Hog-Killing Time

By Elton Camp

A chill was in the air. The time had come. Soon after sunrise, orders to mules, the
clattering of wheels, voices of women and the shouts and laughter of children
accompanied the arrival of visitors. They were expected, so Milas had all in readiness for
the day’s activity. Neighbors from the nearest three farms congregated to help with hog
killing. It was not only a necessary work to assure meat for the coming months, but a
social occasion. Entire families came, although the hardest work fell to the men. The
children had an exciting day of fun in store.

The families had brought their wash pots to supplement the one owned by the
Camp family. The men heaved them over the sides of the wagons and lugged them to the
side of the house. The round, black containers would be used to heat water to scald the
hogs. As when clothes were to be washed, fires were laid under the pots after they were
filled with water from the spring. While they heated, two of the men attached a block-
and-tackle to a strong limb on the old oak tree that sheltered the west side of the house.

“Chillun git outsid’ ’n’ play. Y’all don’t b’ comin’ ’n’ th’ hous’. We’ll b’ fixin’
dinner ’n’ heer. Stay out o’ th’ way o’ th’ menfolk. They don’t need y’u gettin’ ‘round
when they’s workin’ wif th’ hogs,” one of the mothers charged.

Hog killing was a bloody, stinky mess, and extraordinarily hard work. It would
be afternoon before the job would be completed. Such opportunities for group play were
limited. They meant to take full advantage of it.

“Hid’ ’n’ seek,” one of the boys called out. “Not hit,” he hurriedly added.

To be “It” was the most undesirable position in the child’s game. That meant
having to seek out and chase the others. That was considered to be less fun than hiding.

Others quickly affirmed, “Not hit.” The children pointed their fingers at their
comrade who was judged to have spoken last. “Yore hit,” they called out gleefully. “It”
then took over direction of the game.

“This here’s home,” he declared as he slapped his hand against a corner fence
post well away from where the men were doing the hog killing. “No fair hidin’
anywheres ’round th’ scaldin’ pots.”

“It” leaned against home base, covered his eyes with his hands, and began to
count slowly. When he reach twenty, he called out, “Reddy ’er not, heer I com’.”
Most of the youngsters had blended into the surroundings. Any child not yet well
hidden jumped behind the nearest available object.
 As “It” searched behind the smokehouse, a lanky girl with long, brown hair
rushed from her hiding place inside a fig tree and made a mad dash for home base.

“Hom’ free,” she cried out in triumph.

That meant that she was exempt from consideration for being “It” in the next
session and could relax as the present game continued.

A boy jumped from behind a massive tree and attempted the same thing, but was
spotted. “It” called out, “I spy Robert” as he pursued him. Laughing the whole time,
Robert made a series of fast turns to avoid being tagged before reaching home base. This
time, “It” was the victor. “Yore out,” he shouted as he touched the boy’s shoulder.
Having been tagged, that youngster couldn’t play for the duration of that game session.
Hide-n-seek continued until all had been found, or “It” tired of the play.

“Olly, olly, oxen free,” “It” chanted to signal his playmates that the game was
over and that they could safely emerge.

Two of the boys decided to hunt doodle bugs. Their lairs could be found in dry,
sandy soil where they looked like unsteady, miniature funnels.

“Heer they air, unner th’ house,” one boy said as he pointed to dozens of
depressions separated from each other by a few inches.

The other boy inserted a straw into the bottom of the pit, twirled it, and chanted,
“Doodle bug, doodle bug, com’ out o’ yore hole. Yore house ez on far ’n’ yore chillen
will burn.”

Doodlebug Funnel

When the ant lion larva moved, it was attributed to the charm. In fact the larva
reacted as if an ant had fallen into its pit. By pulling away the sand, the doodlebug
caused the victim to tumble into its devouring maw.

If the boys were quick and determined enough to uncover the larva and to extract
it from its pit, the insect would play dead as long as it perceived danger. If they’d known
that the larvae would someday grow wings and fly, the fact would’ve astounded them.
While the children continued the day of play, far more pressing matters occupied
the adults. The family’s principal meat supply for the months ahead must be prepared.
 Albert made an unnecessary visit to the outhouse when he saw a group of the men
open the gate and enter the hog pen. One of them carried a butcher knife. As main
caretaker of the three hogs, he didn’t want to see it when they were killed. He’d become
fond of them, particularly the one with black patches on an otherwise white body. He’d
named it Elmer.

