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Where Does a Pig Want To Live?

written by

Michelle Sroka

posted on

July 14, 2021

What made you commit to eating pasture-raised meat? Was it environmental concerns? Did you feel like you needed to make a change for your health? Were you horrified by the industrial standards for eating meat?

I can remember the first time I became aware of CAFO farms while in college. I was reading a popular book (Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer). The descriptions of the stench and horror of industrial farms was so visceral, and unlike anything I could have imagined. I was puzzled - and remain so - at the fact that people treat animals this way.

I've been thinking about that this week, particularly in regard to our hogs. I've been working my way through Cooked by Michael Pollan, an investigation of how we cook and why. Pollan spends the first section of his book exploring whole hog barbecue in North Carolina, but he quickly runs into a problem: "old-fashioned" barbecue that has to contend with modern, industrialized pigs. He writes:

How authentic could 'authentic barbecue' really be if the object of its tender ministrations was now this re-engineered and brutalized animal - the modern creation of science, industry, and inhumanity? The Joneses didn't think there was much to be done about the modern pig, and in this they fall very much into the mainstream of barbecue men. Today, that most democratic sandwich is underwritten by the most brutal kind of agriculture.

Raising pigs has made me understand what Pollan means by a "democratic" sandwich. It's cheap! It appeals to everybody! But, as we've become increasingly aware, things aren't really cheap or appealing if they're not done right. There is a significant cost to raising pigs industrially - it's just not reflected in the amount of dollars spent on the sandwich.

We turn to pasture-raised meat because we don't want to eat a "brutalized" or "re-engineered" animal. We want to eat an animal that is not only nutritious, but also one that has lived a good life. I've found that this has as much to do with the animal and its environment as it does with our willingness to see from their perspective. In other words, can we imagine what a pig wants?

Like most things, there is not a one-size-fits-all answer to this question. You have to know your breed, and their particular personality traits, to really understand what they want, and how they will be happy. You have to rely on a history and resources that has been handing down knowledge about what these pigs are like and how they want to live.

This year, we're raising Red Wattle pigs. They are friendly and gentle; even at 300 pounds, our kids can safely participate alongside us in the morning chores. This is important - a family farm should be a safe place for everyone to work together.

However, this gentleness doesn't just come from their personality - it also comes from matching their desires with their environment. The pigs are calm because they want to be in the woods. Their natural habitat is in the forest. To raise them elsewhere might provoke changes that would disrupt the dynamic on the farm.

I think this is a lesson worth remembering - and one we should keep in mind as we look at how farms care for their livestock. Do your farmers know who their animals are? Do they know what they desire? Do they prioritize these things above their own needs or preferences?

The qualify of life for animals depends not only upon compassionate and healthy living conditions, but also ensuring that animals spend their lives in the habitats and places they are made for.

This is something we can all participate in. Get to know the breeds your farmers are raising. Educate yourself on the history of those breeds. Use this knowledge to inform the decisions you make when you select the meat or products that you will consume.

Want to learn more about the Red Wattle pigs we're raising on the farm? Thanks to the wonderful resources at The Livestock Conservancy, you can find more information here.

More from the blog

Can we care about animals - and still raise them for food?

I probably spend the most time with the pigs on our farm. Part of this is practical: since pigs can’t sweat, we spray them down twice a day to help them wallow in the mud and stay cool.  But part of it is emotional, too. I enjoy being around the pigs. When there’s a lot on my mind, or I’ve spent too much time on the computer and need to get outside, wandering over to that week’s pig paddock is one of the ways I can clear my mind.  Pigs are highly emotive and responsive. When I spray them down with the hose, they like to sit back on their haunches, prick back their ears, and snap playfully at the water as it showers down on them. And then joyfully roll around in the mud afterward, of course.  But they’re responsive to humans in general, too. They are naturally curious and, in the case of our heritage breed Red Wattles, gentle. They’ll come up and sniff you, rub their mud-streaked bellies over you, and let you scratch their ears.  And maybe this is the part where you start to wonder: But aren’t you raising them for food?  Why would you want an emotional connection to an animal that you are raising for food?  I understand where this question is coming from. I was a vegetarian for nearly a decade because I didn’t like the thought of killing animals, especially within the framework of our industrial food system.  But actually, it isn’t a problem or moral quandary for me. Yes, we grow fond of and attached to our animals, including our pigs.  Yes, we still send them to the butcher or process them on our farm for food. And yes, this still makes sense to me.  I would gently suggest that the idea that we shouldn’t have any emotional connection to our food - that we can only eat meat that comes from animals we withhold our emotions or affection from - is a sign of our disconnection to the way food is grown.  That is, after all, one of the premises of industrial agriculture. Designate animals with one sole purpose - “becoming food” - and then shut them away in buildings, cramped quarters, or far away from humans who might interact with them beyond the farmer.  And the farmer, too, should be as disconnected as possible. After all, this is an efficient machine.  The problem, from a regenerative perspective, is that growing food is never just about growing food. Food is the gift you receive at the end of your work, but it’s the work itself - and the consequences of the work beyond the food - that is the point.  The work, on our farm, is caring for the land. That means working alongside animals to nurture native plants, clear forest areas to make existing trees healthier, and create habitats for birds, pollinators, and wildlife.  And that means becoming attentive and thoughtful - to animals and to the land. Watching, learning, and yes, developing bonds with the habitats you’re nurturing and the animals that are helping you do so.  Is it sad to load up animals and take them to the butcher at the end of the season? Yes, it often can be. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I know that we’ve given them the best life possible, and that we’ve partnered with them to leave our farm better than we found it each year.  And if that doesn’t make sense, that’s okay. I’m not saying that everyone has to agree with me. I’d simply like to advocate for a way of farming and consuming meat that includes this experience - one of affection and bonding between animals and humans.  After all, this is one of the many ways we try to do things differently on our farm. We don’t want to just provide you with food that meets your standards - non-GMO, no vaccines, no antibiotics, grass-fed and pasture-raised.  We also want to help you reconnect with that food. And part of that is knowing the animals, hearing stories about them, and yes, maybe even having an emotional connection with them, despite the end goal of providing meat to you.