AUTHOR’S NOTE: Caution. If you’re a vegan or keep kosher, you may want to skip this one.
Hope you had a glorious Fourth of July, Dear Readers. I had a wonderful three day weekend jam-packed with fun, friends and family.
And food.
Which brings me to this post…
When I was a little girl, I got a very special gift.
It was this.
First Edition Collector Sidebar: It will probably come as no surprise that from the time I was about six, I read voraciously and coveted books greedily. And the VERY first thing I would always do with a new arrival was to rip off the dust jacket and throw it away. I did this to make the book “mine.” A dust jacket made the book look like it belonged to the library. Alas, now that I am a grownup collector, I know what a sin this is. Hence most of my treasured book collection is missing a very important part of its appearance. (And value.) Oh well. C’est la vie.
Published in 1952, Charlotte’s Web was a seminal book for me. I had always been dog and horse crazy. E.B. White’s captivating story and Garth Williams’ enchanting drawings now made me want to go live on farm.
When I got Charlotte’s Web, I was the exact same age as eight year old Fern. And I, too, longed to hang out with White’s barnyard animals like she did. The stuttering geese, the patient draft horses, the wooly sheep, even Templeton the rat-villain, seemed like creatures worth getting to know.
And then there was Charlotte.
Clever, confident, a little blood-thirsty- a realist with a knack for coming up with just the right word at just the right time.
And finally, the hero of the piece.
Wilbur. The pig.
Wilbur was the runt of the litter and the book opens with Fern’s father heading to the barn with an ax to do away with him. Fern intervenes and rescues him, but the rest of the book deals Wilbur’s justified existential fears and his friends in the barnyard collective efforts to save his bacon.
My sympathies were firmly on the side of the pig and I was always relieved when their mission was accomplished and Wilbur went on to live a long and happy life.
Until last Sunday.
When I went to my first ever pig roast.
Like my book, the event took place on a wonderful old farm in West Brooklyn, Illinois.
Never heard of it? Me, neither.
It is 96.5 miles west of Chicago in Lee county and was founded in 1894. The population is 142 and has a total area of 0.11 square miles.
The farm must take up all of it.
A picturesque white frame house shared its stately turf with barns, cornfields, flower gardens, a beautiful pool, nine platinum Labradors, a few assorted other dogs, and children of all ages.
In one of the barns there was a groaning board of food.
Salads of every description, fried chicken, meatballs, homemade pies, cookies, cakes, brownies, chocolate-covered pretzels, ice cream…
And the pièce de resistance
Yep.
And he was delicious.
Let’s hope his name wasn’t Wilbur.
Fern would never forgive me.
Good to be back, Dear Readers.
It is the carnivore’s dilemma… it tastes so good, but when you stop to think about it… hmmm. I am sticking to chicken and fish.
I was squeamish and skeptical about the whole outing. I did NOT want to see the pig. But then I felt hypocritical. I love ribs and pulled pork and where did I think they came from- Carson’s? I just manned up and took a look. I am a carnivore. I faced the fact. See you soon, my friend. And thanks.
Ellen, your post is a welcome respite from what we’re getting bombarded with this days–and elicits numerous thoughts, starting innocently enough with this response to a tone-deaf clue in a spider-themed New York Times crossword puzzle that one of my friends wrote [note, his original clue, pre-editing, was “Seraglio” … as in the title of this Mozart opera].
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we talk about our grandchildren! Is it Too Soon? … to talk about a lone gunman? Is it KOSHER (49-Down)? (no, not referring to Wilber the pig) to tackle in crossword puzzles the puzzles of real life?
This past Monday, as everyone knows, was the Fourth of July, and at 10 a.m. in my little community of Falcon Heights, Minnesota, we had our annual neighborhood parade. Two firetrucks leading. Lots of kids, with patriotic bunting on their tricycles, trailing. Two police vehicles, blasting patriotic music from their loudspeakers, at the rear. Fun banter and camaraderie, complete with hot-dogs and watermelons, with those who serve and protect.
Fast forward to Wednesday evening, 9 p.m., in walking distance from our house, to the northern entrance of the State Fairgrounds. A routine traffic stop for a busted taillight, and then things go horribly wrong. Then 24 hours later, in Dallas, Texas, yet another senseless tragedy, practically around the corner from where a President had been tragically gunned down in 1963.
Ellen, this has not been easy to compose. Please do me and our readers a favor by including in your response a link to your eloquent gun control plea from I lost track of how many outrages ago. We all need to re-read it.
George, this was an interesting response. From pigs to puzzles to the fact that humans are brutal to each other. Sorry that trouble hit your neighborhood. No place is safe from gun violence any more. Thanks for the thoughtfulness that went into your comment. I’ll rerun my gun post at another time.
Oh Ellen my mothers family is from that area ! Beautiful country. I remember when we would go to my aunt ‘n uncle’s farm we loved to go thru the big culvert to the other side to see the pigs. The only time we were allowed to cross the road was if the aunt or uncle was with us. Oh the memories!!
Small world, Lynn! Six degrees of separation. Thanks for sharing that. Hope you had a great Fourth.
Yes I did Ellen spent Sunday with oldest daughter then Monday we cooked for youngest daughter. Hope yours was good.