The pigs left last week. Well, they didn’t actually leave on their own, say like when they were nine weeks old and had me chasing them both throughout the woods across acreages of multiple neighbors for a good five days. Rather, they were killed, gutted, and taken away by a young man with a white box truck and a big black dog to a locally owned abattoir, where the meat would get cut and wrapped into the portions and weights we chose.

It was hard.