Sometimes you have to leave home to find yourself

I grew up on a farm in eastern North Carolina and one Friday night when I was nine years old I walked past my father sitting in his recliner and he spoke into a newspaper and said, “We’re going into hog business. Tomorrow.” My dreams of being an astronaut were put on hold.

So we built pens, shelters and a farrowing house (a hog birthing and daycare center). I learned to pour concrete and dig post holes and do it all in ninety degree heat. Once that was done and all the electric fences were constructed we filled the place up with hogs. I also learned that even if your cousin Randy dares you, never urinate on a charged electric fence— you speak in tongues and flop around on the ground like a fish. When you get back up you don’t walk right.

Now the idea of hog business is to make lots of little hogs (pigs), raise them up, sell them, complain about the low price of pork, grumble about the bank and then do it all over again. My father was constantly going to the poor house in a new truck.

I gave names to some of my favorites-- Porkchop, Oscar Mayer and one particular lady hog I named Lou.

One day Lou put on some mascara and lip gloss, lit up a cigarette and walked seductively by a group of men hogs. Most of those guys had an operation when they were young so they ignored Lou and just stood around sipping wine spritzers and discussing mutual funds. But one never had the operation, a 400 pound red Duroc boar who was propped against a fence post smoking a Pall Mall and when he saw Lou he said “Hi doll face” and they went off together to a cheap wire pen that charged by the hour and they didn’t come out until late evening. My father explained that a miracle of life would come later.

And sure enough it did. A little over three months later on a Saturday the first wet sacks of life began to appear. My father and I watched the wonder of birth.

But as it turned out Lou wasn’t the maternal type. She seemed to regard her new family with disdain. She’d just lie there staring straight ahead while ten little squealing pigs used her as a milk hose. Later I’d come by to check on her and she’d be pushing against the door with her snout. Lou wanted out of the deal. I remember when I’d check to see that the gate was locked she’d look at me with small accusing eyes as though to say “ One day, maybe a week, maybe a year, but one day I’m going to have a life. I’ll go away and leave these little Wonders for you to take care of, Boss Man. See how you like it then.” Lou was restless and wanted to leave the farm.

I knew how she felt. Almost twenty six years ago today I bolted out the gate with a packed suitcase and never looked back. Sometimes you have to leave one place in order to find yourself in the next. Ever since moving to the city I’ve come to know exactly who I am. Ich bin ien Farm Boy.

Some days I stop the car, jump a ditch and stroll through open fields and gaze at livestock. Life is good with a breeze on your face, the sun to your back and plowed earth beneath your feet….just watch out for electric fences. When I see one I laugh and walk funny.