Growing a Farmer #2
Honestly, the last few chapters of the book where troublesome. I vividly imagined every action as he slaughtered and butchered pigs. I will admit, his gruesome descriptions do not make me want to become vegetarian, but as much as I love meat, I do not enjoy knowing every little detail of how it is killed. On a more objective view, the book does an amazing job of describing every little action. Things are explained carefully and with ease.
Although I was grossed out, I can't help but relate this to my childhood. As a kid, I would spend my summers with my grandparents. They live in a town on a more "rural" part of Panama. Therefore, my days consisted of playing in the yard or going to the farm with my grandpa. I was the only granddaughter for many years, so I was alone with no one to play during those long summers. As a result, my grandparents would constantly bring me pets, that at my loving hands, would meet their end. I was clueless and killed a couple of pets (ducks and chicks), but also cared for some very deeply.
One evening my grandpa took me to a pig farm, and we picked up three little piglets that had no mothers to care for them. I spent every waking moment with them after that. I even smelled like a pig most of the day. I was their mom until eventually, they were just too big to keep at home. So, they were sent to my grandpa's farm. I was a kid with a short attention span, so I soon forgot of my piglets, as they grew fat at the farm. I remembered them fondly for years always thinking they were living happy lives on the farm. Until one day, years later. I asked my grandpa about my pigs. He replied, "You ate them in the past few Christmases." I was shocked but remembered fondly eating the traditional Christmas smoked pork from my grandpa's farm.
I guess I had never really thought about how my pigs actually died. How they were slaughtered and butchered and slowly roasted.
Although I was grossed out, I can't help but relate this to my childhood. As a kid, I would spend my summers with my grandparents. They live in a town on a more "rural" part of Panama. Therefore, my days consisted of playing in the yard or going to the farm with my grandpa. I was the only granddaughter for many years, so I was alone with no one to play during those long summers. As a result, my grandparents would constantly bring me pets, that at my loving hands, would meet their end. I was clueless and killed a couple of pets (ducks and chicks), but also cared for some very deeply.
One evening my grandpa took me to a pig farm, and we picked up three little piglets that had no mothers to care for them. I spent every waking moment with them after that. I even smelled like a pig most of the day. I was their mom until eventually, they were just too big to keep at home. So, they were sent to my grandpa's farm. I was a kid with a short attention span, so I soon forgot of my piglets, as they grew fat at the farm. I remembered them fondly for years always thinking they were living happy lives on the farm. Until one day, years later. I asked my grandpa about my pigs. He replied, "You ate them in the past few Christmases." I was shocked but remembered fondly eating the traditional Christmas smoked pork from my grandpa's farm.
I guess I had never really thought about how my pigs actually died. How they were slaughtered and butchered and slowly roasted.
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