gals who prove that tool belts never go out of style.
However,  I am not as handy as some of my fellow ladies and appreciate my Hubby Dearest when he dons his belt of tools and builds me a wonderful woodshed or storage for my obscene amount of plastic totes (all filled with very important things of course).
Every homestead needs someone who is at least moderately handy with tools and though I can pound my share of nails or screw in some new hinges, it is always nice to be able to bat my eyelashes at the ole ball’n’chain and get a new pig pen!!
Today’s adventure is to plan out our pasture perimeter for our pigs this year. We aren’t in the pig breeding and farrowing business yet, so our space and shelter requirements are fairly minimal. But, coastal weather is highly variable and a little planning goes a long way.
This year we are getting a small handful of weaned pigs and will pasture them for approximately 6 months until they are ready to move along to someone else’s freezer.  We will be cornering off about a half acre for these porkers and will be documenting the process in blog posts to come!
My personal belief is that pastured pigs are happy pigs. They get to forage, exercise,  and explore which is a huge benefit to their quality of life, improves the quality of meat produced and as an added bonus they smell like fresh daisies instead of a “pig pen.”
So a huge shout out to my dear hubby who will be constructing the fence, the feeding/watering station,  and the shelter. I can’t wait to see that tool belt put to use.

(Our lead hen Little Blacky assisting in the pasture planning process)

I grew up on a small farm in the Pacific Northwest.   It wasn’t a ranch the size of a small country.  My parents didn’t run 1000 head of cattle.  We didn’t muck out stalls from dusk until dawn. It was 10 acres backed up against timberland. It was beautiful.  It was perfect.
Now, my tiny little homestead is an exact acre, we’re attempting to increase our acreage, but who knows if or when that will ever happen. No matter though, I have been slowly but surely turning this abode into a working small farm.
Thankfully my parents have allowed me to raise a variety of animals on their farm (just down the road) as well as my own so I can follow all of the best management practices I preach on and on about in my day job -water quality this, soil integrity that, compost is the bee’s knees,  and so forth.  But, our acre is being put into production this year!
Part of our increased effort is expanding our layer chicken flock.  These birds have it good. They have the entire acre to literally range free and they even sneak over into the neighbor’s horse pasture to mix it up every so often. Yesterday morning however they took their ranging to a new level.
The ever faithful dog Ted likes to let himself back into our house when I forget to push the door shut all the way. Try as we might, he refuses to learn to shut the door after he comes in! Thus, when he came bounding in the house pleased as punch and I was changing sweet baby Q in the back room, the door was left wide open and those free range cluckers of mine let themselves into the house!  I came back out to the living room to find our lead hen drinking out of Ted’s water dish and Bertha the Wyandotte relaxing in our kitchen. Luckily the gals didn’t poo, but it was quite the ruckus as I attempted to shoo them out, Ted tried to help, and Q was laughing at us all.  Very lively start to our morning in Melville.

Later that day Q and I went to try out her new swing and as the flock came running towards us, she began giggling uncontrollably. Squealing.  Reaching for those pesky hens. So of course, like every good farming mama would do, we spent the next 20 minutes chasing the chickens around the yard.

There is no doubt in my mind that our chickens are spoiled rotten, beloved by babies, and range perhaps too freely. Expanding our flock will be an adventure!

(Welcome to the flock wee little Ameraucanas!!!)

The rain came down in sheets last night. Wind ripped through the air testing our newly built wood shed.  When we woke up the sun was shining, the birds were singing, our chickens were pooping on my front porch, and I noticed the daffodils emerging from the ground as a reminder that spring is just around the corner. Sweet baby Q however,  was vomitting.
Not only did we find out she has an ear infection and stomach bug, she’s coughing up a lung. She is tough. She is smiling and laughing when I would be throwing myself a pity party in a puddle of my own snot.
This morning I dragged her smiling and puking out on a consultation farm visit that I had to conduct for my day job. Her cute-baby powers (even at half strength) won over the hearts of those farmers, operators and government officials instantly.  She was running the show from her front-pack baby carrier and those men were wrapped around her slobbery fingers.
Rain blew in as the farm visit ended early afternoon so sweet baby Q and I were able to fit in hours of phone tag with doctors, clinics and labs. Many veteran parents most likely know how to tell when their infant needs medical help, but as a new mom I like to call my doc as if we were besties. Too many poop variances, puke characteristics, and freak symptoms for me to confidently navigate without consultation from a medical professional. In most circumstances I like to default to natural remedies, but when my 5 month old is quickly dehydrating, giving herself wry neck with her head cocked because of her ear ache, and choking on her phlegm, I need more than my essential oils (though I love my oils dearly).
I now know that everything stands still when that little girl gets sick. My new farm business, my day job, and the whole world pales in comparison to baby Q.
 Her smiles are free yet they are priceless and I will do absolutely anything to keep my girl smiling.

(Photo: picture taken on farm visit in Lewis and Clark Astoria, OR)