Sometime in late May, when the plantain weeds were tall enough to pull for pig feed, Dad handed my brothers $5.00 and a couple of tow sacks, then sent them to the Mud Creek community in search of Hampshire pigs. Mama called them “sweater pigs” because they had a white stripe over each shoulder and down their front legs.
The hog farmer was a humorous mountain man with a gentle spirit and twinkling blue eyes that welcomed my brothers into his presence. His garden was surrounded with a shaky paling fence that offered some protection from his free-ranged hogs.
He was dressed in oversized brown Duck Head coveralls held in place by a tightly buckled leather belt. His worn, weather-cracked boots were soaked with water, but that did not dampen the broad grin across his slim face. The farmer remembered that Dad didn’t want a pig whose tail curled to the left, because he believed it would not fatten well. The farmer shelled an ear of corn, enticing the piglets near. He grabbed two pigs by their trotters and stuck them in the sacks; then my brothers toted them home. They turned them loose in a crude hog pen made from sawmill slabs, far away from Mamas’s clothesline. Within a few months, the piglets turned into fat hogs as a time to kill approached.
Clyde Oliver lived with his aging brother about a mile from our house in a run-down shack. His skinny-as-a-rail-body bore marks of neglect from years of abuse wrought by his constant companion, a pint of white lightning. Salt and pepper hair covered dirty ears that held in place an old battered railroad cap. Mama said, “He boogers at soap an’ water. Somebody he know’d musta got killed with it.”
He lived half-lit and sometimes pitched sop drunks. It was common to find his small frame curled up like a cat, passed out in the barn, under a tree or in the woodshed. One day he wandered into the hog lot and lay down with the sows. After sobering up he said, “I was rubbin’ that ole sow’s belly and wondering why Maude had so many buttons on her gown!”
—A Time for Every Purpose written by Barbara Taylor Woodall
Today’s Thankful November giveaway is a used copy of A Time for Every Purpose written by Barbara Taylor Woodall. To be entered in the giveaway leave a comment on this post. Giveaway ends November 11, 2024.
Last night’s video: Blood Harmony – Traditional Appalachian Music & Fall of the Year in the Mountains.
Tipper
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Reminds me of an old man that used to milk cows for my granddaddy when he was half-crocked!
This was such a great story. Definitely would like to read some more from this writer.
My oldest daughter loves baby pigs so if I see a cute stuffed toy pig I get it to put in a Christmas stocking. My mother used to say this little poem to us, “If I was a little pig a running’ in your yard, if you was to pull my tail, would you pull it hard?” Lol
Loved the excerpt from the book! Sure hope a win a copy!
Oh Tipper. I cackled out loud at this one!! Please tell me if I am correct with assuming “trotters” are the pig’s legs. This was the best story I’ve heard in a coon’s age!!! Thank you.
Sandra-yes 🙂
I think ‘trotters’ actually refers to pigs feet, not legs. I know that to be case in matters culinary. I’ve never heard it used for legs.
$5.00 to buy pigs. Compared to today’s prices that would a steal. Enjoyed reading this story. Sounds like a book I would enjoy reading.
Oh my goodness!!! So many good stories !!! The one shared from the book & so many in the comments !!! Love & prayers everyone!!!
That was quite a story! I think we have all heard a of a few like that. Thank you for your thoughtfulness during this November giveaway.
We got a little over ½ inch of rain over the past two days. You could hardly see it raining. Mommy called it a mizzle. A cross between a mist and a drizzle. That is the most beneficial rain because it all soaks in.
As to pigs in a tow sack I was one of those boys. Daddy had already gone to Thad Breedlove’s place over on Licklog and bought two of them that were about 10 weeks old. Harold and I were handed tow sacks and told to go get them. It would have been much closer to climb across the mountain but can you imagine carrying a pig that weighed half you own weight across a mountain that was so steep that you had to climb both up and down. 2.6 miles by road vs .8 miles on foot. We chose the road. Imagine 2.6 miles with a live animal in a sack hanging over your shoulder. With your center of gravity already shifted severely upward it’s now moving laterally. So you’re walking like 8 and 10 year old drunken sailors with their ditty bag slung over their back.
2.6 miles ain’t nothin for kids that age, but try it with 50 pounds of wiggly pigglys on your back.
A few days ago I jokingly threatened to not make comments this month. I didn’t really intend to do that, but I guess karma caught up with me. Now I make comments and they disappear.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Oh my goodness that book sounds exactly like what I would love to read. We were blessed with a nice downpour of rain after we went to bed last night. It was hitting so hard I told my husband it sounded like we had a tin roof. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.
To us boys, hog-killin’ day was exciting. Our only job was to keep the fire going under the washpot. I remember asking for the hog’s bladder, which we inflated with a short hollow reed, tied it off, and kicked it around the yard all afternoon.
