Hog Killing Time Poem by C R Clark

It always happened in the fall of the year
When the temperature dropped and left a chill in the air
We’d pile fire wood round the old wash pots
Fill ‘em up with water and get it real hot
The hog was stuck while still in the pen
Then hoisted up and laid on a sled
With a horse or tractor we’d pull’m on up
As near as we could to the hot wash pots
We’d cover‘m with tow sacks to hold in the heat
And scald‘m real good to make the hair release
I remember that wet, musty smell in the air
As we used sharp knives to scrape off the hair
Once the hair was scraped off that side
We’d flip’m over and do the rest of the hide
Then the men folk would hoist’m back up
And dropp out the innards in a big wash tub
Then they’d let’m down in the bed of the truck
And take’m to the women and they’d cut’m up
Into hams and bacon and chops and ribs
And little pieces to run through the sausage mill
There was a lot more fat than the sausage required
So they’d put it in a wash pot that set on the fire
They’d render it down and dip the cracklin’s all out
Then, you know what was left? A pot full of lard
They’d put it in buckets then for goodness sakes
Use it to fry taters and make cornbread and cakes
Weren’t none of that crisco or peanut oil
Like modern folks get when they go to the store
Just good ole lard, one hundred percent country
As ‘merican as apple pie, ‘lasses, and cow salve butter
Then the men folk would take them bacon slabs an ham
Out to the smoke house where they’d rub ‘em all down
With sugar cure and then they’d have to set
For, what seemed like forever, ‘fore they could be et
But once they was ready, what a treat that would be
If I live to be a hundred I’ll never forget
Them sugar cured hams and bacon, woooyes
By then, it was generally getting towards dark
‘cause we might’a been working up three or four hogs
We’d take all the sausage meat into the house
And get the old hand cranked sausage mill out
We’d take turns a crankin ‘cause yer arms’d give out
But that old mill jest kept spittin it out
When we got it all ground, it was seasoning time
And ‘course we had to test it, ‘cause it had to be right
Mix in some salt, red pepper and sage
Then fry up a batch and we’d all have a taste
Us young’uns knew we was in fer a treat
‘cause fresh kilt hog meat jest can’t be beat
I’d looked forward to this part all day
‘cause, I loved testing sausage that old country way
I can see Pa or my uncle standing there at the stove
They’d fry a batch up and say what does it need
A little more pepper and a little more sage
Then fry up some more and we’d have another taste
You just can’t find great sausage anymore
You sure can’t buy it when you go to the store
They call theirs country but that’s really a stretch
‘cause it don’t compare to the real thing that much
Could be why the store bought just don’t stand a chance
Is ‘cause it jest don’t have the whole ‘sperience
I love to remember all the great things we did
A way back yonder when I was a kid
Times like this have pretty much gone by
Young’uns today don’t understand why
We often reflect on the things that we’ve done
And wish we could have another day in the sun
They think we’re old fogies ‘cause we often do pine
For things we remember like hog killing time

Copyright C R Clark-4/20/07