August 16, 2024
A couple years ago, we bought hay from a farmer whose family has been farming the same land for a hundred and fifty years or so. He said jokingly “I have come to the realization that I’m not a farmer anymore, technically, I’m now a pet food manufacturer. You are the only one buying my hay for livestock - everyone else is either feeding pet goats or rescue ponies.” I knew he was making light of it, and I laughed, but even so it tapped into a sadness that just won’t quit. I can’t quite shake the feeling that I am bearing witness to the end of small family farms in Connecticut. Real farms. I can’t imagine that he takes much pride anymore in being a fifth-generation pet food manufacturer. Since then, whenever Anne and I stop by, we bring him pork chops or some bacon – something to let him know that we, at least, are still producing food, so he’s still a farmer after all.
Last year one of our sows had a piglet stuck while giving birth, which I tried in vain to get “unstuck”. When we called our farm vet for help, we discovered that not only do they no longer take care of pigs, there are, in fact, no longer any vets anywhere in Connecticut that will care for a pig. So, despite spending 5 hours with the sow, trying to help her - I lost them both. I was so despondent that night, that in my mind at least, I quit farming. By morning though I knew I couldn’t quit, and I know it’s all just a vicious cycle. If I quit there’s one less farm to support a farm vet, the hay farmer, our wonderful abattoir, the sheep shearer, the spinning mill, the weaver, and perhaps most importantly of all, it’s one less opportunity for kids to see animals raised outdoors, on pasture and not just in a petting zoo.
When I was growing up in Farmington, there was a cow barn on Main Street. My mom used to bribe us that if we went to church (and behaved) she’d take us to see the cows afterwards. The cow barn is long gone and there’s an astroturf soccer field where the clover used to grow. I often wonder what the honeybees think of us humans when they fly over the acres of synthetic plastic grass and past all the overly manicured lawns in Farmington in search of clover – or anything that we haven’t sprayed or mowed.
When we purchased our first pig 15 years ago, we decided on Tamworth pigs. “Tamworths” are a heritage breed that do well on pasture and are relatively easy on the land. At the time, we had a choice of three farms in Connecticut from which to purchase that particular breed, and there were a dozen other farms raising other breeds. When I went to buy a piglet to replace the sow we lost last year, I couldn’t find any farms selling any piglets of any breed except for one farm which had 150 sows all indoors confined to farrowing crates. It’s no wonder there are no pig vets here anymore – there are no pig farms to support them.
So, for now we’ll just keep on keeping on, and doing the very best we can. We’ll keep on raising our animals outside on pasture and know that, if nothing else, because of that, there will be plenty of clover for the bees, bacon for the hay farmer, fiber for the spinnery, yarn for the weavers, and there will still be plenty of kids, in their Sunday best, walking down the farm road to visit our sheep after church.