I well remember the hog killing times . As a kid my job was to keep the fire hot under the cast iron pot and keep it filled with water. Dad or one of the other men helping would come with two half bushel ‘foot tubs’ for hot water and I would have to carry five or six ten quart buckets to refill it. By then they would be back for more with Dad yelling if the fire was low or the pot wasn’t almost ready to run over. I saw them scrapping the hair off a couple of times but was never big enough to really be much help with any other part of the process until we got a meat grinder to make sausage.
Mom always sliced a liver still hot from the hog and fried it for supper, that was the best liver and I always looked forward to eating it.
Bill, I am making too me comments, but I have got to tell this to you. After we had killed hogs when I was probably 6-7 years old, my Grandmother cooked a big mess of hog liver. I sailed in and ate me a bait of it, Grandmother kept telling I was going to get sick, boy was she right. I am now 70 years old and have never touched another bite of liver from Any animal since that day. I won’t even use it for catfish bait.
Such a picturesque story. I would love to read more. Tell Granny their singing was such a blessing.
I absolutely LOVE a walk in nature, especially by a creek, and through spring flowers popping up or fallen leaves adorning the ground!! I remember hearing Pap and Paul sing that “Falling Leaves” before and they sang it so beautifully!
I so remember Daddy telling how his five brothers and his parents prepared for hog killing time. This was in NE MS and they had to wait till cold weather really set in to be sure their meat would be safe. It was a big job for after the hogs were killed and cleaned they had to be cut up, and than salted in big wood boxes, and they had the smoke house too. They had their own recipe for making their sausage. I always marveled at how strong my Grandmother was and how productive she was for her family; plus, she could read music play the old pump organ and the piano. I was very blessed with Christian Grandparents, who taught my Parents, who passed on down that love to follow the Shepherd.
I have both of those books by Barbara Taylor Woodall. I may have obtained one on your past Thankful November giveaways. Very good books and I have enjoyed reading both!!
Wow. What a story you shared with us today. What was written about Clyde Oliver reminded me of my father – so much so, that it seemed that I was living, not reading, the words. Thank you, Tipper, for your generosity in giving away books during your “Thankful November.” And thank you for your choice of excerpt today. The bitterness of my father’s life, while hard on us all, did not diminish our love for him.
Love it!! I grew up around hogs and hog killings. This will be a great read.
This story brings back wonderful memories of going with my grandfather to slop the hogs. I have wonderful memories of his smokehouse, it’s wonderful smells, and the delicious hams that cured there. I sure do miss all that.
Oh I would love to read this book, it sounds so interesting as I, too, love Appalachia stories! Thank you Tipper, for all you do!
I always loved hog killing day which was the day after Thanksgiving. Dad would always cut off the tenderloin and Mom would fry it for noontime dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy and biscuits. I love reading stories from Appalachia.
Now that was an interesting story!
Good morning, Tipper! I’m enjoying reading the excerpts of Appalachian memories. What a colorful and wonderous life these folks lived! It almost makes me wish I lived back then but I think I’m spoiled and wouldn’t want to give up modern conveniences!! God bless you and your family, and all your fans!
I can’t tell you how many times I asked my Grandma to tell me the story of how they butchered a hog when she was a girl.
She didn’t want to be recorded (I don’t know why) but one time I hid my cassette recorder in the couch cushion and got her to repeat the story.
It’s the only recording I have of her voice.
Sure do miss her.
I really enjoyed this story, brought back a lot of fond memories.
Good Morning, I was 3 went they put the rings in the pigs noses. Grandmaw said I was never afraid of anything until I heard the pigs squealing. there was a stall at the front of the barn and i climbed up to the top of the door and I remember my Uncle Stanley getting me down and laughing so hard. I just remember being so scared.
Hog-killing time was a special occasion when I was growing up. All the neighbors helped and it was still an all-day job. When the meat was frying you could smell it clear down to the mouth of the holler. I don’t eat pork and haven’t in years but when I did, I wondered why I couldn’t smell the store-bought meat cooking like I used to. It didn’t bother me to watch my parents kill a hog or chicken when I was young, but I would run from the process now.
Ms Woodall sounds like another fine Appalachian storyteller and I’d love to read her book.
I still have the iron wash pot used to cook the lard and a hand made gambrel stick used to hang the hog . There was a crossed eyed man in the community who was a crack shot with
a 22 rifle . On one morning he was called on to shoot the hog. One of the helpers standing nearby asked him
Mr. Clarence do you shoot where you look or do you look where you shoot?
