A couple of Monday’s go we had an appointment with the butcher. He was buying 2 of Mabel’s piglets from us and we had to deliver them and hopefully talk business.
We arrived with our piglets and from the start the conversation seemed to go in completely the wrong direction. It seemed to me that he had changed his mind and I felt quite gutted. He said wasn’t happy to have pigs slaughtered in an abattoir, but as we said, we aren’t either but the NZ regulations prevented any alternative. He suggested we try to do business with another pig farmer who had secured a deal to provide pigs to a national fast food chain. I was confused and frustrated but Aaron, as always, is a fast thinker and talker and kept pushing the benefits of the original plan.
Like us, the butcher also has a major problem with the lack of empathy for animals when they go through a commercial abattoir. However, it's illegal not go through an abattoir. And so he said to us that he would be happy if we could build an abattoir ourselves to cater for his needs.
Say what?!?
Yeah sure, I'll just whip out that half a million dollars sitting in my bank account to build an abattoir so I can make $3,000 a year selling my pigs just to him.
I was quite blown away by his thinking. Surely he realises we don't have a lot of money and not only that but he and his wife are most obviously loaded. Their property is in the hills above Waipu Cove and has the most stunning views. Their driveway is 900 metres long and it's all concrete. Their driveway alone is probably worth more than our block of land.
It was all very odd. In the end all we want to do is raise a few pigs ethically and cover our costs. We're not doing this to make our fortunes. If he doesn't want them we have other avenues to explore.
Still, he invited us to sit and talk some more. His wife appeared with bottles of German beer and then a platter with slices of cured sausages, salami and ham.
We sat and ate and talked for a couple of hours and he praised the quality of our pork. The meats were absolutely divine and I couldn’t help but stuff myself with slice after slice. The conversation was all very friendly and positive and then a friend of theirs turned up and it seemed rude to continue talking business and so we talked about other things until eventually we had to leave.
We then walked 2 very travel-sick piglets into a penned off area and as I gently rubbed their bellies they leaned their little snouts into me and looked at me sadly. I wanted so much to just sit there and hug them all better but I could feel my throat constricting and the tears welling up. Instead I stood up and walked away and tried not to think about their eventual fate. We got in the ute and left.
Aaron emailed him the next day and told him what we would have to charge per weaner and the quantity we could supply and we waited for him to reply. We waited all week and despite sending several emails and phone messages they did not reply. Saturday arrived and Aaron decided that morning that he was going to have to drive back to their place to ask what the problem was. And then 30 minutes later his phone rang.
They had been very busy. They had also become very attached to the piglets we had sold them. They wanted to talk some more.
From Truffles to Abattoirs
Just over 5 years ago Aaron and I had found our calling. We were destined to be truffle growers. We envisioned orchard after orchard of hazelnut trees and an orchard of truffles.
We searched and found (more than once) the perfect property, acres and acres of land perfect for a life of horticulture. But the perfect properties slipped through our grasp and the block we ended up with proved to be less than ideal. Dreams of truffles eventually became dreams of free range pigs and now we finding ourselves suddenly looking down a path previously unconsidered.
After returning home from our Monday meeting with the butcher I said to Aaron “Is he crazy?? How the hell could we build an abattoir? Why would we build an abattoir? I want to raise pigs not kill animals for a living.”
“I know people in the food industry. You never know what I might come up with if I ask around”
“Whatever. It’s a stupid idea. We have no money. We don’t know the first thing about abattoirs. I’m not interested.”
And then an hour later, somewhere in my brain a lightbulb switched on.
Aaron's brother was home for the week. He'd come home to Kaiwaka to tell his wife he wanted a divorce. It seems that they had come to an agreement that she would stop fooling around with married men in Kaiwaka. But alas she did not. Aaron’s brother is pissed off (understandably) and he now faces some huge changes to his future life plans.
So here's where the lightbulb flicked on. His job is everything we despise and detest about farming. He designs and oversees the construction of European abattoir systems that process factory farmed animals almost faster than they can be produced. He travels the world helping to perpetuate mass cruelty to animals.
Was it possible he could design a small-scale, ethical, abattoir which would be built solely for small farmers like us?
Tuesday night he came around to our place. He wanted to take Aaron to the pub so he could get drunk and Aaron could talk him out of murdering his wife and her lover.
Although not entirely appropriate given the circumstances, I asked Aaron if he could talk to his brother about designing an abattoir.
Bingo. He liked the idea. He has now left the country again and he will return sometime between now and the end of January - hopefully with some plans.
A Friend For Mabel?
Friday night the new girl was delivered. After several years living in a large paddock behind Kaiwaka Clothing, the Wessex Saddleback was without a home. Several weeks ago the owner of Kaiwaka clothing had seen our pigs as he drove by and had dropped in on the off-chance we could offer his pig a new home. Aaron said he was keen. I ummed and ahhed and eventually said yes.
