Hog Butchering Day

Butchering day was always a big event with lots of activity for a couple of days. Everyone particularly looked forward to the first butchering in the fall since, without refrigeration or freezers, we hadn’t had fresh meat except chicken since spring. So a hog was killed just as soon as there was a spell of freezing weather.

Most of the barrows (neutered male pigs) we raised were sold on the market but Dad always kept two or three of the best ones for our own use. The chosen pig was shot in the forehead, then strung up via a block and tackle on its back feet and bled by cutting its jugular. Once, when I was about thirteen, I begged to shoot the pig. Dad finally agreed but, unbeknownst to me, John had put a blank cartridge in the rifle. I took very careful aim and fired. There was a bang, but the pig just blinked. John howled with laughter, “You didn’t even hit it, Roger!!” Dad said, “Well, you’ve had your chance, so we’d better let John handle this.” I was really confused and embarrassed until John had killed the pig and then he told me about the blank cartridge. I felt better then because I just couldn’t understand how I could possibly have missed altogether!

At that time most farmers in the community dipped a freshly killed hog into a cauldron of boiling water and then scraped off the hair and outer skin with hog scrapers. Dad, however, preferred skinning the hogs and that’s the way we always did it, skinning from tail to snout. The hog was then gutted and split into two halves. At this point butchering moved from the barn into the house—but the operation was just getting started.

The kitchen was cleared for action. First the halves were cut into quarters, then into pork chops, bacon, hams, roasts, etc. The fat (in those days almost all breeds of hogs were classified as “lard-type”—fat was good!) was tossed into a big kettle to be later rendered into lard. This fatty tissue was heated to a boil then dippered into the lard press where the molten lard was pressed out into ten-gallon tin containers. (When cooled, the “chitlins” or “cracklins” left in the press (from the tissues in the fat) were considered a great treat by all kids.)

Lean and marbled trim pieces of meat were put in another kettle for making sausage. These were put through the sausage grinder and, oh, how good those fried fresh sausage patties tasted! In the winter months the sausage patties could be kept fresh in cold weather. However, in late winter butchering, the sausage patties were fried and “larded down”, that is, the cooked patties were put in large crocks and melted lard poured over them. This would keep the sausages from spoiling for several weeks, but before long they would develop an “old” or slightly rancid taste. These weren’t nearly as good as fresh—but much better than going without sausage altogether.

Other meat scraps, particularly meat trimmed from the pork head, were used to make panhaus or mincemeat. Panhaus (pronounced PON hoss) is similar to scrapple--cornmeal mush mixed with finely ground meat. It is sliced, fried and served with syrup for breakfast. Good, too! It’s hard to find ponhaus or scrapple these days except in Amish or German communities. At least once a year we also made mincemeat using meat scraps. Mother would make a big batch and can most of it in half-gallon Mason jars. Mince is still my favorite pie, but now it is hard to find the pies or good mincemeat except in Amish meat markets. (The Nonesuch brand is available in supermarkets and is a rather fair substitute as far a flavor goes--but it’s meatless.)

When most of the other meat handling jobs were done, Dad would cure the hams and bacons. I don’t remember exactly how this was done, but he would trim the pieces, rub them thoroughly with some sort of a salt and spices compound, sew them into a covering made of pieces of old sheeting (to keep the flies off) and then hang them in the “smokehouse” until needed. (Our smokehouse may have been used for smoking meats in earlier times, but in my time it was used primarily for storing barrels of feed.) The country cured hams didn’t spoil, even in warm weather. They became covered with a kind of greenish mold, which was cut off before frying, and were kind of dry and a bit salty. Some people, particularly in the South, prefer country-cured ham today; I like modern, more moist, hams a lot better.

As was the custom, whenever we butchered we would send a sampling of fresh meat to our neighbors, and they would return the favor when they butchered. Once when we had someone as a guest for dinner, Mother remarked as she passed a big platter of spare ribs to him, “These are Mr. Burrows’ ribs!” For a second he had a startled expression until he realized that she meant the meat was from Mr. Burrows’ hog.