Mama would take an old sheet and sew it into sleeves to package the sausage for hanging in the smoke house. There would be 2-3 lard stands ( tin cans with a lid) for lard storage , probably held 5 gallons, By late spring the lard would be strong smelling but was still used without any harm to the family. One winter the weather was quite warm and we lost most of the meat to spoilage. Mama went to the hatchery in early spring and bought 100 chickens and raised them for meat during
the summer. We had chicken nearly every day that summer and I do not care much for chicken that time.
That was a wonderfully descriptive tale. I can still remember seeing piglets being born when I was a young girl. I was visiting a farm in the small rural town I grew up in. It was an amazing thing to witness as a child.
What a wonderful writer! I’m sure her book is filled with stories like that one, telling us of a life lived differently.
I love the story of the pig farmer and his wisdom but I also enjoy reading the stories and experiences of the other readers. Thanks for sharing these with us!
Pat,
I feel the same way. I’ve learned so much about Appalachia, not only from Tipper, but from all the wonderful people who post comments every day. Have a great day!
Jackie
Barbara Taylor Woodall seems to be a good storyteller. I’d love to read her book.
On gosh, I laughed out loud on the “buttons on the gown.” We also pasture raised hogs and we would feed them dried corn to fatten them up and clean them up in time for hog killing. I loved hog killing days. Hot biscuits and tenderloin for lunch and after we made the sausage and liver pudding, we would make sausage burgers or liver pudding and sweet potatoes with cornbread and molasses. Oh great…now I’m starving. Okay, I said biscuits again…notice a theme in my replies? I LOVE BISCUITS!! Love and prayers to all of you and Granny too.
Didn’t Ms Woodall write It’s Not My Mountain Anymore? I’ve tried to find that one without success. I’d be happy to start with yours!
Linda-she did write that book 🙂
Tipper, I was down your way last week. It was so beautiful (but I didn’t see any pig farmers!)
Linda, try eBay, I have bought this book and many other used books off eBay. Their price usually includes free shipping. I had rather read a book than watch TV. The story of bringing her mother through Clemson, SC on game day is worth the price of this book.
Hog killing day was always the coldest day of the year
My dad raised pigs on our farm in rural Missouri. Each fall his brother & family would come over & help butcher & process a hog. We ate some mighty good pork back in those days!
I have always loved hearing hog killin’ stories. Sounds like this would be a great book!
I remember those days of hog killing, especially with boiled potatoes and fresh backbones that had lots of grease on top of the liquid. That grease always ended up on the roof of my mouth. That’s the part I didn’t like.
I love a good story, especially when they’re told by Appalachian’s, the very best storytellers.
We always got a piglet and fatten it up. We had all kinds of good meats. We took our sausage at a little country store and they would grind it up for you. We would bring it home and fry it and put it jars to can. I had to laugh about the buttons that he thought was his wife.
I really think the story of a drunk passing out with the hogs and feeling “buttons” is just an old story. My daddy told that all my life. The drunk might have changed names over the years as well. Thanks for the memory and chuckle this morning. Sounds like a great book. My family killed hogs and taught my “city” husband. Then he and his friends fattened pigs and butchered until it became hard work. I agree about the taste of fresh pork. We would say as we ate, “ wonder what the rich folks are eating?”
The rain missed me yesterday except for one light shower but looks like I may get some today.
I really enjoyed reading the piece on Fattening Hogs. There was such descriptive detail, so I could picture the scenes. I think that the hog story really ended with “Within a few months, the piglets turned into fat hogs as a time to kill approached.”
The part about Clyde Oliver, although somewhat interesting, was a different story, in my opinion.
Good mornings start with coffee and Blind pig. Thank you for wonderful stories.
Well I’ve never heard the term “sweater pigs” but it fits that type. I almost laughed out loud when reading about the mans aversion to a bath ! If I were a few years younger I would like to raise a few hogs . It’s a foggy morning in the Blue Ridge foothills.
This brought back lots of memories of my Dad buying a couple of pigs each year to raise and fatten. In the fall , usually around Thanksgiving, or whenever it was cold enough, the hogs were killed. Sausage was made and canned, lard was rendered, souse made, hams and bacon salted down and smoked with hickory and sassafras wood. Sure made for good eating later on with biscuits and gravy
I can remember the days immediately after hog killing, when there was fresh meat at every meal!
That is a GOOD story! Mama and Daddy both talked about hog killin’. I still have the syrup kettle the hog was hung over. Those syrup kettles were utilitarian – hog killin’, syrup making, clothes washing and other tasks I’m sure.
The older I get the more I enjoy the stories that come from memories of folks lives
Thank you for giving us so many hours of enjoyment
We recently discovered the goodness that is home grown pork. What a difference!
This is the first year we have done it, but we plan to raise a few piglets every year now.
I’d love a copy of that book!
Prayers for all of you and all in our area as the cold comes on,
Meg
Enjoyed this hog story. Hog killin day was the first time my Mama came after me with a switch because I didn’t listen and got too close to Papa and the men fixin to kill the hogs. A great day otherwise!
