The first stop of the day was an adult boar castration. Castrating fully mature pigs is not something that is done in most places. Most pigs are castrated in the first week of life. It is safer for the animal, can be done by farm staff, and is less painful for the animal. What tends to happen is a boar is used for breeding for several years and then he gets too large to mount a sow, becomes lame, or the person needs different genetics to prevent inbreeding. They cull this boar and someone else buys him. The day comes that someone wants to eat this adult boar and in the hills of Appalachia – that boar must be castrated to prevent boar taint.
Boar taint is the term given to a foul smell and taste of pork from intact male pigs. Androsterone is one male pheromone produced by the testicle that is responsible for this phenomenon, and skatole is the name of the other chemical that contributes to boar taint. Skatole is formed in the large intestine as a byproduct of tryptophan metabolism. Castration early in life will prevent some of the smelly unpleasantness.
The problem is in the fact that these hogs that have carried their testicles around for 4-6 years. Castrating them and then butchering them in 60-90 days simply doesn’t reverse the issue. These compounds are stored in the fat throughout the boar’s body. Despite me telling people this, they want it done anyways. That’s the way grandpa always did it and that’s that.
The 300 lbs boar this morning was in a 12X12 pen with 6-8 inches of the stickiest clay mud – the kind that will suck your boots off your feet. It was humid and warming up quickly. I anesthetized the boar, put a piece of rotten plywood under this big butt and did the deed. He’ll probably lose 50 lbs as he heals up over the next few weeks, despite antibiotics, pain relief, tetanus prevention. He lives in a swamp with surgical incisions – there will be infection, but the open wounds will drain as he heals. Not ideal, but the owner is informed and chooses to do it anyway. I fell on my rear end at one point when I got stuck in the mud and had pig crud all over both arms and my rear end. Sweaty, crappy, doing something completely unnecessary – I was pretty much over the entire day at 8:45 this morning.
I was lucky to catch a break and made it back by the house for a 9:30am wardrobe change to carry on with my day. Some days I can shake those crappy starts, and other days my anxiety just ramps up and I carry around a tight chest the rest of the day. That was today. At one point my wife looked over at me in the drivers seat and asked, “is your chest ok?” “Yeah, why?”, I replied. “You’re holding it.”
Sure enough, I realized my hand was clinched to my chest. I had been driving around in my own head, tight chested, on edge, bothered by the phone, side conversations, while trying to focus on the road. My internal head game had become a physical pain. I’ve dealt with it my whole life. I take medication to help keep things normalized, but some days, ridiculous things just get the better of me. It’s ok and I’m ok, it happens to me like it does to many people, some much worse.
I was grateful to finish up appointments early afternoon and Megan and I took the dog out to the farm. The graders made good progress today at the clinic and expanded our parking area at the barn tremendously. We drove around the fields to see the results of my weekend weed spraying and find any places that need spot treatment. We cleaned stalls, fed the horses, and put them out to pasture for the night. Before I had realized, that vice grip on my chest had let up.
As I wind down my mind and prepare to rest, I wonder how the grandpas used to do it. Anxiety. I’m sure there were plenty of unhealthy ways to cope and many were too ashamed to admit the problem. But, I wonder if the land and farm distracted and healed some of them. I wonder if it brought the same sense of accomplishment and gratification it brings me. I wonder if the ground they tended also rooted their minds and souls.
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