Hog Butcherin'

I remember at least one of our hog killings - probably more, but they have run together in my memory for many years.  We had Poland China hogs that Daddy fed every morning and night.  They lived in the "hog pasture" for about a year and then we put them up in stalls in our old red barn.  We didn't have Purina Hog Chow in those days so we had to make our own by hauling corn: stalks, ears and shucks to Mr J. J. Griffin's place south of town.  He and Daddy would agree on what mixture we needed and various amounts of oats and powdered molasses would be added and the whole mess ground to a fine powder.  We fed this stuff along with anything left over from our kitchen to the hogs and as I remember, they were rather large animals.  We also fed them skimmed milk from our little dairy operation.

Then on a very cold clear day the process would start.  Mac would shoot the hog between the eyes with a .22 rifle and then everyone would help dip the carcase in hot water and then scrape the hair off the skin.  Eventually the saws and long knives came out and the butchering process would go on for a couple of hours.  The folks from across the road would get the "lights" and the head, tail, trotters and etc., etc.  The saying was that when we butchered a hog, we used everything but the squeal.  

As the process moved indoors, Mamma would start rendering the lard and frying the sausage.  Daddy would break out his Morton Salt Cure tools and start curing the hams and shoulders.  Mamma would fry the sausage and put it in quart Mason jars, pour about a cup of the grease over the sausage patties and invert the jar.  We stored the jars on shelves on the back porch and whenever we wanted sausage during the winter, she would pull a jar off the shelf, dig the sausage out of the congealed grease with a big spoon and then reheat the patties in a frying pan.  This was what we called "canned sausage."  As I remember it, everyone loved the sausage that way.  I wonder if I would have the nerve to try it now.

After Daddy injected the salt mixture into the hams, he would use some of the lard to coat them about a quarter inch thick and then he would liberally sprinkle the grease with red and black pepper to keep the "skippers" from spoiling the meat.  Apparently "skippers" like ham too, but they didn't care for heavy spices.  Those were the best darned hams that I ever ate.  You aren't allowed to use as much Potassium Nitrate now as you did in those days, so the flavor of modern hams is a lot different.

The Yellow House

The house was four rooms and a bath with an incidental kitchen and back porch tacked on during the construction.  It had been a milking barn with a concrete floor, but my Dad transformed it into a little yellow cottage.  The back porch was for hanging cured meat, washing clothes and churning butter.  The front porch was a pad of concrete with a roof. We used a cinder block as the step.

As a child I had a "rollaway" bed in my parents room.  Mac slept in the back bedroom next to the bath.  This became my room when he moved away.  We both kept treasures in that room: arrowheads, unusual stones, bits of army gear gleaned from our Dad or from uncles or just, "found" stuff.  There was a bullethole in the north wall above the bed to attest to my stupidity.  Fortunately nobody was hurt or killed.

I remember that in the beginning we heated the house with firewood in an open hearth.  Most of the rest of the house would be near freezing, but that front room was always toasty.  Then Daddy brought home a used "oil heater" and things got a little better during the winter.  I had a pair of pajamas with white and maroon stripes and one freezing morning I got a little close to the heater and burned holes in them.

We never had an air conditioner, and we didn't know that we needed one.  The windows stayed open all summer (unless rain threatened) and the doors were open as well.  I don't remember ever locking those doors. It was a good house and my home...