Lilac: A Love Story

It’s understandable that farmers tend to keep a lot of emotional distance between themselves and animals that are raised for food. If a pig is given a name, it should be “Bacon” or the like. In the past, Booty Family Farm pigs have been given food names, but not necessarily pork names. The trio Bread, Butter, and Jam comes to mind. Then there was Lilac. She was some pig. She broke all the rules, endearing herself to everyone, even my dog Beau. But when all was said and done, though there was at least a little bit of heartbreak involved in Lilac’s end, it feels better this way, at least to omnivore me who is often conflicted over the relationship of humans to animals.

Did you read Charles Frazier’s Civil War novel Cold Mountain? (Nicole Kidman and Rene Zellweger were terrific as Ada and Ruby in the movie version, and Jude Law played Inman.) Anyway, through all the drama, the scene that sticks with me the most is a bit past the halfway point (pgs. 209-11, to be exact). Inman, who has deserted the Confederate army, is making his way back to his home  in the mountains of North Carolina and his new love, Ada. He was wounded in battle, shot up by ne’er do wells along his journey, is dying of exposure and in desperate need of nourishment when he comes across a small old woman who lives in a “caravan” tucked in the foothills of the Blue Ridge.

When the woman compassionately brings Inman home, they are met by her two dozen sweet little bright-eyed goats (and a billy goat who buts Inman, knocking him over!). Here’s the part that makes my heart stop — she brings out a basin, sits down, and one of the goats comes over and lies in her lap. The woman strokes and scratches the goat, then takes a knife from her apron pocket and smoothly cuts into the animal’s carotid artery. The goat’s blood empties into the basin, and the woman continues caressing the animal until it’s gone. It’s so tender, even in the killing. No fear, no struggle, just trust.

That was Lilac’s connection to the farm family, especially Stephen. She let Elsa ride on her back, she came squealing with delight to greet anyone who walked up the drive by her pen, and she snoozed in the little lean-to shelter that bore her name. She ate untold delicacies, including some of the sweetest corn on the face of the earth, leftovers from the Sandwich Central School lunch room (provided faithfully by Diane), and in her last weeks, bucketfuls of acorns. When the weather turned cold in late November and it was time for her to go, she weighed more than 200 pounds.

Lilac made friends with our dog Beau, and when we returned from a Thanksgiving trip to find sheep in Lilac’s pen, Beau was a bit puzzled. I knew right away what had happened. Todd and I had worried about how hard it would be for Stephen to send Lilac on her way. Those two had a special bond. But it was that bond that enabled her to go gentle into that good night, at the hands of someone she trusted, someone who truly cared for her. Is that a bad thing? I don’t think so. As my mother said so philosophically, “We gave Lilac our best and she gave us her best.” Amen.

So how do we eat meat and treat animals humanely? Stephen, who is a hunter as well as a farmer, has made peace with that question. Besides venison from deer hunting season, Stephen only eats meat that he either raised himself or that was raised by someone he knows. As for me, I have become much more aware of sourcing the meat I buy, paying more for organic chicken or grass fed beef, but it’s still a struggle to reconcile the lump in my throat when I think of Lilac with the meat that I enjoy on my table.

I asked Stephen how six-year-old Elsa handled Lilac’s end. He said that she didn’t want to see the carcass hanging, but when Stephen was butchering (he does it all himself), she was very interested in pig anatomy. Maybe she’ll be a surgeon one day, human or animal.

So farewell, Lilac. We are grateful for you, and we will always remember you fondly.