Today's high temperature was: 58 degrees
Cloudy, grey and sprinkly all day
===========================
One summer, when I was two years old, I got a rash on my face. Mother put everything she could think of to make it better. It itched real bad and my cheeks were red, all the time.
Mother finally took me to the doctor and he told her, I had an allergy. My Mother put me in my Play Pen every time she was outside working in the garden. To keep me safe and probably, to keep me out of her way. Besides that, I had a tendency to just take a walk, down the long driveway, toward the road.
We had two female pigs and a big male pig. When they got loose, which was often, they'd rub up against the rails in the play pen. Then I'd be in the pen and touching the rails and apparently, was allergic to whatever they left on the play pen. Mother told Daddy he had to get rid of the pigs, but he said we needed them for food and she would just have to wash off my play pen everyday, before she put me in it.<I do not remember the rash, but Mother told me the story a couple of times>
===============<I do remember this--can see it plain as day>
A couple of years later, I can see myself--I had on a pink shirt and blue overalls--I was outside with Mother.
The pigpen was built next to the tool shed, a little ways from the vegetable garden. It smelled so bad near that pigpen that I didn't go there very often. Besides, pigs like to roll around in the mud. One time, I was standing on their board fence watching. They got to rolling around so hard that mud flew off them and got on me. It was stinky mud too!
Their pen was always muddy because they had dug a hole to fit their bodies and some of the water from their drinking trough had slopped out into that hole. They would snort and oink and roll around until they had a real good mud puddle to play in.
I loved to play in the mud puddles in the driveway, but I never wanted to play in the pig's mud puddle. It was pee-yoo-wee! Mother always told me to stay away from the pen because the male pig was kind of mean.
One night at the supper table, Mother said to Daddy, "I don't like those pigs. They are always getting out of their pen, digging up my flowers and vegetables and running away."
Daddy said, "Yes, I know they do that, but next fall they will be breakfast bacon and pork chops, then you will be glad we have them."
The next morning, Mother and I were flying a kite out in the pasture by the vegetable garden. Mother had tied a little plastic doll to the kite. We were talking about how we wished we could fly up high on that kite, like the doll.
We heard some "pig" noise and Mother looked behind us and said, "Oh No! The pigs are out and they are in the garden!"
Mother handed me the kite string and I started winding it in while she ran toward the garden.
Carrots were being pulled out of the ground and eaten. Lettuce was flying in all directions. Cabbages were being uprooted and thrown through the air like basketballs. Tomato plants were being torn up and thrown off to the side. The pigs were on an eating rampage!
As I gathered the kite and ran to the garden, I saw Mother trying to shoo the pigs back into their pen. The male pig, wouldn't budge. He lowered his head and grunted. He looked straight at Mother with his little pig eyes and took a step toward her.
Mother took a step backwards and called to me, "Get into the house right now! The pig is mad and might charge at us."
I ran to the back porch and peeked around the post to watch Mother. I was really scared.
Mother got the other pigs back into their pen and put the board they had pushed out, back into place. The big pig kept right on pulling up vegetables and snorting around the garden. Every now and then he would stop and glare at Mother.
Daddy must have heard all the noise and Mother's yelling because he came running out of the cow barn. I yelled and told him what happened.
"You stay on the porch," he yelled back as he ran into the tool shed and got a big pitchfork.
"Dorathy! Get up on the porch with Judy."
Then he ran into the garden and poked that big pig a good one, right on its ham butt!
The pig turned toward Daddy and lowered his head and snorted. Daddy smacked that pig on his nose with the handle of the fork and the pig squealed and ran out of the garden. Daddy smacked him again, a good one on his snout and the pig dropped to its front knees.
Mother ran off the porch and opened the gate to the pig pen. Daddy kicked the pig on its bottom and the pig ran into the pen.
I heard Mother telling Daddy at supper that night, "Those pigs have to go. They ruined the vegetable garden. I don't know if there will be enough vegetables to can for this winter. What if that boar had hurt us?"
I could see Mother had tears in her eyes.
The next week, a big truck came driving up the driveway and the man backed it right up to the gate of the pigpen and herded all the pigs into his truck. He gave Mother some money and took the pigs away.
Daddy never did get any more pigs.
He must have had one of them butchered, because we had a lot of bacon, sausage, ham and pork chops that winter, but after that?
We bought our breakfast bacon from the grocery store in town.
