Quite honestly, I think our piggies live in paradise.
Ours live in a forest replete with all manner of plants and wild herbs, shrubs, trees, and bushes. They use those talented snouts to uproot grubs and roots. And, the piece de resistance, they have their very own moat, as any piggy fortress must.
The moat is actually a part of a channel that we dug to move water through a low lying area in our fields so that it doesn’t sit and spread, but instead heads out to the beaver pond. The pigs love lying in the mucky water, doing their pleasurable piggy things.
There’s a great sense of satisfaction, and really outright joy, in bearing witness to the full expression of an animal. Pigs are clean, highly intelligent, very social, and, dare I say, wonderfully silly. I laugh just watching them. Such pleasure has the creature unburdened by society’s constructs and expectations. They remind me of what’s real.
This fall we will harvest them ourselves. On our land. Where they live now they will die. It’s not something I focus on, but I don’t disallow the sadness when it comes washing over me either. Until then, as we do with all of the fragments of our lives, we live knowing we will die. It’s not a dark thought to be denied. It is a beautiful truth to be embraced so we can live fully now. The horror isn’t that we are all going to die, the horror is living as if we won’t.