I grew up on a farm in Indiana, which is the most wonderful thing that can happen to a child if the child is able to overlook certain facts of life and death.  Well, it would be more honest if I said I ‘squatted’ on a farm in Indiana, and the owners were too kind to call the town marshall.  The things I learned there!  For instance, if someone says, “We’re having eggs and brains for breakfast,” that is no metaphor.  If one is told to “pick that dead cat up by the hind leg and toss it over the fence”?  Also not poetry.

These days, though, I live on my own farm and I thought you’d like to see some of what goes on here.

This is the bunny coop, where the rabbits lay their eggs.  The rabbit you see here is named Joseph Mitchell, and she hasn’t been much of a producer for a long time, but we keep her for sentimental reasons.

This is the pig, goose, and chicken village.  Unfortunately, my back is to the camera but that’s my sister, Melinda, with her favorite bucket and her red patent leather apron

We have one head of black Angus, organic, no hormones.
This is a little man in our employ.  He carries two black sticks at all times, in case he needs to beat the Holstein.  I have never learned this man’s name, as he speaks no English and his face is almost entirely covered by a moustache.
Here I revisit the goose, chicken, and pig village to point out this pig of worrisome size.

So there you have it, our own little rural enterprise.  We will only lose money on it until we die.



Published in: on April 28, 2008 at 4:17 pm  Comments (1)  

One Comment

  1. Speaking of eating brains, my dear friend Kristen believed until sometime during adulthood that Hoosiers were eating HUMAN BRAIN sandwiches. That tends to make us sound a bit more interesting.

    I’m from Evansville, home of the FALL FESTIVAL which is rumored to be the second largest street festival in the world. My husband decided to buy a brain sandwich there so he could feel like a zombie, and brag about his culinary adventurousness. Alas, he said it tasted exactly like you might imagine a brain to taste. Spongy, and crunchy, but not in a good way. I imagine the switch from cow to pig brain, thanks to Mad Cow Disease, likely impacts their palatability.

    I admire folks who eat brains, much like one admires the Native Americans for using the Whole Deer. It’s kind of odd that the things people used to eat for survival are now delicacies, or the whatever the Hoosier equivalent of a delicacy is.

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