So for several hours we debated names – Gertrude? Hilda? Agnes? Etc
Meanwhile the new girl stayed in the old stockyards overnight. Mabel, glared at her from the other side of the fence. She was clearly not happy with the new arrival. We encouraged her to be friendly.
“Mabel, be nice to the new girl. She’s going to be your friend so make her feel at home.” The new girl grunted and Mabel huffed irritatedly at her from the other side of the fence.
We kept tossing names around and then eventually said goodnight to the girls.
“I think she needs a pretty name. What about Rose?” I said
“Rose? Hmmm. Rose is good”
“Let’s sleep on it”
Friday night Marty came round for dinner and drinks and on Saturday morning Aaron and Marty took the breakfast buckets down to Mabel, opened the gates and walked Mabel, Emily, Olive and Rose up the driveway to the paddock opposite the shed.
Tubs and Spotty were in the back of the ute, eating their last meal before Aaron drove them around to the Homekill. I was sad to see them go and would have no doubt shed quite a few tears was it not for Mabel and Rose getting a bit physical. It certainly wasn’t vicious but they exchanged blows and scratches and with the 2 young girls running around I was worried one of them would get hurt.
For several hours the girls walked warily around the paddock. Rose to check the boundaries and Mabel to watch Rose. Mabel was clearly very upset but Rose had given her a good whack and Mabel was unwilling to instigate any more conflict.
It was fortunate we had two sleeping areas – the shed and the van. Rose ended up in the 2-bay shed and Mabel and her girls tucked themselves up in the van. It was completely the wrong way around but we hoped they’d resolve their differences within the week.
Help Arrives
Only 3 days after reactivating our HelpXchange account we got a request from Sam. He was due to arrive by bus on Saturday but the bus never picked him up so he arrived at Sunday lunchtime.
We also had CouchSurfer Craig turn up on Sunday evening.
We pretty much got Sam helping us straight away. Nothing major, just helping to feed out, walk the dogs and make up some meals.
Craig the vegan, on a sustainability tour of NZ, arrived in the evening. Normally we would not say yes to vegans or New Zealanders looking for accommodation but we were intrigued about why he wanted to stay with us.
I made a vegetarian dinner for all of us and as far as I’m aware it fit the vegan bill as well. We learnt a bit about Craig but he didn’t reveal much about his plans or why we were one of his stops. He asked if he could return Wednesday night and so we said yes. We assumed he would reveal more.
And so Wednesday night Craig returned. We had steak and pasta for dinner, although Craig passed on the steak. He is quite an eccentric character and quite frankly neither Aaron or I managed to figure out why he came to stay, except that he needed a place to stay.
Aaron gave him a lift to Puhoi Thursday morning and from there he continued his journey south. We are none the wiser. He is writing a blog about his journey for Good magazine so perhaps that will reveal how we fit in.
While not offended that he came and revealed or asked little, I think we are unlikely to host Kiwis again. We have had several experiences now with Kiwis and quite frankly the benefit to us has been minimal. Our overseas guests, for the most part, seem to really appreciate their time with us but Kiwis just seem to be completely indifferent and uninterested in us.
Sam has fitted in well. He is quiet and perhaps a little unsure of himself but he is not the least bit offensive. At this stage we don’t know how long he will stay but he said he would like to stay 2 weeks and we have decided that would be okay.
The Waiting Game
So now we have 2 broody ducks and 2 broody chickens all sitting on duck eggs. By my calculations the first lot of ducklings were due to arrive on Saturday but Saturday came and went and no ducklings. So did Sunday and Monday.
Aaron and I discussed what we should do. The eggs sales are slow and I’d just had to boil 3 dozen duck eggs to feed to the pigs. What the hell, we’d let her sit until the end of the week and then move her on.
Wednesday evening I arrived home. Aaron said he’d had to take food down to the duck under the fern as she didn’t come up the hill for dinner. The girl in the duck house had come out though, along with 3 little ducklings. In fact, not only had she brought them up the hill but she had also taken them for a tour of the paddock.
I was very keen to see our first ducklings so I went to have a look. Disappointingly mum was back on her nest with no babies in sight and then out from underneath popped a fluffy, yellow duckling. It waddled around the nest for a minute then tucked itself back in.
That was good enough for me.
And so now we wait to see if they survive. Apparently only half the battle is waiting for the eggs to hatch. Their first few weeks are fraught with danger. Unbelievably drownings are a big problem for ducklings. Enthusiastic mother ducks apparently often over-estimate the abilities of ducklings.We did in fact put a small wall of bricks around the duck house to enclose any ducklings born but this turned out to be no barrier at all. So we will wait and see what happens with these ducklings and then decide what to do with any subsequent births.
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