Teresa, I have had a huge amount of experience with Mama and hickory switches not only at home but at church. When I was a kid, it was common for me and other kids to walk the aisle almost ever Sunday to the front door. We should have went by the altar first and prayed. All of us grew up to be good salt of the earth people, so it must have done some good, now we laugh and talk about those days. But to get back to you, we had a neighborhood boy that was a little retarded step or fall into a barrel of the hot boiling water used at the hog killings when he was a kid. He did survived this.
Love this!
Interesting how people lived back then!
This country girl would love to read those stories!
I remember feeding pigs at Granny’s house, we were kids and thought they were pets, and when they got big, Papa Lee shot him in the head and cut her throat, to bleed out, and hung them upside down to drain the blood out, that was a spooky thing to a bunch of little kids, why’d you do that to our pig, we love them little oinking and pigs
Norman-on Andy & Megan’s YouTube True Grit channel, Andy has a video of his family killing hogs. Its interesting!
Great read , thank you
That was a good read today. Something I have to tell my brother and sister to give them a chuckle.
I wrote a day or two ago about us always having and killing/butchering a hog each year around Thanksgiving, we lived beside of my maternal grandparents and they too would have a hog. Both hogs would be killed on the same day. Unlike today, everyone want their hogs to be big and fat…500 lbs or more. The hogs would be fed slop (table scraps) until a a couple of months before being butchered and then fed nothing but corn. My Grandaddy did not want anyone but him rendering or cooking out the chunks of fat for the lard in two cast iron wash pots. These cooked chunks of fat were called “cracklings” and often put in cornbread. He would only use wild cherry wood for the fire. The great fear was of the lard being scorched. Since everything was cooked in lard the food would have a scorched taste if this happen. I now have the pots he used. Grandma also washed her clothes in them. The meat, ham, shoulders, fat back, etc that was not ground into sausage would be put in a large thick sided wood box and covered in salt. This box was about the size of a chest freezer and was in an outside building. Back then the winter weather would stay cold enough to keep the meat from spoiling. Later on this salt, after the meat was taken out, would be given to the mule and also used in our ice cream churn.
Two true stories told by my Daddy and Father in law. Daddy told of a neighborhood moonshiner keeping his barrels of mash at his hog pen, one time the law was trying to bust him and he fed his hogs the mash to keep the law from finding it, His hogs got “passed out” drunk and he thought he may have killed them, Daddy said the after the hogs got over being drunk, the moonshiner had the best/healthiest hogs of anyone that year. This always bothered my Father in law, when he was a young man, a hog farmer he knew made his sons take pitch forks and put out the eyes of some pigs he had that kept “rooting” out of their pen. Later on in life all of these boys went blind. My Father in law always wondered if God had punished them for doing this. Most farmers would put “hog rings” in the noses of their hogs to keep them from rooting under their pens. I called these rings I see today’s young people put in their nose “hog rings.”
Randy,
I’m like you when I see people with rings in thier nose. looks just like our hogs.
I was thinking ‘what a sad guy’ that Clyde Oliver was and feeling bad for him until that last line and then I laughed—thinking the sows belly was Maudes gown with many buttons lol….on a different subject I finally had rain for three days thank The Lord–but then was surrounded by tornados which was not only a little scary, and I was jumpy from ptsd due to the tornado last year this hit my apartment–here over a year and half later the owners of the apartment complex I live in finally had all our busted out windows replaced last Thursday and now here the threat of being hit again by one made me kind of shake my head and think ‘yep that would be about right, just get my new windows in time for a November out break of tornados….and while the rain and storms abounded here in central oklahoma and much of the state it was snowing in the far end of the panhandle near or in Boise City–I thought of you tipper and your desire for snow. Pray for my brother in law, he had open heart surgery yesterday and all I know about him is my sister text about 5 saying they were just closing him up–I asked her to please let me know how things went after the dr comes out to talk to her but in her true private manner I have not heard a word….he was to have at least a triple bypass and possible aorta replacement…my health prohibits me from driving so I could not be with her so am here praying and waiting for some sort of update on him….they both celebrated their 61st birthday this passed saturday (2nd)…..loved hearng your mom sing Precious Memories, and enjoyed Paul’s voice and pickin as usual. We will turn around twice and it will be time for your Christmas story readings—where has the year gone.
Gaylia-I will pray for him. Glad you got some rain!
I also had a good “soaking in” rain yesterday all though it was not very much it was a blessing after not having a drop since Helene came through. More is predicted for today and tomorrow. While I am thankful, I also am concerned about the ones that lost their homes or had them damaged. I still see a lot of homes damaged and tarps on roofs around here but realize it was even worse in other areas.