A bit of slop poured into their trough enticed the animals into a corner of their
enclosure. The men pounced on one of the hogs and shouted encouragement to one
another as they wrestled it to the ground. It squealed wildly, kicked its legs, and
attempted to bite them, but it was no use. A burly man plunged the knife deep into the
swine’s throat and made a savage slice. The men released the mortally wounded animal
and jumped back to avoid being hit by its spouting blood. The hog continued to squeal,
this time in pain. It ran until it became weak from blood loss, fell, struggled to its feet,
and ran some more. Slowly, it collapsed and began to quiver. Then it lay still. The men
laid it on a homemade table and admired their work.

The First Hog Has Been Killed

With the block-and-tackle, the men raised the hog by its back feet. Before
beginning the slaughter, they allowed time for any remaining blood to drain from the
carcass. They then placed a large barrel underneath the suspended hog and partly filled it
with hot water.

Hog Hoisted to be Prepared

“Let hit down, boys,” Milas called out.

The hog soaked in the hot water for a few minutes. When they pulled it up, the
men began to scrape away the bristly, but now loosened hair. Up and down the hog went.
Scraping followed scraping. Despite the cool weather, the workers mopped sweat from
their brows.

“Water’s gettin’ too cool,” one of the workers observed.

That resulted in more hot water being brought for the barrel. Others refilled the
wash pots from the spring to have a continuous supply. Several scaldings were required.
There must be no hair on the rind of the ham or bacon when it was cooked.

The cleaning completed, the men removed the internal organs, cut up the hog, and
commenced to prepare the meat. They sliced away the excess fat and then rubbed the
surface with a mixture of salt, spice, and seasonings. The aroma only partly overcame
the stench of the butchering process. Then it was time to kill the next hog and repeat the
process.

When the hardest work was over by the middle of the afternoon, it was time for
the visiting families to go home. Except for a dinner break, all but the children had
worked for several hours. A day of vigorous play, which would be remembered for a
lifetime, left the youngsters happily exhausted and sleepy.

“Afore y’u depart, com’ help y’r selves t’ som’ meat, fellers,” Milas called out.

It wasn’t an act of generosity, but expected for all who’d taken part in the work.
Milas would be repaid in kind when he assisted each of them. The parts that couldn’t
well be preserved were always divided up. The families would enjoy fresh ribs for a few
days, depending on the temperature.

After the neighbors left, much work remained. Miranda and her older children
took over. Milas made an occasional appearance to observe and supervise. Meat for
sausage was sliced into strips and put into the manual sausage grinder along with fat.
When it was ground, they added spices, peppers, and sage to taste.

“Y’u thank thet’s ’nough sage?” Miranda asked.

Milas took a pinch of the raw sausage and tasted it. “A speck mo’s needed,” he
judged. Trichina worms and other dangers of eating raw pork were unknown.

“Better git goin’ on renderin’ th’ lard,” he said when the sausage was done.

Miranda placed piles of glistening, white fat into the wash pot to cook out the
lard. The lard, stored in metal buckets, would be used throughout the year until next hog
killing. It was used for soap making. Worse was its liberal use in cooking. Nobody
knew the health risks of saturated fats and cholesterol. Strokes and heart attacks crippled
many people and ended lives prematurely.
 A by-product of lard rendering was crisp bits of fat called cracklings. They could
be eaten while fresh and hot, but most were used to make cracklin’ bread. The cracklings
were mixed with the batter when stirring up cornbread. With the brown and white
cracklings, the hoecake was a delicious, though greasy, treat. When eaten with turnip
greens, it was a particular favorite of rural people.

The family hung hams and bacon from the joists of the smokehouse to cure.
Because the bacon didn’t have bones, it was easy to cut off a hunk when it was needed
during the year. It would then be sliced into individual strips called “rashers.” Ham was
harder to manage.

Meat Hangs in Smokehouse

“Git down thet biggest ham, Leamon,” Milas directed later in the year. “I’ll holt
hit whilst y’u saw threw th’ bone.

The unwashed hacksaw cut easily through the meat, but slowed, with a rasping
sound, as it ground through the dense bone. The cured ham was a special treat to be
enjoyed in small amounts and only on occasion.

Timing was everything in hog killing. After the first hard frost, the temperature
usually stayed low enough for the meat not to spoil. Occasionally, a prolonged warm
spell meant loss of the precious food. When thoroughly cured, the meat wouldn’t ruin
whatever the weather might do. Nobody wanted to kill hogs too soon. An accurate
projection was simply impossible. It was one of the many uncertainties of rural life.